#Technically this is sad but like the phrase is so ridiculous I can’t actually take this seriously

[findmeabowlofundertale]

I love putting my boy in situations

#seeker draws #⁂ gaster #seeker gaster #⁂ text posts #⁂ #⁂ memes #he’s so baby here #just a lil guy #he should be getting his doctorate not in the trenches #Technically this is sad but like the phrase is so ridiculous I can’t actually take this seriously #im sorry dings #youre my chewtoy #what’s more ironic to humans than a skeleton (symbol of death) who hates killing #ok im going to bed it’s after midnight

[spacestationdaedalus]

stay with me, my darling

Jon nods. Conversation, right. "Tim said- he asked, if there was anything we wanted to tell our future selves. And the- the Gertrude tape I played for you. I was just...thinking."

"That's not a good sign." Martin replies, and it could have had humor in it, another day, another time. But now it's mostly truth.

or: reminiscing, and hope for the future during the apocalypse

thank you @entitynumber5 for this prompt!! I love it and you to bits

ao3 link here!

...

There are moments, right before the nightmares and right after them, when Martin can sleep. There has to be space to breathe, between the fear and dread. How else will you really know what you've lost, know how afraid you are? Or maybe, even now, the fears are bound by the limits of human physiology, the nature of REM sleep and dreams. It's something Jon can't Know, but even if he could. It doesn't matter.

But there is something he could Know, if he wanted to. With Martin within arms reach in the bed next to him, Knowing if he was awake would be as easy as breathing. Maybe easier, now - a reflex, poised and ready just beneath the surface of his skin, just behind his eyes that don't blink as much as they used to.

He doesn't. He owes it to Martin. That sense of normalcy, however small.

Jon takes a breath, holding the compulsion at bay, locked tight in the back of his throat. He'd already slipped up, forced more than one answer out of Martin since they fled from London. Like hell he'll do it again.

"Are you asleep?"

It's no more than a whisper, ragged and sad sounding even to Jon's own ears. But it might as well be a scream compared to the muted terror outside, the solemn creaking of the boards beneath and around them.

It's quiet for a beat, then Martin shifts. He makes a little noise of coming to awareness - the same one he'd made every morning, when there were still mornings to wake up to. Jon didn't think it was possible to feel nostalgia for something that happened so recently. But the pang, the loss of soft morning sunlight and warm blankets and clumsy, sleep-mused hair and hellos sinks deep into his stomach, and he lowercase-k knows he's wrong.

"J'n?" Oh, but his voice still has that quality to it. When he's just woken up, unguarded, a smile when his eyes find Jon. The sound eases just a bit of the awful tightness in his chest. Not much, though, because Martin doesn't smile as he blinks away the sleep from his eyes. He fumbles for his glasses as he sits up, brow furrowed. Jon can't blame him.

"Is something wrong?" Technically a question, but not phrased like one. Martin’s voice matches Jon’s for pitch, quiet and soft.

Jon looks down at his hands, flexes his fingers. His mouth is dry. He feels guilty, for waking Martin up from the only rest he can get for something so silly . But it's hard to distinguish between shades of guilt these days, carved out of his chest and curled up where his lungs should be.

He almost says nevermind, go back to sleep, but that would be worse, waking him up for nothing. And Jon is nothing if not stubborn. Words are hard, but he gets them out.

"I was- I was thinking about the tape, that I...about what Tim said."

Martin sighs. It's not annoyed, or sad. Maybe fond? Jon isn't sure - you could be sure, you could pluck every thought from his head like grapes from a vine. The thing that only watches trills at the thought, buzzing anticipation and thirst filling his skull and he digs his fingernails into his palm until it hurts, stop stop stop-

"Jon?"

"Hm?" He comes back, with the extra volume and concern Martin adds to his name. Had he really drifted that easily, that far, that quickly?

Martin takes one of his hands, unfurling the fingers that he'd clenched. His nails leave crescent moons in the skin of his palm. Martin delicately runs a finger along them as they fade, and it tickles just enough to be both pleasant and distracting. "I said, the one at your birthday? The tape?"

Jon nods. Conversation, right. "Tim said- he asked, if there was anything we wanted to tell our future selves. And the- the Gertrude tape I played for you. I was just...thinking."

"That's not a good sign." Martin replies, and it could have had humor in it, another day, another time. But now it's mostly truth. "Jon-"

Jon shifts to face him. It's not a sudden movement, but it's lightning quick compared to his syrup-thick movements of the last few so-called-days. "I know, I know it's not- it's not healthy to dwell on it, on… It's just… there's so much I would, would tell myself if I could."

"Even if we couldn't avoid all of it. Maybe it could have been easier."

"Jon…"

"Martin, please ." It's the most emotion he's been able to get out of his voice since he stopped sobbing after the statement that got them here. It hurts. It hurts and he knows it's what he deserves.

Just let me have this , he wants to say, but can't bring himself to. He leans forward instead, just barely. Not for any reason other than his head is tired , but Martin pulls him further, touch gentle but firm. He wraps his arms around him, so easily, so Jon's head is resting on his shoulder, eyelashes brushing like butterflies against the crook of his neck.

"Alright, alright. It's okay."

Martin whispers into his hair, and for all Jon can See, he can’t imagine anything that would take the comfort of it away. They stay like that for a moment, a while. There’s a lot that Jon wants to say, and even though he started the conversation he doesn’t know where to begin. Everything is tangled like overgrown weeds in his mind, like boxes of cords with no purpose that sit in jumbled piles, wrapped around the things he’s trying not to Know and the things he wants to forget and the things that hurt to remember. But then Martin breaks the silence for him.

“For one thing, I wouldn’t…" Martin seems hesitant, like he's not sure he should say what he's about to say. "I wouldn't have let Biscuit into the archives.”

Jon stops. It's quiet for a moment, in a way he forgot it could be. Martin stills next to him, anticipating.

“Wh...what?”

Marin breathes out a small chuckle, almost with a nervous edge to it. “Y’know, the dog I let in? On my first day?”

Jon is something close to comfortable against Martin's shoulder. But he can't stop himself from pulling back far enough to see his face.

"You named the dog?”

“Oh,! No, that was on his nametag. Had a phone number too, that’s - that’s how I got him back to his owner."

I love you I love you I-

That might as well have been a decade ago. Jon can’t stop the quirk of lip, however small, at the ridiculousness of it. “I never knew that.”

Martin cocks his head, hint of a wry smile playing at his lips. "Well, yeah, it’s not like I was going to bring it up to you again. You looked like you were going to fire me on sight for weeks.” His face falls, slightly. “Although, I guess you wouldn’t have been able to, even back then."

Jon sighs, heavy as it's dragged out of his lungs. “I would have, though, if I could. All of you.”

The silence is thick, but not unbreakable. So Jon does just that.

"Maybe we could have ended up at a normal office job."

"What, like a...bank, or something?"

Jon smiles, wider, even though it feels like his face forgot how. Like riding a bike, maybe. "Yes, something… dreadfully boring."

"A boring job does sound pretty appealing."

"At least, them, I wouldn't have had to tell myself to stop pushing the whole, skeptic thing." Jon can't help but recall the conversation, in the storage closet with the man in front of him and what should have been certain death waiting outside. Even that seems so much simpler, now.

Martin makes a non-committal sound in the back of his throat. "Maybe I would have told myself to confront you sooner. A-about the statements, I mean. Could have had that whole-"

Martin deepens his voice in what Jon realizes is an imitation "- heart to heart thing sooner."

"I'm not sure if it would have gone over well.” Jon can't help but be honest. Old and new shame bubbles up in his throat, and he has to say something. "Martin, I'm- I'm sorry for the way I acted, back then. I was… god, I was such a prick to you. It wasn't fair, or- or right ."

Martin barely lets him finish before he's saying, "Yeah, you were pretty… prick-ish? I forgive you though. I don't really think about it much anymore, if it means anything.” He breathes out a quiet laugh. “It's kind of funny, actually. In hindsight."

Jon can't stop the look of disbelief. "Really."

Martin smiles. "I mean, yeah? And gosh , you should have heard the things I used to say to Tim and Sasha about you. It wasn't completely one sided."

That catches Jon's attention. "Oh?"

The look on Martin's face isn't quite regret, but it's close. " Any ways-"

"No no, Martin, please , I'd love to know.'' Jon is careful not to phrase it as a question. His voice is quiet, still, but coy. His curiosity is all his own and no one, nothing , else's. He revels in the feeling.

Their hands are entwined on the bed between them. Martin looks down at them as to not meet Jon's eye, but he's smiling, still. "I think I described you as a cactus with twice the spines and half the emotional capacity, once.”

Jon's laugh, soft and brittle as it is, surprises even himself.

Martin looks up at him, encouraged. "Heh- Tim got a kick out of that one."

Tim's laugh, faded like an old photograph in his mind. It hurts to remember, but it would hurt worse to forget. He wish he had that luxury for Sasha. The real Sasha, the stranger who was friends with Tim, friends with him . At least, he hoped she had been. She sounded so lovely.

But, back to Martin. "Yes, well, I can't say you're wrong about that."

Martin sucks in a breath, and Jon freezes under the possibility of upsetting him. But then.

" Oh , Jon- that’s the complete opposite of the truth."

Jon laughs, with less humor. "Martin-"

"No, no, let me finish." Martin takes one of Jon's hands, the burned one, in both of his. "You put up a great front, I'll admit it. But you care so much, even… even though things haven't been easy, or good, or… or fair. You never stopped caring, this whole time. It's obvious now, at least - at least, to me. Even if you don't always say it.”

"You care so, so much and it's - god , it's one of my favorite things about you, Jon."

Something about the way Martin says his name chisels something open in Jon's chest. And not for the first time. Being known, existing to someone else that actually wants him to. There's a reverence to it, the way Martin says it, that Jon knows he doesn't deserve. But he tries to move past that thought and let the sound warm him from the inside out.

Jon whispers Martin's name, quiet and strangled. He hopes it carries the same depth, the same love.

Martin keeps going. "And I - that's why this is so hard for you. I mean - well, of course it's hard, it's pretty fucking terrible, actually - but," Martin sighs. "I know that's why you want to blame yourself for all of this-"

Jon finds his voice, stronger. He's not sure where the sudden energy comes from, but it probably has to do with the knot that's made a home in his ribcage.

"It's not about want , Martin, it's- it's the truth. What else am I supposed to do? I ended the world -"

"Jonah fucking Magnus ended the world, Jon. Not you. He used you."

"I don't really see the difference."

The burst of energy leaves him, water spilling down a drain. This isn't the first time they've talked about this, and it probably won't be the last.

Martin sighs. "I know. But I'll keep telling you, as many times as it takes. Because it's true. And it- it hurts, seeing you like this."

Jon looks at Martin, really looks for the first time in too long. His eyes, tinged grey from his time in the Lonely, dark circles under his eyes, tight lines at the corners of his mouth.

"I'm sorry." He doesn't know what else to say, other than, "I love you."

"No, it's-" Martin shakes his head, just a bit. "I love you, too."

It's quiet for a long moment. Martin lays back down on the bed and gestures for Jon to follow him. Which is easy, for Jon to do. The bed isn't warm, but it isn't cold either, in the strange way that things are and aren't right now. But Martin is warm, Jon can feel, with their legs tangled together and foreheads touching.

Jon won't, can't sleep, but laying next to Martin still feels like rest. In a way.

"Martin." Jon doesn't know why he needs to say Martin's name. It's not like there's anyone else he could be talking to, with less than centimeters between them. But the thing he's about to say is so deeply important to him, and it feels like he needs to.

"I'm… glad," God, his vocabulary always escapes him when he has to speak out loud. Talk about his feelings. "That I got to spend time, with you. Time here."

They haven't left. The cabin still stands, doors and windows, squeaky hinges and leaky faucets intact. But it's not the same, never will be as far as Jon can tell. "The weeks that we had, before- I...I don't think I'm lying when I say it's the first time in a long time that I-"

Felt loved? Felt like a person, again?

"...was happy."

Martin smiles, but it shakes like a leaf in the wind. A tear slips from his eye, dripping slowly over the bridge of his nose.

"Me too."

Jon brushes a kiss, feather light between Martin's eyes, catching the tears and hopefully some, any tiny amount of the sorrow that lives in the lines of his face.

"I could have stayed here forever, like that. With- with you. Just…"

"Living?"

"Yes. Living."

It's not the first time Jon's treated himself to the thought, however far fetched, however foolish. A life, a normal, mundane life in the countryside. Maybe with boring jobs, but not a boring life. Not with Martin here. Not with Martin to wake up next to, to fall asleep with, to walk with to the village. Talking about nothing important but committing every detail to memory. That Martin prefers vanilla over chocolate, that he had a pet goldfish named Larry when he was seven, that he loves dandelions even though they're classified as a weed, who gets to decide what a weed is, anyway, right, Jon?

"The walk to the village is a bit much, but we could manage." Martin's voice is thick. "The shopkeeper already recognizes us."

The mention of a person outside their wooden refuge pulls knowledge unprompted from Jon's mind. He doesn't have the heart to tell Martin she's currently walking through endless identical corridors with identical doors leading nowhere. The lights above her flicker just so, and she swears she sees something out of the corner of her eye, but she turns and there's only off-white walls and beige doors and the sound of footsteps quickening in threatening cadence towards her-

Jon doesn't mean to drift again. But Martin's voice brings him back. Like it always will.

"Plus, we get to see good cows on the way, so it's worth it."

Jon pushes the thoughts away, and smiles. "I suppose you're right." After a breath, he goes on. "Less food to carry from the store if we have a garden."

"Jonathan Sims, a green thumb?"

Jon bristles at the not-quite accusation, but it doesn't quite reach his voice. Too much energy that he doesn't have. "Well, no, not yet. But I always thought it would be nice, to have a garden. I can learn."

"It would be." Martin slips into sincerity so easily. "I'm sure you would grow lovely vegetables."

"And spices, for cooking."

"Of course." Martin sighs, quiet, fond. "A man that can garden and cook, what could I possibly bring to the table?"

"Everything." Jon blurts out without thinking, and stands by it like a beach umbrella buried in the sand. "You're… you're better with your hands, than I am. Like, the door hinge you fixed when we first got here."

"That's not exactly master carpentry, Jon-"

"It doesn't need to be." Jon doesn't give him time to retort. "And your embroidery. It's- it's good, we'll hang it up on the walls and you can teach me how to do it."

Jon already learned embroidery once, technically, from his grandmother. But she had always grown impatient with his impatience, quick to scold him for fidgeting and rushing his stitches. Like it was an exam he was actively failing instead of something you do for fun. It wasn't all bad, not really, but Jon imagines relearning long-forgotten movements under Martin's hand and smile, and it makes him want to buy every spool of thread, every needle he can get his hands on.

"Of course." Martin replies. "We could put up other pictures, too. I've actually- I've, uh, always wanted to get into photography."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Not for any, real reason, I suppose. Just… seems like it would be fun."

I love you I love you I-

"That sounds like a reason to me."

They go on a bit longer, about pets ( at least one cat, and apparently a species of lizard that Martin is particularly fond of) and colors to paint the bedroom ( something bright but lively, a light blue, maybe) and mugs to buy from the second hand store ( Martin collects novelty mugs, and Jon files that away for later ). Jon knows it’s terrible of him, selfish to revel in this while the world suffers under the weight of its own choking fear.

Later, they'll talk again. A few times. Later, aching sorrow becomes burning anger and drive and they leave with the bags Martin's already packed. But for now, Jon holds Martin's face, and Martin wraps his arms around Jon's waist. Pulling him close, like a ship docked in harbor. And it feels safe.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #tma fics #my writing

[vagrantblvrd]

Modern day spy/assassin AU where former singer/musician/~artiste works in a cozy little coffee shop neatly sandwiched between a bookstore and, idk, a flower shop.

Expected to be one of the hottest new stars coming out of Oxenfurt if it hadn’t been for that scandal with fellow band member and rumored lover Valdo Marx over alleged song theft and so on. Followed by a messy break up - band and personal - and a drawn out legal battle that drained what money Valdo hadn’t stolen from him.

(And a year or so after all that Jaskier doesn’t like to think about too much before he got his feet back under him and a friend mentioned this coffee shop she frequented, and anyway, he’s doing much better now and also somehow ends up owning it himself when its previous owner retires and sells the business to him for like, five bucks, because the power of friendship or something, idk.)

One day on his way home he stumbles over someone half dead in an alley and is like oh, oh, no because the last thing he needs is another scandal attached to his name?

Like.

He’s kept his nose clean for just over six month now, has been playing around with new melodies and bought a new notebook for lyrics and whatnot. Looked into playing at some local places, not really wanting to be a megastar or whatever these days, but he loves music and performing in a little bar somewhere would be nice, you know?

ANYWAY.

Turns out the guy isn’t actually dead, thank goodness but might as well be? Has this medallion around his neck, a cat? Which, okay, whatever he’s seen stranger and he’s getting his phone out to call an ambulance or whatever, crouched next to the guy.

Memory from the CPR course he took in college surfaces in his mind - the instructor was hot and even if Jaskier never got the guy’s number he learned valuable life skills. (And also met Shani and that proved better than getting the guy’s number because she’s one of his best friends and also incredible and anyway.)

Reaches out to check for a pulse, which is when the guy grabs his wrist - surprisingly strong grip for someone who looks like he lost a fight with a freight train - and hsi eyes snap open and they are...extremely striking and not at all normal - cat eyes, to go with the cat medallion and hahaha, oh shit, this is bad, bad news, isn’t it?

The guy tries to threaten him, which. Not as effective when the growl he’s trying for just sounds sad and pathetic, and anyway, there’s something...not fear, no, in his eyes, that has Jaskier forgetting to put the call through for an ambulance.

It’s very close to fear though. Worry? Concern? Something that Jaskier relates to in some incredibly fucked up way.

(The way he felt when Valdo Marx fucked him over and everything he’d built fell apart around him, and anyway, yes.)

He doesn’t even know why, he does, or why he ends up hauling the guy up to his apartment and patches him up best he can with wwhat he has on hand.

Will probably end up being murdered by the guy the moment he’s on his feet, but eh, that’s a problem for future Jaskier, really.)

Anyway, Aiden - because of course it’s Aiden - is super suspicious of Jaskier and his everything and there is indeed a moment where he pins Jaskier to a wall with a kitchen knife - it was an apartment-warming gift from Shani and Essi and Jaskier’s more worried about it being damaged than Aiden slitting his throat, which just confuses Aiden?

Because what even is Jaskier and his priorities???

But he doesn’t kill Jaskier and the knife gets put back and aside from that little bump in their relationship they actually become friends after that.

Jaskier takes to referring to Aiden as a stray cat whenever one of his friends or whoever asks why he buys more groceries or hurries home after work instead of sticking around to gossip a bit the way he usually does.

 Aiden thinks it’s hilarious as opposed to insulting, which is great seeing as how Jaskier’s pretty sure the man’s a hitman or assassin or other similar career?

(Might be the way he mentions past jobs and his dark sense of humor and also the time he could have killed Jaskier if he felt he was a threat? So, yes.)

And Aiden, okay.

Got burned or something to leave him half dead in an alley for just anyone to stumble over and since Jaskier hasn’t made any fuss about him moving out decides he might as well stay where he is for the time being, you know?

He goes and gets a job...somewhere to help with rent and so on. Offers Jaskier enough hints to make it sound like he’s out murderizing people right and left the moment he’s out of the apartment, but then Jaskier sees him helping Triss bring in deliveries out behind the flower shop so he knows Aiden’s been fucking with him on that front and is like, dude, not funny.

(Aiden begs to disagree, but whatever.)

And then!

A month or so after Aiden’s back on his feet Jaskier runs into one of the owners of the bookshop next door?

New management and so on, and oh no, he’s exceedingly hot.

White hair and gold eyes and, sure, he’s not the most talkative guy around? But Jaskier’s cracked tougher nuts or some other way of phrasing it that doesn’t sound like a euphemism.

Also, also, there’s another painfully attractive man working there who is incredibly sweet and has a menace of a goat that they have instead of a bookstore cat?

Which.

Seems like a bad idea since Jaskier often hears about how Lil Bleater nibbles on the books if someone isn’t watching her and anyway, it means he gets to listen to Eskel lament about her latest misadventures while Geralt stands there and tries not to let on how amused he is by both the bookstoer goat and her owner and Jaskier is like shit, because Geralt and Eskel are so, so hot and he’s only human and Aiden, Aiden, do not laugh at his pain, you utter bastard of a man.

ANYWAY.

Shenanigans in which Geralt and Eskel think Jaskier has this insufferable bastard of a former stray cat at home and Jaskier piiiiines like a sad bastard while Aiden laughs and laughs and laughs.

(It should be pointed out that not once in all the time Aiden started working for Triss - and Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert - who Jaskier has heard all about but not yet met - have seen one another even though they spend most of the working day a few hundred feet apart, because Plot Reasons.)

And then!

Some shenanigans in which Geralt or Eskel - who are totally spies who are using their cozy little bookshop as a cover - get tangled up in trouble and Jaskier stumbles on them with this incredible sense of deja vu.

He drags them into the coffee shop to patch them up, and he forgets to lock the front door, which is convenient because then Aiden wanders in hoping for a free coffee?

(Power of ~friendship, and also roommates, and yes.)

Jaskier is kind of covered in blood - Geralt and Eskel’s - and Aiden is immediately in Assassin!Mode because he’s fond of Jaskier, right, owes him his life and such.

But also, Geralt and Eskel who have also had their oh, oh no he’s hot moment when it comes to Jaskier are likewise fond of him - and working up the nerve to ask him for a date, but that’s neither here nor there - go into Spy!Mode and there’s an honestly kind of terrifying, kind of sad stand-off.

Jaskier is in Adrenaline!Mode because fuck his life, of course Geralt and Eskel can’t just be incredibly hot bookstore owners and is like “If you fuck up my coffee shop I will not be happy, and also please consider my delicate sensibilities,”

Which manages to stop whatever fight was about to break out and he essentially does the Chris Pratt with the raptors thing, only with a couple of spies and his assassin roommate.

Pretends the three of them aren’t throwing menacing looks at one another as he patches Geralt and Eskel up and then is like “Well, that was fun!” because no, no it was not, and his heart is going to burst with all the tension and whatnot in the air. and hahaha, this is fine.

Which of course is when Lambert comes stomping through the front door and there is even more Drama and Angst because his ~forbidden relationship with Assassin!Aiden and heartbreak when it was assumed he’d been killed by his agency a few months back, but wait, he’s still alive???

And idk, just a lot of ridiculous spy movie cliche nonsense in which Jaskier is reluctantly dragged into things because he saved Aiden’s life that one time, and is piiiiining for Geralt and Eskel and of course he gets taken hostage and they have to band together to save him but shenanigans and ~plot twists and so on.

(And then when it seems all is lost Triss and her utterly terrifying girlfriend Yennefer actually save the day because they, too, are spies and Jaskier would honestly like to know if he’s the only normal person he knows or what, because really, what are the odds???)

Whenever the death-defying events and such are over Jaskier does, actually, go on a date with Geralt and Eskel and some smooching happens.

(Technically not their first, because that happened after they saved Jaskier’s life in that oh thank god none of us died moment after all the danger and excitement, but none of them mind, because smooches.)

Lambert and Aiden make fun of the three of them, but gently because they, too, are prime targets for mockery as they also decide to try a proper relationship and not just stolen moments here and there, and anyway, anyway

A year or so down the road Jaskier gets tired of coming home to find the two in compromising situations and is like, why, though, which conveniently happens around the time Geralt and Eskel approach him about moving in with them somewhere and he’s like, well, if he must, like he’s not thrilled about it because he’s kind of gone on the two of them, you know?

So they get this place big enough for the three of them and Lil Bleater and Aiden and Lambert get his old place and it all works out?

Sure, sure, there are a few close moments where Geralt and Eskel’s work puts Jaskier in danger, and that time whoever tried to kill Aiden targets Jaskier and so on?

But he’s like, eh, it happens, because obviously it does.

Which means Geralt and Eskel take it upon themselves to teach him to defend himself - and half the time it ends in smooches and sexytimes because hand-to-hand and being pinned to mats and adjusting his stance while learning how to use firearms and such, you know?

But also Aiden and Lambert teaching Jaskier knives and explosives - “I’m sorry, but one of these things is not like the others,” in regard to Lambert and his explosives, but it’s a ~bonding moment, so whatever.

(Also, also, that time Jaskier was able to defuse a bomb in some highly improbable and ridiculous bit of shenanigans with spy nonsense and Lambert being a smug prick about it for forever afterwards.)

And then Jaskier finds out Geralt has this incredible kid with Yennefer and what the hell is his life that all these people know each other and he doesn’t find out about it until ages afterwards, but anyway.

Ciri is awesome and after her Vesemir comes to meet the guy two of his sons are in love with, and Coen shows up along with other assorted characters I’ve forgotten and anyway, yes???

(Also, also, Yennefer happens to find out about Valdo Marx and she straightens out that mess quietly and efficiently in such a way that Jaskier doesn’t realize it until long after the fact and is like hm, because he didn’t think she particularly liked him, but apparently he was wrong? Which leads to brunch dates with her and Triss and gossiping about the other idiots in their lives and discussing Jaskier giving Ciri music lessons and anyway, yes.)

#witcher nonsense #geraskel #geralt/eskel/jaskier #aiden/lambert #technically not a fic #vagrant fic #stray cat au #¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #long post #the witcher

[honeypiehotchner]

you’re so golden -- Steve Rogers x Reader one-shot

Hello! This is 100% a self-insert lmao when I can’t sleep I like to imagine stuff like this. All fluff lovies xx.

Warnings: Some talk that makes prude!Steve blush, boob-holding (is that even a phrase?), some teasing/fluffy talk of sexy times, mentions of nightmares and therapy, that’s basically it, it’s tooth-rotting fluff

Living with a bunch of Avengers can be many things, but one thing it isn’t is private.

There is no privacy when Tony is around, or Sam and Bucky, for that matter. Hell, the only one who really respects privacy around here is Steve, but go figure with that one, right? America’s golden boy, of course, he’d know to knock and wait for a response before entering, to not ask certain questions, or to avert his eyes quickly if he happens upon you in an indecent situation (your swimsuit came untied last summer, no further explanation needed).

You still snicker when Natasha calls him a prude. He makes it too easy, quite frankly. 

Like right now. You’ve just finished working out, so you’re in the kitchen, making yourself a sandwich. Your body is covered in sweat, so you shed your tank top, hating the way the material clings to your damp skin. This leaves you in cropped leggings and a sports bra.

Natasha sits at the bar, sipping her water with a smirk on her face. You’re not sure why, until you see Steve practically bolt past you to get to the fridge.

“Steve!” You laugh, turning around to face him. “What are you doing?”

“Just getting some water,” he says firmly, like he has to force each word out.

“Okay…” You raise an eyebrow. “Are you not looking at me for some reason? Scared I’ll burst into flames?”

Natasha muffles her laughter into the palm of her hand.

Steve downs the entire glass of water before shoving it back under the dispenser, his eyes focused on it as if it won’t fill his glass correctly if he doesn’t stare it down.

“Steve,” you chuckle, knowing exactly what’s got him acting this way. It’s your lack of a shirt. “It’s just a bra.”

“Exactly,” he swallows, bringing the cup back to his lips, still not looking at you. “It’s just a...bra.” He says the last word quietly, quickly before guzzling more water.

“I know you’re a super-soldier,  but don’t drown yourself,” you tease, turning back to your sandwich. “You know, just a bra is technically a shirt. I’ve worn it as a top before to a music festival -- hell, some girls only had glitter covering their boobs. But I wore it with shorts, too, not even leggings. They barely covered my--”

Steve coughs loudly, discarding the cup in the sink before sprinting in the other direction. You shake your head with a laugh. Who knew that Steve Rogers, a man who looks like that, could be such a prude.

“You are so bad,” Natasha sings. “He’s scarred for life now, you know.”

You shrug. “Isn’t he like, a hundred years old or something? He’ll get over it.”

+++

That very same night, the lot of you are sitting around, throwing stories back and forth. Sam and Bucky are caught in a feud trying to one-up each other, and somehow (you don’t really remember, but it’s not impossible) the topic of boobs got brought up. 

“Do you ever do this thing,” you look to Natasha, “when you’re just laying down, and you just hold your boob?” You bring your right hand up to cup your left boob over your shirt, smirking at how everyone’s eyes follow your hand -- except Steve’s. Steve, well, becomes Very Interested in his hands.

“Yes!” She laughs. “It’s comforting, I don’t know why.”

“I know why,” Sam says, grinning like a madman.

You roll your eyes, taking your hand away. “It’s not sexual, asshat. It’s just comforting.”

“You guys also stick your hand down your shorts,” Bucky chimes. “On the side,” he slides his hand down his leg to show the spot. 

“That too,” you nod. “But the boob thing...that’s even more comforting. If I’ve ever been crying or something, it just helps calm me down.”

Steve, who has gone completely red in the face, stays quiet, but this time, he’s looking at you. Your eyes meet his and you smile softly, wondering what it was that made him finally look at you. Regardless, you won’t question it.

+++

Nightmares are the bane of your existence. Truly.

They’re practically unavoidable, and you know that. Therapy can only do so much to keep them at bay, and that’s when you actually attend. You haven’t been in a while. You can blame it on being busy with missions all you want, but that’s not really it.

There are just some things you don’t want to talk about.

So, now you lie awake in bed. It’s four-thirty in the morning, and you know that in half an hour, Steve will be waking up to go on his run. He runs every morning without fail, rain or shine. You’ve never understood why he runs in the rain, though. Lightning is a thing. And to quote Sam, “We have treadmills in the gym.”

Five o’clock rolls around and you hear Steve’s alarm and movement in the room next to you. Ten minutes later, his door opens and closes. 

You close your eyes, wondering if your body will give it up now and let you sleep, but she doesn’t. You huff, lazily opening your eyes. Another night with shit for sleep.

A knock sounds on your door, dragging you from your bed. You pull the door open, tiredly raising your eyes to meet those of a certain super-soldier.

“Steve?” You murmur. Despite knowing he’s the only one awake at this hour, his presence still surprises you. He’s not one to knock on your door this early.

“Morning,” he chuckles, eyebrows furrowing. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, leaning onto the door. “Didn’t sleep.”

He frowns. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you wave your hand. “What’d you want?”

“I uh…” He pauses, scratching the back of his head. “I knock on your door every morning to see if you want to run with me...you’re not normally awake.”

“Trust me, I’m not awake right now by choice.”

He smiles, but the worry still seeps through. “Did you...um, did you try…?” He trails away, bringing his hand up to his chest, cupping his left pec. It takes a second for your mind to register what exactly he’s doing, but once you do, you nearly burst.

“Oh my god… No, I didn’t actually.” You shake your head. “Some nights I forget about it. Too many thoughts, and...yeah.”

Steve nods. “Do you...do you want me to help?”

“Help?” You raise an eyebrow. “You trying to take advantage of me while I’m sad, Rogers?”

“What? No!” He takes a step back, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Relax,” you laugh, reaching out to grab his hand, pulling them down. “Sure. You can take your shot. Come on.”

Steve walks slowly into your room, eyeing you and waiting for you to kick him out. But you shut the door and tug him over to your bed.

“What helps?” Steve asks, kicking his shoes off.

“Uh…” You sigh, sitting down on your bed. “I...Well, this is ridiculous, but could you...hold me?” It’s the one thing you know that has helped in the past, but obviously it’s been years since you’ve had someone do that for you, and holding a pillow isn’t the same.

“Hold you--?” Steve accepts the strange request. “Yeah. I can do that.”

“Don’t be weird,” you laugh, scooting up and stretching out. “Hey, at least I have more than just a bra on,” you tease. 

Steve gives you a look, and for the first time, he looks you up and down. From the leggings to the oversized t-shirt, landing on your eyes. You find gentle worry there in his eyes. An old voice in the back of your head nags you for trusting him so much. Acting like a gentleman is sometimes used as manipulation, but not here. With Steve, it’s genuine.

He was raised to be a gentleman, sure, but this is a different time. He could trade in the niceties for being a dick -- he’s pretty enough for it -- but he doesn’t. Maybe that’s what makes him different.

“Are you sure?” He asks, walking to the other side of the bed.

You sit up tiredly, leaning back on your palms. “Steve. We’re not about to have sex. If you’re uncomfortable, just go run. It’s okay.”

“I’ll run after you sleep,” Steve says firmly, finally sitting down.

“Alright,” you exhale.

You lie back down and turn on your side, waiting for Steve to do something. You feel the bed dip as he lays next to you, turning on his side. He drapes an arm over your waist, pulling you into his chest.

Your eyes close almost on instinct. Steve’s heartbeat thumping softly against your back causes your breathing to deepen.

“Better?” He asks, his breath fanning the back of your neck.

“Mm,” you sink further against his chest. “Yeah.”

He chuckles softly, his arm tightening around your waist. “Go to sleep.”

“Shut up and maybe I will,” you snicker, elbowing him in the ribs. “I’m surprised you’re so talkative. Normally you’re turning red and coughing by now. Or drowning yourself.”

“Shhh,” he says, but you know he’s smiling. His lips barely graze your neck, but it’s enough to send a jolt down your spine.

You stay still, letting yourself savor this feeling. You’ve harbored a small, but albeit obnoxious, crush on America’s golden boy. How could you not? He blushes when he realizes you’re wearing a sports bra or even the time when you wore a deep v-neck shirt. You don’t have a big enough chest to show any cleavage at all, and yet he was as red as a tomato.

His innocence has only made him adorable, and your subtle innuendos became your choice of flirting tactic. 

You don’t know what changed. You never imagined Steve being possible of this -- holding you tenderly, not fumbling for words or burning up. Right now, he’s calmer than you’ve ever seen him.

But it seems so wrong. Did you force him into this? You don’t think so, but you worry. He’s not normally like this, so you can’t help but wonder if he’s doing it because he felt bad for you.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah, doll?”

Doll. That’s new. You thought it was something only Bucky says, but then again, Bucky calls any woman he sees doll. 

“You can go run,” you murmur. “I don’t think I’m gonna sleep anytime soon.”

He shifts, and you think he’s getting up, but he pulls you closer. “Do you want me to go?”

You wait a beat. You smile. “Not really.”

He chuckles. “Then I’ll stay.”

“Okay.”

Silence covers both of you. The tender kind that only two people who know each other well can share. No tension lives here, no anxiety. Only peace.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you mind if I try something else?”

“Sure,” you shrug softly. “Why not. What do you wanna try?”

Your breath hitches when his fingers tease the hem of your shirt. Surely, he’s not…

But he is.

“Is this okay?” He asks, fingertips ghosting over your stomach, not going any further until you say so.

“Yeah,” you murmur, not believing your ears or eyes or body.

Tentatively, Steve’s fingers trace your ribs, goosebumps rising on your skin everywhere he touches. After what seems like hours, his palm cups your left breast, gently, no ulterior motive in sight. You lean into the touch, knowing he can feel your heart racing against his hand, but not caring. Because right now, it’s too soothing.

“Is that better?”

“Better,” you admit sheepishly, hiding your smile in the pillow.

And damn him, the combination of the weight of his arm around your waist, hand on your breast, breath on your neck, and heartbeat on your back -- all of it lulls you to sleep. 

A restful sleep, the one you know you’ll only have here, safe in the arms of America’s golden boy.

+++

When you wake, Steve is still there, his run a forgotten thought when he has you in his arms. You turn around to face him, smiling dumbly when you see his eyes are closed.

His hand slips from your breast to your ribs, and you hold onto his wrist, keeping him there. Your free hand traces the lines of his jaw, his nose, his cheekbones. The golden, hand-crafted, wondrous boy. Here in your bed, sleeping soundly.

The clock reads 11:46 AM, and you’re sure the rest of the team is wondering where the two of you are -- though Tony probably knows.

Still, you make no move to get up. His weight isn’t trapping you, but his softness is. Your heart has never known a gentle touch, and yet here he is.

Steve senses your movement and opens his eyes, fingertips twitching against your skin. You watch as the blush dusts his cheeks upon realizing his hand is still underneath your shirt. Giggling, you let him slip his hand away.

“Did you sleep well?” You tease.

“Did you?” He counters, genuinely asking.

“I did,” you nod, voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”

His eyelids flutter his silent welcome. You can’t stop yourself as your hand cups his jaw, thumb brushing against his cheek. This tender, golden boy.

He tips his chin forward, hand on your back pressing you forward until your lips meet his in a gentle, longing kiss.

“I’ve waited three years to do that,” he says, kissing you again.

“Me too,” you admit, lips ghosting over his.

Golden sparks explode behind your eyes when your lips collide. His arms cage you in, holding you close, keeping you safe. The gentle touch you have never known has finally arrived in the form of America’s golden boy. Your golden boy.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x fanfiction #steve rogers one shot #fluff #all fluff #purely my own fantasty lmao

[pbjamas]

hey, i really like your writing! do you have any tips on writing in general?

awwWWW tysm <3 <3 <3 it makes me feel really good that you want to ask ME for writing tips omg

Ok: first thing, take these with a grain of salt: these are MY personal preferences and style. If you don't agree with them, that's totally fine. I just think, since you asked me, might as well give you the PB version <3 This being said, anyone who reads this post, pls don't come disagree with me i'm really not up to that atm lol

1. Write things you don't like.

Not like, hate things that you write! But more like......take a trope you dislike, and ask yourself: ok, but what would make me actually like it? then write that! This is what half of my fics are, tbh. Recently i wrote an amnesia fic, which i'm usually not a fan of bc it's like,,,,, aw, it's not the same character i know and love :/ kind of a thing. So I twisted the amnesia trope to be like.....what if dabi is still himself, just without his revenge mission? and I had a blast. And then my most recent fic was literally called "The Shovel Talk" which tbh is a trope that usually bothers me quite a bit bc it feels out of character and cliche, so i twisted it to how I like it—a little bit angsty.

It makes even things you don't like fun! and it makes them unique and gives it your own creative flavor. I like to think that I have pretty creative ideas, and I don't think I'd have nearly as much fun or come up with as good of ideas if I only stuck to my favorite tropes (torture, funerals, angst, Platonic Genfic Only).

2. Don't give your reader things they don't need.

Things are more interesting to me if they're not outright stated. And your reader is probably smart enough to pick up on them if you don't state them outright. They don't need you to! Leave some things for your reader to figure out! Kind of fits with "show, don't tell." Don't tell me your character is sad. Instead have her stare out the window and take a little too long to drag her eyes away when her sister talks to her, and maybe she sees her mouth move but can't bring herself to care about the noises coming out. idk. of course there's a place for metaphors and the like, but i think other things can be more effective in certain instances.

3. Meaning comes from the things that happen, not from phrasing.

Also very much personal preference and maybe not that popular but............I am a BIG BIG fan of Ernest Hemingway. He writes in plain, simple sentences and words but WOW he can still really make things very deep and impactful.

So. While it is very pretty to use lots of metaphors and say "sadness sank in her lungs like a low tide," overall the deeper message or the feeling the reader takes from your writing is probably going to be what happened, how the characters were impacted, or what the characters said. In my opinion, poetic and pretty and even memorable phrasing can distract from that. I, personally, write very conversationally, like how I talk. My favorite is when prose fades into the background to let the characters and themes shine.

4. Metacognition!

Think about your own thinking process. Or, in this case, think about your own writing. Going back and editing it, getting feedback, reading comments, rereading it—all of it's important. In my teaching and educational psychology courses it was always emphasized that students learn way more and more deeply through self-analysis and through feedback. Same for writers <3 Don't be too critical at first, go through your pieces and recognize all the spots you had fun at or that you really like. Heavens know I don't love rereading some of my stuff, but it's good sometimes!

5. Have fun (duh) and don't take yourself too seriously.

tbh i'm much more of a technical writer than a creative writer and i thought it was too late to get into creative writing (even fic which is like....so chill). I was too nervous to share anything super serious at first......so i wrote 2 crack fics and had an absolute blast. I thought, hey, if I know this is goofy and ridiculous, it doesn't matter if it sucks! Sometimes you gotta do that to get over your fear of not being good! And keep doing it!!!! I haven't stopped writing crack fic bc I have way too much fun with it, and I need a break from doing things that I care about and want to be good. Plus.... it's funny. Let yourself write shitposts. It heals the soul.

#asks #writing #writing advice #i don't always follow all of this myself either #it's my GOAL to do them but yk sometimes i'm lacking in skill to make it happen....but holy hannah i've improved so much #mess with things. do what you want. make your own style! #i'm seriously so honored that you asked me!!!!!

[icycream-catqueen]

Kindling (When You’re Burning Low)

Cinder would rather burn herself out than risk a low grade; fortunately, Neo knows how to make her relax.

Rating: T

Tone: Some angst, lots of supportiveness, and a fluffy ending

Word Count: ~5,000

Important Tags: College AU, Established Relationship

I was gonna post this before now but I had problems with writing it and I was nervous about participating in a ship week especially when I only have something written for one prompt, and also my cat was sleeping on me for five whole hours earlier tonight while I was trying to finish up and as everyone knows it is a crime to disturb a snoozing kitty cat. I hope it still counts. ^_^;

Considering it’s pretty long, I only have an excerpt (the first scene I wrote for this fic, actually) on this post; the whole thing is, of course, over on AO3!

On this fine Saturday afternoon, Cinder was taking advantage of the lounge in the dorm suite. The coffee table was half-claimed by various books and notes while Cinder herself was settled at the same end of the couch, her laptop perched on the arm of it and her right side pressed closely against the suede upholstery as she struggled with the perfect phrasing for her essay. Failure was never an option for her, and even the slightest error would lead to it when it came to this class. She was running on pure caffeine by now, from a supposedly unhealthy amount of coffee. This was her third or fourth solid day of being awake. After the first night, she’d moved her setup from her room to the lounge to help her stay more alert. Winter and Emerald had both tried to tell her what was best for her wellbeing, but she’d firmly shut down their arrogance; she knew her own limits, and she needed to get this stupid project done. Neo, thankfully, had been out of town from Thursday morning to last night, and when she’d come back to the suite, she’d trudged straight to her room and shut the door. Cinder had only seen a couple brief glimpses of her since. Just as well, considering Cinder couldn’t intimidate her into letting her be like she could to Emerald and Winter.

At the moment, Emerald and Winter were both out of the building. They’d each probably told her what they were doing, but she hadn’t bothered to remember it. Neo was apparently still asleep, which was a bit odd but not enough so to risk seeing the pitiful kicked-puppy expression that appeared when her sleep was disturbed. Still, if she wasn’t up and about in two hours, it would be worth it to check on her mental and physical health.

Speak of the devil, Cinder heard a door open behind her. She didn't bother to look, though, until she realized the shuffling footsteps were approaching the couch instead of the kitchen, bathroom, or shower. She took a brief glance, then did an immediate double take because Neo looked absolutely miserable. Her hair was unbrushed and her eyes were dull. The oversized black sweatshirt (which Cinder recognized by the fiery orange phoenix on the front as one of her own that had mysteriously vanished a few weeks ago) and the brown and pink plaid pajama pants were probably what she'd worn to bed the night before, and she hadn't even bothered to put on socks. It was worrying to see her in such a state.

"You certainly look worse for wear," Cinder commented. Neo pouted at her as she slowly made her way to the couch and sank to the cushions. Before Cinder could react, Neo flopped down, squirmed to lay her head in her lap, and rolled onto her back. "I'm busy," Cinder told her sternly.

Neo's response was a soft and pitiful keening sound. She fumbled to grab Cinder's left wrist, staring up at her with pleading doe eyes.

"Neo. I'm busy," Cinder repeated. Neo whined and tugged on her wrist, so Cinder rolled her eyes and stopped resisting, curious about what she wanted. She wasn't sure what she was expecting, but she was definitely taken by surprise when Neo gently guided her hand under the hem of her sweatshirt and pressed it against her lower stomach.

What is she trying to accomplish here? Cinder raised an eyebrow at the woman in her lap. Neo let go of her wrist to sign something at her. The odd angle made it hard to translate, so it took a few seconds for Cinder to understand what she was asking for and why.

"I suppose I can take a short break, if you're really in that much pain," she relented. "You're lucky you're cute," she added as she carefully activated her Semblance.

The reaction was instant. Neo sighed with relief at the warmth, eyes full of soft gratitude and affection. Cinder rubbed slow, small circles over her stomach, feeling the smaller woman go languid under her touch. After a few more seconds, Neo's eyes fluttered closed.

"Is this warm enough?" Cinder asked. Neo nodded, a content smile playing across her lips. "Just ten minutes."

Neo opened her eyes and pouted at her.

"There is a reason I've been awake for," Cinder checked the time on her laptop, "about eighty hours now." Neo looked positively outraged.

"You need to sleep," she signed—easily decipherable now that Cinder had gotten a little more time to adjust to her current perspective. Not that the message was very appreciated.

"No, what I need is to finish this ridiculous project so I can move on to my two remaining essays, do all the work for a 'group project' because the rest of my assigned group are immature and unmotivated idiots, and study for my three exams this week," Cinder retorted.

"When are your essays due?"

Cinder elected not to answer, since admitting the due dates were two and three weeks away respectively wouldn't help her against Neo's accusatory glare.

"Your group project?"

Okay, so maybe it hadn't technically been assigned yet and was scheduled to be due in a month and a half, but all the information was in the syllabus. Cinder's class was full of imbeciles, and somehow she always got stuck in a group with some idiot or another who didn't understand what a lesbian was, so she was getting it out of the way to avoid interacting with anyone.

"Are all three of your exams actually this week?"

Two of them, and one of those barely counted more towards the final grade in the class than a small quiz. Her continued silence was answer enough; Neo knew her too well.

"You're going to burn yourself out again." Neo's eyes were unbearably sad, so Cinder looked away.

"I'm fine," she dismissed the concern. A hand grabbed her chin and yanked her head down so her eyes met Neo's again.

"I watched you collapse in the middle of campus last year, and I almost got in trouble for pulling a knife on the paramedics to make them let me stay with you. I got a scared video call from Winter four months ago because you fainted in her fancy rich-person hot tub and nearly drowned," Neo reminded her. “Do I need to go on?”

"I can handle it this time," Cinder insisted, growing agitated. Neo took a calming breath before responding.

"No you can't. You always say it but you never can. You end up in an exhausted daze. You work yourself into a frenzy. You get into fits of rage...which honestly scare me."

"I would never lay a hand on—!" Cinder was cut off when Neo pressed a finger to her lips.

"Not for myself. I'm scared you'll lose control and take it out on yourself again," Neo corrected her. "You haven't in a while, but..." Neo trailed a hand down Cinder's left arm, tracing her scars.

"I just...I need to...I have to keep working. I can't let myself fall behind. I can't..." Cinder faltered. Neo sighed.

"I know," she acknowledged. She knew about the past, knew why Cinder relapsed into these desperate attempts to excel, to stay ahead. "But it's pointless if you destroy yourself trying."

"I've only ended up being sent to the hospital three times since I started college," Cinder argued. Neo was unimpressed.

"Congratulations! And you've managed to barely avoid hospitalization how many times now?"

"I—that isn't relevant!" Cinder hissed. Neo scowled.

"Really? It's not? How many times have you ended up so exhausted that you were bedridden for days? How many times have you gone into a mental decline because you were incapacitated? And how many more times are you going to make me watch you suffer like that?"

"If you want to leave me, just get it over with!" Cinder spat bitterly. Neo's eyes widened, hurt and shocked. Cinder flinched, realizing she'd crossed a very important line. "I didn't mean...I don't know why I said that."

"An abandonment complex, emotional instability, a mess of insecurities you mask with your ego, previous girlfriends who couldn't handle you or only wanted your body...and like I've been saying, you need sleep,” Neo replied, recovering. "Also, my cramps?"

"What?" Cinder realized she'd subconsciously deactivated her Semblance at some point and quickly remedied that. "Oh. Sorry."

"I'm going to make a deal with you," Neo informed her abruptly. Cinder raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"What kind of deal?"

"The 'ridiculous project' you're trying to finish. Tell me about it, and I'll explain," Neo replied. Cinder clenched her teeth at the mere mention of it.

"It's an assigned experiment, a five to ten-page report on it, and an oral presentation. And the professor hates me. He goes out of his way to make every class, every test, and every assignment hell for me. I have to work harder than anyone so he can't get away with failing me out of spite. If I make even one mistake..." she growled.

"When is it due?"

"The day after tomorrow. It was assigned two weeks ago, but three days ago he realized he 'accidentally' gave me the wrong experiment. In other words, he's making me do a two-week project within five days—after I'd already finished the one he previously assigned me."

"Watts," Neo guessed. Cinder had come back from his class angry enough times that it wasn't even a question.

"Yeah," she confirmed anyway. Neo wrinkled her nose.

"I already hated that guy, and I hated him more and more every time you came back from his class in a bad mood, but this shit he's pulling now is the final straw, so I'm going to get him fired," she declared. Cinder let out an amused huff.

"And how will you do that?" she asked. She didn’t expect an actual answer but Neo didn't even hesitate.

"It may include breaking and entering, small and well-placed incidents, a flat tire, some bottles of the expensive alcohol he isn't supposed to have on campus, a sedative, and if we're lucky, a little inadvertent assistance from gravity and Ironwood."

"Just how long have you been planning this?" Cinder was taken aback at the immediate response. Neo considered.

"The time you locked me out of your dorm after his class because you were so furious you wanted to hit something, and you were worried you'd see so much red you might accidentally hit me in blackout rage. You've never told me what happens in his class to make you so angry, or even if it's actually him or just another student—though I was pretty sure it was him—so I planned for both situations."

"I'm impressed," Cinder commented. Neo smirked. “Now what was that ‘deal’ you mentioned?”

"You finish the report for your project, then eat something more substantial than coffee and whatever quick snacks you've been living off of for the past few days. And then we go to my dorm and you get some damn sleep."

"How did you know I'm working on the report right now?" Cinder was taken aback. "And how do you know I haven't been eating?"

"Because I can see it on your computer. And once again, you've done this before, so I know you don't take the time for more than the minimum amount of food to keep hunger from 'distracting' you," Neo pointed out, almost accusingly.

"I haven't even started working on the oral presentation. I'll do all that after I'm completely finished."

"Nope. You can start that part when you're well-rested. If you make me physically drag you to bed while I'm on my period, I'll make damn sure you regret it," Neo threatened with a scowl.

“Fine,” Cinder gave in reluctantly. Neo smiled brightly, and dammit, it was nigh impossible for Cinder to stay bitter in the face of such genuine fondness, joy, and relief. She wondered when she’d gotten so soft—even if only a select few people got to see that soft part of her—and realized she didn’t even mind anymore.

#spicecreamweek2021 #spicecream #cinder x neo #fanfic #rwby #cinder fall #neopolitan #college au #oneshot #mentions of trauma #mentions of past self-harm #fluff #cuddles #established relationship #tl;dr cinder neglects self-care so neo makes her take a nap #i could have just done a link like normal people but i wanted an excuse to use the spicecream graphic i made

[1zashreena1]

I Am Having a Sad -9

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary: Princess has a bad and lonely self-esteem day. Diego goes too far too fast from 2500 miles away and she calls her safeword for the first time in her life. 

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

FEELS. the L word, SAFEWORD, depression/anxiety, self-esteem issues, sensory processing issues, sel-expression difficulties, plus size woman+fit man, soft!Diego,  overwhelmed Princess, is a relationship happening?? apparently. Leftover high school Spanish.

A/N:  Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic​​​​ @symbiont13​​​​ @nicke0115​​​​ @bunnykjm​​​​ @rosee-sensuelle​​​​ @girlpornparadise​​​​ @mandoplease​​​​ @heresathreebee​​​​ @xxsteph-enrixx​​​​ @jetiikad​​​​ @joalsglasses​​​​ @mutantcookiesecrets​​​​ @demoncatstone​​​​ @squidlywiddly87​​​​ @lockedoutofmyotherblog​​​ @poeedamerons​​

I am having a sad. This is normal and okay. I just have to wait it out. I do not need to text him. This pep talk would be more effective if you would stop staring longingly at the last selfie he sent you.

It isn't working. All you want right now is to be smothered in Diego but he is in a different time zone. And you don't want to be clingy. And demanding. And needy.

Surely making yesterday's selfie your new lock screen will help, right? 

With a big sigh you flop backwards into your bed. You eye your phone like it's a live grenade. It hasn't even been eight hours since the last text and. And you have this… pain? In your chest? What if I'm annoying him?

He has to be super busy, I should just wait. What time even is it in LA right now?

You snatch up the phone and check. 7:46 pm PDT. You wonder what he ate today. Did he have dinner yet? What shirt is he wearing? Does he have a headache? He always says he has a headache when he gets back to New York. And then you rub his head, stroke through his soft hair, stretch out his solid neck, break up all the adhesions in those broad shoulders.

Bitch, this is not helping. What do you hate about him?

Oh yeah, that list is blank.

You open up the text conversation and stare at the blinking cursor. Just one text can't hurt, right?

You look at the selfie again. He's in bed, deep plum sheet tucked up under his chin, all sleepy chocolate eyes and a soft little smile. His face is relaxed, leaning against his left hand. His beard is ruffled on one side, flattened on the other from where he must have slept on it. You can feel tears welling up again. 

How the fuck is he so gorgeous? Why is someone who looks like that sending me selfies? I have no right to this. I don't deserve this. 

You reach out and trace one finger down his cheek. His right dimple is visible under the stubble. Minimizing the picture, you go back to the cursor. The screen is blurry until you blink and one tear slips out. 

You type out one hasty 'hey' and hit send before you can quadruple guess yourself. This is stupid. He's too busy for your little drama queen hissy fit meltdown.

Sorry, should've asked if you're busy first 

Send.

Enough time passes that you flip the phone screen-down and plop it on your heaving chest. You bring both hands to your face and press into your closed eyelids. Just as you reach back down with a huge sigh the phone vibrates.

Princessssss. You know I'm never busy to you

You choke out a sob-laugh and try to breathe normally. Okay, now a decision. Idle chatter or metric fuckton of feels? While you waffle about it, Diego initiates a videocall. Oh, hell no. You jab 'Decline' so hard it bends your nail back.

What is wrong? Why can't I see you?

I just look like shit rn. Please don't 

That has never been true. Mi princesa bonita

Always quick with the compliments. You sniffle.

I just. I guess I just miss you. Tonight

Perfect, you hit send before could have deleted it. Great job. Wonderful. Brilliant. 

Is everything ok? This does not sound like sexytimes

Oh, Diego. 

Yeah, I'm fine. Mostly. I mean nothing is wrong, its just me

Just me having feels

… should you have sent that? Probably not. Do you regret it? Yes, instantly. In fact, if preemptive regret were possible you would already have drowned in it.

The phone is quiet for a minute. Good job dumbass, now he IS annoyed.

What kind? Sad feels? Headache feels? Work is stupid and frustrating feels? Huffy feels that require cheese? You have many feels. At all times. It sounds exhausting 

Yep. I'm annoying and clingy. You chastise yourself rather effectively.

You're right. Sorry. I got this

Does that sound bitchy? Is it bitchy? Oh my god, I need an off button.

Nonono. I asked. You have to answer. Its a rule

Your laugh is sharp. 

Since when do you care about rules lol

When they're your rules. We agreed to answer direct questions honestly, yes?

Well fuck. He got you there. You had agreed to that. When you two sat down in your living room after the Emotional Spanking*™ and had a 'groundframe setup' discussion. Sometimes you were fairly certain he mangled phrases just to watch your eye twitch violently. Little shit. 

OK fine. I'm feeling shitty about myself.  Happy??

Now that is bitchy. 

FORBIDDEN

And no, that does not please Diego

And is that why I exist? To please you??? 

Before you can stop it, your temper flares.

No Princess. The other way. Let me please you

Oh no. Oh shit. What. Is. Happening?? You are royally fucked now. This entire conversation has gone so completely off the rails that you can't even define a 'train'. Those little bouncing dots have not stopped yet.

Should I tell you how I miss you? How these stupid meetings and these stupid people and my stupid sister bore me when I would rather be listening to you read a dictionary? Or sing every word to every song ever played on the radio? Or explain the differences between cat breeds?

Or maybe I could say how ridiculously empty this bed is with only me in it. How there are no tiny socks hidden under the comforter. Not a single lip balm in sight.

Perhaps you need a list of everything I would touch. The soft lips. A little bitty hand. That tiny ribcage. Those thick thighs. With my beard, ofc. Your forehead with mine?

Oh. Ohh. Oh no. This is not fair. This is an attack. How did he just break me like this? Your face is flushed and you are crying outright now. You have to stop this right now.

Stop.stop please. Diego no

Diego yessss 

You can't take anymore. This isn't funny. You can't even form words. When autocorrect suggests the picture of a pineapple you stab it and then hit send in rapid succession.

Pinnaea🍍🍍

………………………...

Your phone emits one aborted ring then it cuts off.

Can I call? Please

You're trying to figure out a way to calm yourself, to stifle the heaving gasps and whiny sobs. You're nodding. Not useful, idiot, you scold yourself.

No video. Just talk. Please Princess

You can't say no to that when he is trying so hard. 

Ok yeah 

You barely see the message load on the screen when the ringing starts up again. Smacking the green button entirely too hard, you hold your breath to stop the pitiful sounds.

"Princess?" His voice is cautious, tone soft.

"I'm h-here." Is all you can manage. Any more and you'll burst into sobs again.

"Are you in bed?" Keeping it short and precise. Yes or no answers. Nothing too demanding. 

"Yeah. S-s-sitting." He is being so sweet. How is someone like Diego so sweet to you. Something rustles in the background. 

"What was it? A specific word? Or just too much?" His voice is hushed, like he might be in a small room…

"Are… are you in a c-c-closet?" Is he really…? You hold your breath.

"Si. Your closet is too small. I was going to send you a picture." He answers.

You absolutely cannot deal with this man. 

"Baby, I--" Your stupid soprano voice gives away how emotional you really are. He was going to send you a picture of a closet big enough for you to hide. Probably a panoramic shot so you could fully visualize it. Your chest compresses and you gasp.

"Princess? Talk. Make a noise. Something!" He sounds panicked. You suddenly remember he can't read your face this way. He can't see your pleased smile.

"That's. That's just. Diego, I love you so much." Its out before you can stop it. Even though you know he can't see it, you still hide your face.

"Love." He breathes softly into the phone. "Tell Diego what you need, my good little girl." His voice is quiet, controlled. He is letting you lead him where you want him. Everywhere. Forever.

You feel safe enough to actually confess, "I just have a, a really hard time believing… all of. That." You wave your hand in the air vaguely. "Not that you're lying!" You rush to clarify. "Just that anyone could actually like, well seems to, at least, everything…?"

"Did that make any sense?" You chew your lip anxiously.

His soft chuckle makes your stomach flip. "Well, it was technically English." Your snort sends him into quiet giggles.

"I like hearing you laugh." You whisper. He goes silent. You tense up.

"Perfect little princess. No one has ever told me that before. Most people are frightened of my laugh." He seems a little bewildered by his own words. Like he didn't mean for that to come out but now he definitely wants to hear the reaction.

You cover your smile, then pick up the phone so you can lie down. "Apparently I'm not most people." You feel around blindly until you locate TMP (Tiny Murder Panther) and tuck the stuffed animal under your chin for cuddles. "I like your voice, too. Like when you talk to me. Sometimes its just the words. Or rather my ingesting of them of that trips me up." Your quiet sniffle is hidden in silky black fur.

"The words are the problem? Do I need a, a…. The book with words that all mean the same thing." He bites out.

Sometimes you forget that English is his second language. Then things like this happen. And its fucking adorable.

"Thesaurus. Synonyms, baby." Your smile is audible.

"I know!" He huffs in mock indignation.

"I know you know. That's cute, though."

"So are your little 'aqui's and 'si's and 'ahora's."

"Fine! Gawd!" 

You both dissolve into laughter. It fades into easy silence while you rub your cheek over faux fur. 

He sighs gently into the phone. "Was it the forehead touching?" His voice trembles a bit, like he is unsure that he should have asked. As though afraid. A little overwhelmed, just like you.

"Um. Yes. Actually. That was. Yeah, that did it." You blink back tears. "We have a thing. We're a 'we'."

"That is what you want, yes?" Diego sounds cautious. As if he might accidentally utter an irreversible spell or something. Then, a quiet whisper, "It's what I want."

You suck in a deep breath and decide to just force it out. Just take what you desire. Jump already.

"I want you. I don't think a typical, um, relationship would work. But, people can define themselves. Relationships should operate the same way."

That… that actually sounded decisive and authoritative. Wow. You're really that bitch tonight, huh? You are very pleased with yourself. You can hear something sliding against the phone but can't identify the sound.

"There she is." The wide smile in his voice stabs directly into your heart. It was his beard rubbing the phone when he smiled. You laugh with his approval, pleasure burning through your veins.

"Maybe I can write some stuff down. For discussion purposes. Maybe you can write some stuff down for me. Reading it makes it seem more real to me."

"If that is your royal decree, Princess." He shuffles around, you can hear clothing rustling.

"Do you really like finding my orphan socks?" Your voice is sly, like a kid springing a trap question. He likes that smirky tone and you know it.

"They are cute. Just like the tiny feet. You are so very little, Princess." Oh, but he knows exactly how to flip the trap back onto you. The sound of muffled tapping comes through the line. "Tiny feet. Added to the list." His voice echoes the smallest bit, he must have you on speaker so he can access the note app. "Next item: fat ass."

You explode into guffaws. "Damnit Diego!" Your wheezing almost drowns out his husky laughter. 

"Wait! I almost forgot! Fan-tasss-tic. Rrrrack." He sounds out the words as he types them. You lose vocal control again, giggling like a child. Logically you know these juvenile jokes shouldn't be this amusing, but clearly you both have the same maturity level.

"Baby, you are my favorite pervert." Your declaration is met with haughtiness. 

"I had better be your only pervert, Princess." The possessive tone straightens your spine with shock. "You are mine!" He growls fiercely. 

Everything is quiet for a very long minute. You seem to have consumed every butterfly, hot sauce, and poprocks-and-cola mixture on the planet when you weren't paying attention. 

You think about all the gifts. Designer purses, specially tailored clothing, the six pairs of redbottoms you now own, how the last ring he gave you still twinkles up at you from your right hand (he took great pleasure in ensuring it fit your middle finger so you can still be pretty while you flip him off).

You remember all the places he has taken you. The Michelin starred restaurants, that hole-in-the-wall Mexican place where they know him by first name is your favorite, the stupid stores he wanders through with you, the cheesy tourist traps where he always gets you a hideously clichéd souvenir. 

Your memory flashes through a slide show of his laughter. Gleeful giggles at your horrified reaction to the neon orange lipstick he presented in Sephora. His wheezing delight when you gagged on the seaweed appetizer he shoveled into your mouth before you could object. The gentle, knowing chuckle when you pulled TMP out of your bag to take a nap two weekends ago.

You realize he is entirely correct.

"Yes I am, Diego." Is your quiet confirmation. 

"Bicki. I." He seems startled. You stay silent and let him gather his thoughts. The swallow is audible before he continues hesitantly, "I will see you this weekend, mi amor?"

All the ways this man says 'I love you' are so many more than just the actual words. Your pleased smile stretches your cheeks so far it hurts.

"Yes please!" Your shameless request ends in a yawn. "Sorry." 

"You need to sleep for work, Princess. I have one last meeting here then I will be there tomorrow." 

You wish he was here now but keep that to yourself. 

"OK, let me know when you're here." 

I am so not wearing panties under that new maxidress for the flight up and demanding that he pick me up personally. Yes. A perfect plan. You amuse even yourself with your scheming.

"Be careful tonight, Diego. I want you to come home to me." The thought of anything happening to him crushes your throat.

"I, I want that, too. Love you." All comes tumbling out of him in a rushed confession of quiet hopefulness. It makes you so happy that tears well up again. Fucking stop this, woman.

"Love you. Bye, baby." You whisper warmly, hoping he can feel even an ounce of how deliriously happy he makes you.

"Goodnight, Princess." The reply is sighed, full of self-conscious relief and pleasure. His rough voice is so calm and soothing that you nod off before the line disconnects, face tucked into his miniature proxy.

…………………………...

Incoming text

Friday 12:09am

From: Murder Panther

🥰💋💟💯🔜

#damnit diego #murder panther #24 fucking 7 hours in this house #the feeeeeels #zash writes #i hurt myself with this one guys #safewords aren't just for physical stuff

[mypoisonedvine]

Helping Hand - Chapter 1

Jaskier x (female)Reader

Rating: E 

Warnings: None, just a lot of smut and hopefully some fluff and angst to come

Word Count: a bit over 3k

Prompt: “Hey hey! I basically just read every piece of Jaskier stuff on your page and I'm in looooove. Could you write one where the reader (female) has been cursed with a love spell? Kinda? Like every touch is ultry heightened but she cant "take care of business" unless it's from the person she loves? So she has to embarrassingly ask/confess to Jaskier (and maybe Geralt if you want) for a helping hand?” (thanks for not only the prompt but the title idea lol)

Taglist: @100percentamess @mytinybaguette 

Of course, you assumed the old hag was just senile, at first.  When someone pisses someone else off, it’s somewhat normal to curse them, it’s just that it’s not really literal.  So why would you take it seriously when some woman claiming to be a bog witch says that she’ll put a curse on you for trespassing on her swamp?  

You didn’t even really pay attention to what she’d said- something about your true affections coming to light?  And she had rhymed light with plight?  But you forgot what the plight even was, because it didn’t matter.  

Your first sign that something was wrong was when you rejoined Geralt and Jaskier at the edge of the bog.  They’d asked how your search went, all was normal, but then Jaskier touched you.  It was casual, something you never would’ve even thought about previously, but this time it felt oddly strong.  Like he was gripping you with so much force, like he had punched you in the shoulder.  Except it wasn’t painful?  Just powerful.  You still yelped in surprise.

“Damn, it was just a bug on your shoulder, no need to have a fit,” Jaskier mumbled.

“Why did you touch me so… hard?”

“I barely touched you…?  Are you injured?” he asked.  He started to reach out to examine you but you ducked away.

"I'm fine," you grumbled.

You weren't fine, and it became clear to you very quickly.  As soon as you'd all begun to travel back into town, the heat started.  It was cold out, and yet you felt like you were burning up.  You didn't say anything because you didn't want to cause alarm over hot flashes.  But then you felt that undeniable need, usually not the sort of thing to strike you in the afternoon as you walked alongside Roach, burning through you.  You looked over to Jaskier and though he looked the same as always, you felt like you were seeing him with new eyes.  As you gaze scanned each part of him, an urge to reach out and touch whatever you could reach began to knock against your brain.  It’s not like you’d never noticed he was attractive before, but now it was like you couldn’t see anything else; you forced yourself to look away before you couldn’t stop yourself from pouncing on him.  

The second you were back in town, you were in the pub and drinking like it was the end of the world.  This was the sort of strange feeling that you felt like only alcohol could wash down.  Of course, it turns out you were entirely wrong- being drunk just made it impossible to resist the ridiculous whims running through your mind.

“Say, would you pass me that-” Jaskier began.  He hadn’t even finished when you jumped up and reached for the nearby mug of ale, handing it to him eagerly.  “Erm, thanks,” he nodded.  Even as you felt embarrassed upon realizing that your reaction was rather strange, you felt relief wash over you for some reason.  To know that you had done what he wanted, perhaps to have even made him happy in some small way, was deeply satisfying.  

“Are you feeling alright?” Geralt asked with a mildly concerned expression.  Knowing that this was only going to get worse, you decided to take the opportunity to leave while you still could.

“This ale hits harder than I’d anticipated.  I’ll turn in early, I think,” you decided as you stood up, giving a quick bow before you dashed upstairs to your room.

You fell onto your bed, and though your mind was requesting for some time to think about whatever the hell was going on, your body was alight with a very clear and unified need.  You were barely laying down before you were shimmying your trousers down and touching yourself.  It was good, but instantly you were longing for something more, and though you didn’t mean to think of him, Jaskier (of course) popped into your mind.  Thinking of Jaskier brought you so much closer but never close enough.  You were desperate enough to rub yourself raw seeking release, but you knew that it would never work.  You certainly tried several times anyways, but soon you were looking to the door, then you looked away, then you looked back to the door, and repeated this until your desperation overcame your guilt and you found yourself stumbling down the hall to Jaskier’s room.

"Jask…?" you prompted as you pushed open the door.  You found him laying back on his bed, setting a book aside to greet you.

"What is it?" he asked cheerily.  You closed the door behind you.

"Do you remember a few months ago… we were at that pub in Cintra-" you began.

"I remember," he interrupted, almost sounding stern about it.

Talking about it made your stomach feel all floaty and twisty.  You'd agreed it was a mistake, fueled by drunkenness and loneliness- him just having been dumped by the Countess again and you having developed affections for a man you'd encountered on the journey only to discover he had failed to mention he was married.  (For you, marriage was actually a deal-breaker, much to Jaskier's surprise.)  We both really wanted someone else, you'd told him, and settled on each other.  He'd thought that was a good summary, you shook hands on it and thankfully were able to move on as friends.  And that's what you'd wanted, wasn't it?

"I'm sorry to bring it up," you nervously apologized.

"It's not like I'd forgotten about it," he chuckled.

"I'm sort of- I have a… situation," you began.

"The same sort of situation that had you falling into my bed?" he presumed.  You felt your face get hot from hearing that.  He seemed a little agitated, which made you very concerned that this was going to backfire on you.  But, you were in too deep to stop now.

"I suppose," you answered.

"There's plenty of fish in the sea," he shrugged.

"I want you, specifically," you clarified.  "I need you.  It has to be you."

“So, I’ve ruined you for all other men?” he smirked.

“I can’t… by myself,” you gestured, hoping he would get what you meant.

"I’ve ruined you even for yourself?”

"I think I was cursed!" you finally blurted out.

"Falling in love with me can feel like a curse, I know, but don't blame yourself," he soothed sarcastically, resting his hands behind his head.

"That day I went into the bog, you touched me- and ever since, everything's been wrong, and you're the only person who can… I can't even think about anyone else," you continued.  He seemed to actually start paying attention.  "I have this strange urge to do what you tell me to, it feels so, erm, good.  It feels good to do what you ask of me."

He straightened up a bit, his smile dropping.  "Okay, that doesn't sound anything like you.  You've definitely been cursed."

"And I have this… desire.  It's overwhelming.  I can't even think straight."

“You- you should have Geralt take care of you.  He’s got a lot of stamina, and no pesky feelings to get in the way,” he dismissed, looking away from you as he got up off the bed. 

If you weren’t so high on desperation, you would’ve noticed the implications of his phrasing, but of course you were, so you didn’t.

“I want you,” you begged, “please.”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you weren’t cursed,” he scoffed.  You stepped closer and in such a small room he was already so close and your body felt like a tuning fork, vibrating and humming for him.

“Of course not.  But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true,” you countered, your breathing suddenly heavy.

He looked at you and he almost looked pained… sad, guilty maybe.  Since when did a woman begging for him inspire anything but unadulterated joy in any man, let alone a man like Jaskier?

“Please,” you whimpered one more time.  He stepped forward and reached out, tentatively at first, and brushed his fingers against your chest.  You had to bite your lip to suppress a moan.

“Wow, you’re really worked up, huh?” he asked, somewhere between genuine concern and teasing.  You nodded feverishly.

“How can I help you?” he asked softly.

“Make love to me,” you pleaded.

He made a peculiar noise when you said that, like a gasp and a sigh at once, even though they’re technically opposites.

He leaned in and you nearly sobbed at just the idea of him kissing you.  Instead he pressed his lips against your neck, even the slightest touch causing your hips to buck towards him.  He reached around and started to undo the lacing on the back of your bodice- even through the layers of your blouse you felt the warmth of his fingertips, and the delicate movements of his hands sent shivering tingles up and down your back.  He’d only been touching you for maybe twenty seconds and you felt like you were two-thirds to orgasm- everything was more sensitive, more powerful.  You weren’t sure how you would keep your composure.

“This ale hit you really hard, hm?”

“It’s not the ale,” you panted.

“That’s not what you’ll say tomorrow morning,” he theorized.

“What will I say- ah- tomorrow morning?” you asked, trying to stop every moan and whimper from arising.  He’d gotten your top off just enough to expose your shoulders and was kissing along the left one like it was actually worth kissing even though it was just a damn shoulder.  An hour ago you’d have killed for him to kiss you like this anywhere, but now that you were here, suddenly you had much more specific ideas.

“I won’t be able to tell what you’re saying because you’ll be smashing my lute over my head,” he chuckled.

You’d sort of forgotten what question you were asking.

“You really think I dislike you that much?” you asked quietly.  He didn’t answer, pulling your blouse up over your head and letting it fall to the floor.  You expected it to be cold but you suddenly felt warmer than ever, like you were wrapped in warm blankets.  Even better than warm blankets, though, you were wrapped in Jaskier’s arms, which felt so much stronger than you remembered as he pulled you close and guided you to his bed.  

You expected him to lay with you but instead he laid you down and stepped back.  You felt very aware of your toplessness, and that he was fully dressed and staring at you.

“Aren’t you going to undress?” you asked nervously.  

“Or I could just stare at you all night,” he offered, crossing his arms.

“No, please, touch me,” you whined, your back arching.

“I was just kidding, don’t stress yourself out,” he laughed, slipping off his doublet and chemise and climbing on top of you.  His body pressed against yours was everything you’d dreamed, everything you’d wanted, and finally he kissed you.  You recognized it a bit from the back of the pub rendezvous but this one was different, a little slower, a little deeper.  You decided that you needed to kiss him again when you were sober because this kiss was too good to be wasted on a version of yourself that couldn’t remember it perfectly, which sadly applied to both instances so far.  Suddenly he rolled his hips, ever so slightly, and you felt that he was hard and it rubbed against you in just the right place and instantly you came, even with your trousers still on.  You did your best to hide it, your moans lost in his lips, and either he didn’t notice or didn’t mind because all he did was pull you closer.  Your face felt hot, in fact all of you felt hot, and even as relief had just washed over you, you were not spared from your desire.  If anything, the edge had been taken off, and yet you felt like you needed him more than ever.  

“Please, inside me, please,” you managed to mumble between kisses.  He didn’t respond, but he did reach down to start pulling your trousers lower.  You lifted your hips so he could do it more easily and you sort of hoped he would just get them down to your knees and get on with it, but instead he took the time to take them all the way off, sitting back on his legs to peel each leg off your feet.  You sat up with him, starting to work on his trousers and having to fight yourself to do it slowly rather than ripping them off.  Once you could pull them down enough to get his cock out, though, you were nixing the entire trousers concept and wrapping your hand around it.  You sighed with relief, just to feel it so warm and heavy in your grip.  Compelled for more, you found yourself leaning forward and taking it into your mouth.  You heard him gasp and it was the most wonderful noise, the sound of it giving you that wonderful feeling like you’d done something good, something so right.  You bobbed up and down and it seemed to come naturally to you, his gasps getting faster and turning to moans.

“I thought I was supposed to be taking care of you,” he panted.  You just moaned around him, doing your best to take him as deep as you could.  His fingers wove into your hair, and just the way they grazed your scalp made your skin tingle and shiver all over.  He didn’t let you go on much longer until he grabbed your shoulders and (lightly) pushed you back onto the bed, balancing on his forearms to hover above you.  You thought he might say something, and he was looking at you like he wanted to say something, but he just kissed you again.  How could just a kiss have so much of an effect on you?

But then he was running his hands along your legs, and gently spreading them open, and that had even more of an effect on you.  In fact, you had to put in so much effort just to suppress your reaction, and yet your head still fell back against the pillow and your lips still leaked out a little moan.

“Is this the curse?  Or the ale?” he asked quietly, his lips brushing against your jaw.

“It’s just you,” you mumbled.

“Bull.  It’s the curse,” he smiled, “but I’ll pretend it’s me anyways.”

“Please, don’t tease me any longer,” you pleaded quietly, your back arching off the bed.

“This isn’t teasing, it’s seducing,” he frowned.

“I don’t care for it.” 

“You seem to be having a good time,” he smirked, kisses running down to your collarbones, chest, and finally delicately wrapping around a hardened nipple.  You whined, suddenly unable to form any words with which to respond.  His right hand trailed around your thigh, reaching closer to where you needed him most until he ever-so-casually plunged two fingers into you.  You had to dig your nails into his shoulder to resist crying out, afraid that if you were as loud as you wanted to be, you’d get a noise complaint from the neighboring rooms.  He barely even had to move them to hit spots inside you that you hadn’t realized you had, making your hips buck and your legs shake.

“Please,” you stuttered, “I need you.”

“You have me,” he said as if it were some simple, obvious thing to say and not the sort of thing that would make you want for him so desperately that you feared fainting.  

And all at once he removed his fingers, reaching to wrap his hands around your waist and since when were his hands so big?

And all at once he was pushing his hips closer to yours and your gaze met his and since when were his eyes so blue?

And all at once he was inside you and you didn’t really care about noise complaints anymore.

~

“Jaskier?  Are you awake?” you whispered.

“I am now,” he responded quietly, turning to face you in the bed.  There was only moonlight streaming in through the window but it cast the most beautiful shadows and you found yourself running your fingers along his muscled chest.  

"I long for you," you admitted, "I need you."

"Again?"

Gods, did he have to make it seem like such a chore?

“Don’t you understand?  I have no other way to get off!”

“Well, how often were you getting off before?”

“I don’t know, maybe… once, twice a night?”

His eyes went wider than you’d maybe ever seen them.  “Holy- you can’t be serious.”

“What?” you shrugged.

“You’re insatiable!  I mean, with a libido like that, how and why are you the most chaste of the three of us?”

“Because I’m getting off on my own three times a night.”

“You said once or twice,” he frowned.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t sure how you’d react if I told you I go four times in a row,” you smirked.

“I’m afraid to keep talking to you in case the number just keeps going up,” he sighed, his head falling into his hands. “I can’t keep up with that!”

“You can!” you encouraged. “You have,” you mumbled.

“I have?” he repeated, perking up all of a sudden.

“Yeah, well, before…” you trailed off.  “You’re just trying to flatter me until I agree to make love to you four times a day,” he dismissed.

“No, that’s what I’m saying.  You don’t need to, er, do that four times to get four… just once is apparently enough.”  How was it so hard to say the words when you’d already done the deeds? “Apparently?  I think we need to test that theory,” he smiled, and though it was dark and you could barely see anything, you still saw a little glimmer shining in his eye.

~

“Jaskier, we need to get up,” you reminded as you shook him awake.

“Are we leaving town, or do you just want me to make love to you again?” “You weren’t complaining when I woke you up the last two times,” you remembered with a quirked eyebrow.

“Well, I wasn’t as underslept then.  Gods, I feel like I could sleep for a week.”  He turned to you, and moved a lock of hair behind your ear.  “Aren’t you exhausted?”  

But he was giving you this... look, and you weren’t sure if it was the look, but apparently it was enough to get you inspired.  You pulled him into a kiss, climbing on top of him and straddling his legs with yours.  

“Suddenly I’m feeling very energized, actually,” you smiled.

(next chapter)

#jaskier x reader #my writing #jaskier x oc #jaskier smut

[notbecauseofvictories]

Theoretically, this should be a very long, involved meta and the title would be “Kentucky Route Zero and the End of the Road” or something equally ridiculous. I imagine I’d quote Wendell Berry liberally. However, I am not particularly good at meta, and definitely not about video games---so instead you get this, an elegy for the one and only video game I love and how I am somehow both furious with it and think it did a good thing.

As a bit of background: I don’t like....games. I’m just not a fan of cards, dice, boards, joysticks, or any and all permutations of sportsball, war, and antitrust violations. However, there are two games that serve as the exception to the rule: my annual scrabble match with my grandmother and Kentucky Route Zero, a point-and-click from Cardboard Company. 

It counts as a video game only in the technical sense that it uses “video” and is sort of a “game.” Otherwise, it is mostly poetry and ruminations about rural American life, journeys, transience, and debt. 

I love it an unreasonable amount.

[ spoilers for Act V ahead ]

Going into Act V, I admit there were things I wanted. I wanted Conway back. I wanted Johnny and Junebug to de facto adopt one (1) human child and one (1) giant eagle who is inexplicably the human child’s brother. I wanted Shannon to have closure with Weaver. If Consolidated Power Co. was somehow razed to the ground and everyone’s debts erased and liminal, magical realist Kentucky freed from the looming specter of corporate interest, you wouldn’t hear me complaining. I wanted, to be blunt about it, resolution.

Act V gave me exactly none of the above. 

And so, my first reaction was a kind of aggrieved fury. How dare Cardboard Company not give me (and these characters, who they made me love and want nice things for) a proper ending? Am I just supposed to let Conway drift away into debt and servitude? Am I supposed to forget that Junebug and Johnny are a bit ambivalent about bringing someone new into their dynamic? Shannon is just supposed to---supposed to what, go on? Not knowing what happened to Weaver? Not seeing justice done for her parents, or anything more than a memorial floating in Echo River?

Even worse, playing the game with all the spliced-in extras makes me care about Emily, Ben, and Bob, Ron and Rita, and all the residents of that place where the roads don’t go and the ghost of a girl haunts the public access studio. All those people whose entire lives are washed away in the course of a night, forced to decide whether to stay and rebuild what can’t be entirely reconstructed or leave for some other, equally strange place.

None of it is goddamn fair, and when “THE END” showed in that white serif font I was so unutterably angry that I had to stand up and pace around my apartment until the emotion wore away.

But beyond that first shock, I’m not sure where Kentucky Route Zero ended up is...actually bad. When I first played through Acts I-III, I described it as a game “about things that are Gone, and things that are Gone-but-still-with-us, like families and history and debt.” I don’t think that’s incorrect---if anything, Act V reaffirmed this as a central theme. Act V said, very clearly, that things change, people leave, debt is sold, towns give up the ghost (or are already occupied by them) and survival is definitely more fraught and complicated than you might imagine. However...things very rarely go. Even the Neighbors don’t leave, when they are memorialized and the inhabitants of a nameless town (living and dead) come together to mourn their passing. 

It’s not death but it is also, still, death, because change (things going away, other things coming into being in their place) is always a sort of death.

Which unfortunately means I was right. At the heart of Kentucky Route Zero is transience and memory. refracted through a hundred different lenses---some good, some bad. You have the Museum of Dwellings taking people’s homes out of context and “remembering” them, the Bureau of Reclaimed Spaces kicking out the congregation to turn a cathedral into office space, and neatly removing the center of gravity from their world. (Doolittle laughs about how Consolidated Power cheated Earl out of his beehives.) On the other hand: Will is the living embodiment of the Echo’s history, recipient of unknown persons’ first memories. Every time she encounters someone who also remembers Weaver, Shannon melts. Conway remembers Ira and Charlie and the truck, the furniture shed, even if Lysette doesn’t. Memorials---everything from official monuments to discarded trash and gravestones, signs, and broadcasts---play a significant role in the unfolding arc of the story. 

Things that are gone, but not gone.

Which means that while I might feel deprived of a happy ending, an easy ending, the ending I was given was...right. Watching June and Johnny go back and forth about Ezra, as Shannon and Emily waver about whether to stay or go was real, and honest. Knowing that nothing could be done, really, to save Conway from the debt he incurred and the job he consented to, other than finish his delivery was right. There is nothing to be done for the Pueblo de Nada, for the Neighbors or the dead or the Gone, other than to recognize that they were there first. Other than to remember them, in their fullness.

(I kept thinking about the folktale, about how Solomon in his wisdom was asked for those words that would make a grieving man happy, and a joyous man sad. According to legend, he sent the ring engraved with the phrase: "And this, too, shall pass away.")

At the end of Act V, our heroes gather in a house that is not a house, which looks both forwards and backwards, and is full of music, or maybe a workshop, and they watch the sun set. And it wasn’t the ending that I wanted, but maybe it was the one deserved.

We are not saints, but we have kept our appointment. How many people can boast as much?

#this is....kind of my feelings? trying to figure out how I could be so incredibly moved by something that also made me angry #but I've read too many articles about dying midwestern towns not to recognize what was happening there #not to hope (as johnny and june hope as shannon hopes as those who choose to stay hope) that memory and renewal is enough #kentucky route zero #spoilers herein

[ofieugogyshz]

otoya + idol sister hcs

featuring all my idol daughters!!! which is like, 4 main ones currently but five or six if i include nozomi who i’ve lost interest in and yoshiko, who i’ve gained interest in.

this wound up SO LONG and if you read all of it then you get a shiny gold star!!! featured idols are Rin, Mari, Hanamaru, and Ai Miyashita!

Otoya + All the girls

he loves having so many vibrant and awesome little sisters!!! they love to hang out together and play

Otoya, Rin, and Ai are usually the ones down to play sports together!! 

Mari and Hanamaru are the ones he has a little difficulty connecting interests with, but they all still manage to get along and have fun together!

he’s also a little scared of them 

because they work so hard to achieve their goals

and because they’re only school idols and have to do a lot of work more work themselves rather than thru an agency like he does

he is often in awe of them and he supports them and loves every single one of his sisters!!!

they all like to help out at the orphanage from time to time!!!

him and ai are the best at handling the little kids! ai is like a big sister and the most down to earth one of the genki girls trio

mari is a little too..... encouraging of the kids’ outlandish ideas and also sometimes likes to scare them with silly-weird stories! to which all the kids go running crying to their oniichan and otoya has to tell her to not scare them! they’re just little kids!

rin would color/craft with the kids and while she can be mature for the little kids she would also often get caught up in their excitement/energy and basically be the one who would be yelling mcdonalds! mcdonalds! with the kids 

hanamaru would be the quietest one there, helping the kids read from time to time or quietly cutting crafting paper and talking to all the little shy ones who she happens to notice staring at her. 

when they quietly ask her if they could become an idol like her and their oniichan, she tells them, “I used to believe that I couldn’t become an idol, too. But then I met great friends, and they believed in me, and pushed me. If you work hard, and find yourself surrounded by people who believe in you, then you can become an idol too!”

(I’mma just shove that gif in there bc that’s it that’s the scene)

sometimes they like to practice their routines together, so they can all get feedback from people with very different points of view, since they’re all from different groups and backgrounds. 

otoya tries to give them a few pointers from what the academy taught him, but he’s mostly just like “wow!! you are so amazing!!” or something. Most Supportive Big Brother award when?????

he does provide constructive feedback though! it’s usually just after his usual surprise at how awesome his little sisters are already!

he’s best at providing feedback for dance movement since he loves to move around. 

if a fight starts to break out among the girls somehow, he tries to step in and ask everyone to take a deep breath

the girls enjoy listening to otoya’s music! They find it very refreshing and it’s nice getting to listen to him sing and play on his guitar!

Otoya + Rin

omg sports siblings

basically anything he does with syo would also include rin

they love to play any sport together obviously but soccer is their fave!

he’s really sad to hear that she thinks she can’t wear any cute, girly clothes 

[and is also understandably confused when he points out that she has no problems wearing the cute idol clothes her and her friends make?]

but he does his best to cheer her up and make her believe that she can!! He just... tells her that she’s the cutest little sister he could ever ask for and for her to please believe in herself!!! because he doesn’t know what else to say or do to show his support

of course rin is just flustered and storms off upset because she feels like no one is understanding the problem she’s having! and basically everything else follows like it does in s2e5 of love live

they love to go for runs! especially at parks!

if they pass by pet shops they will both wanna go in but they can’t stay long because rin is allergic to cats, nya :(

rin makes them cat earbands and he happily wears them with her because if that’s what will make her happy, then so be it!

orange + red hair siblings = best siblings

Otoya + Mari

oh my god. the chaotic energy. 

mari is probably the one he feels most awkward with

i mean, for starters, she’s hella rich and has some detachment from reality that the rich boys in starish don’t seem to experience

she probably also has a lot of fun teasing him

especially about his s/o

oh my god don’t let her know about his s/o

you know the >;3 face? she makes that face. all the time. any and every time s/o’s name comes up

she also probably ‘helps’ push them along by buying him two tickets to something ridiculously elaborate or expensive. because she can. she can do what she wants with her inheritance from the Ohara family

he is just a poor boy who grew up in an orphanage and hasn’t forgotten his roots mostly. he does not understand the freedom she has in spending money. he’s amazed when she arrives in a jet the first time they meet

Otoya probably feels bad for Mari when she manages to finally open up to him about her problems with her friends with the original Aqours and why they split. he probably tells her something like “that’s a toughie” and to be more honest with her feelings and maybe if she explained everything, they can all go back to being friends again!

ofc that doesn’t happen

and i forget what happened in s2 or whatever that got mari worried again bc sunshine was just that bad but i digress

When Mari makes her Stewshine, he is very intimidated by her and suddenly feels like he’s going to experience Natsuki’s cooking again

(it, fortunately, seems to taste better than Natsuki’s cooking)

Otoya + Hanamaru

this sister is so quiet, so sweet!

otoya usually does most of the talking, but hanamaru doesn’t mind! it’s nice to listen to him be so excited about stuff, and it reminds her of her best friends a bit, too!

if he doesn’t know what a word means or has trouble understanding some difficult text, and tokiya isn’t answering, he’ll go and ask her for help! 

he feels a little bad about it bc he’s supposed to be the one that’s helping her, but she doesn’t mind and never makes him feel bad for it!

he cheers for her the most when it’s workout time! he helps her learn to do some breathing exercises to help build her stamina or something

i honestly don’t have much for him and hanamaru bc she’s the only one that isn’t an energetic child, but they are still very sweet to each other!

he tries to help her sometimes when she’s working the library but he’s too loud and impatient and distractable to help with some of the busywork. maybe he can help reshelve books.

Otoya + Ai Miyashita

He is scared of Ai the most!

i’m not sure how to phrase it or point out specifically why, but maybe because she’s just as excitable as he is!

she’s very energetic, so both of them can go on talking forever and ever about things!

she’s a lot more fashion-conscience than he is, so he’ll sometimes ask her for her opinion on stuff

he also probably would ask her to help with rin’s character arc re her feminity, but love live canon would not make it so. except maybe in that all stars app but i don’t have enough room to run it between llsif and shining live......

while they don’t have many interests in common, ai is still good at school and athletics, so she probably joins him and rin from time to time for a game of soccer! or something. 

i’m p sure ai mikaze vs ai miyashita comes up in a conversation at some point early in. like

like how she’s really loose with her language and informal and energetic and stuff, while he’s very quiet and formal and cautious and calm. the stark contrast between the two ais!

also ai probably makes a pun about it? can you make a pun about it? I wouldn’t know I’m not a japanese speaker.

puns. so many puns

a lot of them fall short of their mark with otoya? maybe?

like, he probably is just like “Eh?” when she busts out into laughter at her own bad puns.

despite them not having many similar interest outside of idol work, they both get along very well! they both have very ‘easy’ and relaxed personalities, despite their big energy! 

they both are very big helpers!!! so ai would be the one that he would ask for help from the most when it comes to the preschool orphanage 

ai helps out there the most of all of the girls, because she really loves helping!

he probably helps her brainstorm her call sign! because they’re both very friendly individuals, he probably helped her come up with the high five part of her call by accident when they high-five’d sometime!

if you made it this far, congrats!! that is about all i have for my idol children!!! well the two actual idol series. I guess i technically have two more from tokyo mirage sessions! but it’s not the same as an actual idol series!

#i have to specify ai miyashita because there's an ai already in utapri lfmckmkf #- #-- #--- #---- #----- #my idol kids #aidol daughter #book daughter #zura daughter #nyan daughter #my idol son #sonshine #shiny daughter #look i usually don't cross the fandoms that much among my kids and especially not between my idol kids and my husband #but i can have a little crossover hcs #as a treat

[dahniwitchoflight]

Candy 15-17

Alright I know this is supposed to be sad but this feel so ridiculous it’s funny

“He ventures a glance at Dave, who is at the front of the line carrying a smaller casket containing Dirk’s decapitated head. “

why is there a seperate casket for the head, that’s not what funeral homes do xD

“It would be absurd were it not so tragic, and possibly also predictable.” 

“He looks at Dirk’s casket, sitting diagonally in a hole in the floor and popped about 13% of the way open.”

That’s a strangley specific number

Am I to take the imagery of something being diagonal as imagery for a “4″ and then complete it with the 13 to make 413?

Cuz is so, that’s heavy handed and ridiculous probably just as Dirk intended

“ROXY: and give it over to someone whos way more eloquent than me

Dave gets to his feet”

right because Dave is always so eloquent when it comes to delicate emotional matters lol

I don’t know why I’m finding this all so hilarious instead of tragic, maybe because it’s so melodramatic and in a way that feels scripted specifically by Dirk himself

ah, 3 quarters 

3 1/4′s

413 backwards now

“or even worse that he was somehow cosmically fated to become that person no matter what he wanted or did to prevent it “

I’m noticing more and more every time the phrase Cosmically fated is used in some form of Homestuck media its always bringing to mind ideas of Doc Scratch, like he’s the one who said it actually or it’s said in reference to him

so, +1 point to DS = DS again

“Gamzee:  I may not be all up and learned about his life, but I’ve got deep spirital connections to his death.”

yeah you sure do, and we’re not even talking about his decapitation right now aren’t we Gamzee?

This is actually a really solid point that the day “Dirk” died was the day his ultimate self got poisoned through the unholy merger that is Lord English/Caliborn/Gamzee/AR/Equius

So he’s probably been a bastard ever since Lord English started existing, which I mean “I am already here” blahblah means Dirk was very likely like this from the start potentially, but he was probbaly only really a bastard ever since Arquis got sucked into Caliborn/Gamzee

“GAMZEE: ThIs WaS nO cOiNcIdEnCe. It WaS a HiGhEr PoWeR gUiDiNg My PaTh.

GAMZEE: tHeSe PoWeRs MaDe SuRe ThAt I wOuLd Be ThErE, tO rEcEiVe A gReAt WaRrIoR’s FiNaL mEsSaGe, AnD rElAy It To YoU oN tHiS dArK aNd DrEaRy DaY oF dEaTh.

GAMZEE: HoNk!

The clown thrusts his hand somewhere beneath the waistband of his pants and starts obscenely rooting around. He retrieves a piece of paper, crumpled and soaked from the rain outside, and attempts to smooth it out over the lectern. The wet paper breaks apart immediately beneath his oafish clown paws.

GAMZEE: AwWw, ShIzZ. i GuEsS i’Ve GoT tO uP aNd WiNg It!”

yeah that note was probably the last shredded remnants of good dirk since there’s literally no reason to leave a sentimental note like that for his friends, makes sense Gamzee was guided by “a higher power” to grab it and make sure it gets relayed more like ruined to his friends

“KARKAT: THAT WAS HALF A HUNDRED WORDS TO EXPRESS A THREE LETTER SENTIMENT.

KARKAT: I’D SAY HE’S DOING FINE.”

What? How does “I’d say he’s doing fine” translate into “a three letter statement”?

Are they just hamfisting in the threes now or what?

“DAVE: i dunno dude thats

DAVE: a little fucked up actually

JOHN: you think so?

DAVE: yeah

DAVE: dirk was a complicated guy

DAVE: dude obviously had reasons for doing what he did

DAVE: if you go back and just rewrite his decision

DAVE: thats like denying him his personal autonomy

JOHN: huh. i... didn’t think about it that way.“

Yeah if only they’d realize that what Dirk needs is a huge heaping helping of someone pushing back against his dumb decisions for once

Gotta give it to John though, he’s struggling against this drugged up haze so hard, he knows getting married to Roxy isn’t right and tries to think about that

but then he gets caught up in the drugged up candy haze and starts giggling, yeah you guys are gonna be happy alright, happy in a nice little drugged up stupor

lampshaded by John still reaching out to terezi despite being at his human wedding

Aww, trolls don’t have a concept of weddings? well, that makes sense but still

oh man it just keeps happening, this is supposed to be the story where John and Roxy get their love story, but all were actually getting is the faded echoes of what should have been which is apparently John and Terezi

oh god, Jane, jane why did Gamzee have to be your third partner, what the fuck even

I don’t wanna think about Gamzee about in relationships nope this is where I start getting uncomfortable

confirmed jade attempting Blackrom with Karkat, that’s interesting, and she’s bad at it too meaning she must not really have an interest in it

oh wow, she’s really just doing it because she thinks its what Karkat would want isnt she? Girl really is just desperate for love

“Three months later, John is still thinking about his last conversation with Terezi.”

See, this is how you know the JohnRoxy relationship is doomed/not meant to be

John Egbert, lover of Con Air and Nic Cage, has a loving wife and (probably) daughter and NOT ONCE has this narrative shown them OR made the joke, we just absolutely passed over the whole wedding and birth event in one fell swoop of unrequited feelings jam with another woman

Why is Roxy praying? That’s such a weird thing to drop as a small detail, who would she even be praying too?

“What’s bugging him about it is that Roxy didn’t seem to have any suggestions of her own.”

Yeah relationships built on social chameleon-ing aren’t happy for the chameleon either

Yeah John, little bit late to be having this sudden realization that you didn’t actually solve the problem (LE) by running away from it, even if everyone else has accepted that version of events

“ JOHN: you gave me a list of instructions and told me that i had to use my retcon powers to go back to a very specific point in time to defeat lord english when he was still just a kid. “

*THEORY INCOMING KILL BILL SIRENS ACTIVATE*

Wait, is that what Rose said at the beginning? No it isn’t, I remember the bit about John has to go back inside canon and defeat Lord English, I don’t think the method was ever fully explained though, nor the idea that he had to defeat him as a kid, it was never said he had to go back in time, just go back to canon

and that’s not what happened in the Meat timeline either! Nobody went back in time to defeat Caliborn when he was a kid, they just had the big showdown with LE exactly the way Rose is describing that went horribly wrong

this is practically screaming NEITHER Meat or Candy is the true version of events 

Actually yeah, defeating Caliborn really IS the way this should be settled, because it’s also the way that Dirk get saved as well, can’t get his ultimate self tainted if the taint is destroyed before it ever comes into contact with him

also im rereading the prologue now, it’s is NEVER explicitly said that John has to go and defeat lord english’s child form!

She said “you have to go back to canon to defeat LE” NOT go back in time to defeat caliborn

and “you can’t recklessly attack his hulking adult form without the house juju”

not “you can’t attack him as an adult at all” but “you can do that WITHOUT the juju” and describes it being used in the same way that Vriska ended up doing in Meat

yeah, she never mentions any plan to defeat him as a child in the prologue, which probably means Rose only saw a vision of his defeat as an adult as well

It’s gonna be JOHN who gets the idea to go back and kill him as a kid, because that’s how he understood Rose’s instructions!

But this is great, everything is vaguely worded enough that it COULD be applied to a fight against a young caliborn too! but just hasn’t yet!

What if you take the empty cursor and fill it with a young caliborn? instead of unleashing a full one against an adult LE? which proves to be pretty useless in the long run despite Rose’s apparent clouded vision?

Rose even says herself its only purpose is as an empty vessel meant to be filled by something, talk about totally understanding yet missing the point, this is probably what she meant by being unable to see any path beyond the meat or candy routes, she couldnt see the possibility of using the juju on caliborn before everything goes down just like how it was used on John and friends to trap them in there in Meat!

It’s Caliborn’s destined time out spot! Removing him from Canon and from being able to influence it without needing to kill someone who technically hasnt done bad things yet but absolutely will in the future solving the baby adolf problem with Caliborn

Oh man, what if they even trick Caliborn on using it against himself? talk about an earthbound reference, defeat Gigyas (LE) by tricking Pokey (Caliborn)  to trap himself in the "Absolutely Safe Capsule” (House JuJu)

Oh man back on the Candy train though John’s having an absolute breakdown, being infused with that canon retcon power seems to be the only thing preserving his ability to care about stuff beyond this happy drugged up paradise

Earth C has become Homestuck’s Ba Sing Se

“ He braces himself, as if splashing an imaginary glass of cold water in his own face, and reminds himself once again that he has a wonderful life. A perfect life. He’s HAPPY, god damn it.”

You really aren’t John, this is very clear, dousing yourself with some more Void to try and drown that out ain’t helping

#Homestuck #Meat or Candy

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Chapter 8: flashback!

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

----

“Wait, how did you even go to Europe on your, erm, ‘piano player’ salary?”

“Edgeworth needed help with cases from time to time - he worked out all the details. I might’ve been technically billed as an Interpol consultant? It drove his sister up the wall. Anyway, so that’s when I met Athena. Pretty simple.”

“It was like it was destiny! And it’s thanks to Mr Wright that I became a lawyer at all!”

“Give yourself plenty of credit. Defense attorney at age eighteen, honestly.”

-

Phoenix does not know jack or shit about the German language, which makes him more than useless (or is it “less than useless”, or do those two turns of phrase come out to mean the same thing like “flammable” or “inflammable”; Iris was the one whose major involved language, not him, and he’s not about to summon her for a grammar lesson) whenever Edgeworth is dealing with officers and witnesses. 

Admittedly, most of them probably have decent English, but they’re trying to maintain the fiction of Phoenix belonging here. (Edgeworth says he belongs here, but while Phoenix trusts Edgeworth more than anyone, he can’t on this matter.) And Phoenix doesn’t like having extra attention drawn to himself, not anymore, not even here across the ocean where only a few people know him from anyone else, and those few trust him that he didn’t present forged evidence. (Or they trust Edgeworth, who trusts him.)

So while Edgeworth is actually getting useful information about the case, Phoenix is left uselessly pacing over the crime scene, and it’s then that he notices, standing on the far side of the Polizei tape, the girl. She might be Trucy’s age, not much more, with red hair half falling out of a ponytail and a broad face with blue eyes that are transfixed, staring unblinking, at the drying blood spilling off of the sidewalk onto the road.

He imagines Trucy, at her age, wandering onto a crime scene and seeing real blood, and that he doesn’t like at all. (Wait until she’s older. Like, fourteen. That’s a good age for starting to investigate murders, right? It’s a year older than Franziska was, but being a better father than Manfred von Karma is a bar so low that it’s in hell, coincidentally with Manfred von Karma.)

“Uh, Guten tag,” he says, sure he’s fucked up that pronunciation as much as something so simple could possibly be mangled. And he doesn’t know why he even tries that much, because it means she responds in German, and he doesn’t know anything else.

Which he admits, but she brightens and says, in unaccented English, “That’s okay! I’m American, actually, but I’m living here now. I think it’s good to learn the language of wherever you are, but it’s harder for adults to learn new languages than kids – there’s a kind of cutoff point where your brain stops absorbing it so easily – so I can’t blame you, really.”

It takes several moments for his brain to even absorb that. Then, finally, faintly, he says, “You shouldn’t be here. It’s a crime scene, you know. Authorized personnel only.”

“And I’m on this side,” she says, indignantly pointing to her feet and then to the tape. Her eyes drift back down toward the blood. 

“Yeah,” he says, “but you’re a kid and really don’t need to be looking at this much blood.”

“I’m almost fourteen.” She raises her chin and stares at him like she knows that’s the arbitrary age he picked and is daring him even in his own head to recant on it, though “almost” isn’t actually fourteen. “And besides, I need to get tougher! Like how I’m running and going to the gym and spending time in crowds and talking to strangers.”

Phoenix frowns. She glares at him. “There’s nothing wrong with being squeamish,” Phoenix says. There isn’t a good way to position himself between the girl and the bloodstain but if he keeps talking maybe he’ll distract her. “And if you don’t like crowds and strangers and you’re out here in the city talking to me, maybe you’re already tough enough. You’re going to be running into those more than murder scenes, anyway.” 

“Oh,” she says. “I didn’t think that someone could lose that much blood and live. I guess they didn’t.” Her eyes start to drift away from Phoenix’s face but then she snaps them back, leveling a suspicious squint at him. “You meant that. About being tough. People say things like that but don’t always mean it, but I can hear you mean that. Even though you don’t know me.”

It isn’t a question, but Phoenix hears one anyway that he feels compelled to answer. “I have a daughter,” he says. “She’s eleven.” 

The red-haired girl nods, satisfied with that. For a moment, anyway. Then she’s back, looping around earlier in the conversation, like she knows how to hit Phoenix’s vulnerabilities after she confessed her own. “What are you doing there?” she asks. “You don’t look like authorized personnel either.”

And he’d even put on a tie and shaved today. Is it his hair? Is it too ridiculous for him to be believable as a professional? “I’m a lawyer,” he says, expecting the next question to be the why don’t you speak German?

She purses her lips and idly taps at the side of her necklace. It’s about the size of a golf ball, with a simple smiling face imposed on a glowing green. “Are you a prosecutor?” she asks. 

Blinking at her, he is too surprised to immediately answer. He wouldn’t have known the types of lawyer at her age if not for Edgeworth. Maybe she’s interested in a career in law, already, and that’s why she thinks she can’t be squeamish. “No,” he says. “I’m a defense attorney.”

Was. He was, past tense. He answers in the present like a reflex, because that’s how he can justify himself being here as a consultant, but he’s not been a defense attorney for almost as long as he was a defense attorney, now. He hung a corner of his identity on it, Phoenix Wright, attorney-at-law, and got hung out to dry. 

“Oh,” she says. “That explains it, why you sounded so sad when you said you’re a lawyer.”

Had he sounded sad? He didn’t think so. He’d answered without thinking, without time to get sad about the fact that he’s lying when he says “I am”. 

“Because it must be really sad to be a defense attorney,” she continues, probably taking his silence for confusion. “Some people think you’re evil and helping criminals, and then you don’t ever win even when the defendant is innocent, because the police trust the prosecutors more and want to get the cases wrapped up as quick as possible because that looks best, so a prosecutor has to be honest and especially honorable to make sure justice is properly served, but a lot of prosecutors are more concerned with win records than being honorable.”

She waits, expectantly, her hands on her hips, for him to say something. It takes much, much longer than it should. “Where did you hear all that?” he finally asks. Somehow, refuting her insistence that the defense always loses doesn’t seem to be the one most pressing matter.

The confidence written on her face and in her pose - not a happy confidence, because she doesn’t seem to like what she’s saying but believes it to be true anyway - vanishes. Her shoulders fall. “My mom’s student was a prosecutor,” she says. “We’d study together, even though it was different things, and he was a lot older than me, but even before he took the Bar he’d tell me all about the legal system - the one back home, back when I still lived in LA.”

“You’re from Los Angeles?” Phoenix asks abruptly. She nods. “I am, as well.”

“Nice!” She raises a hand for a high five and then without missing a beat continues, “He never talked down to me and even if the truth was really heavy he’d always answer any question I had honestly.” Her hand, falling back to her side, freezes in the air. Everything about her freezes for a second. “Almost any.”

If she’s from Los Angeles, with someone in the legal system there, then she might very well know the name Phoenix Wright, and how he was ruined. His stomach turns. He could easily name a few of his high-profile defendants - the ones who weren’t Matt Engarde - as proof that it’s possible to win a Not Guilty, for the price of drawing attention to himself. And he’s really only nitpicking - the concept that she’s saying, that their legal system is rotten to its core, is really true despite Phoenix’s victories. He’s only one man. He was only one. Now he’s nothing at all.

“Oh!” she says suddenly. “I didn’t give you my name! I’m Athena!”

He could’ve stood to introduce himself sooner, if he wasn’t afraid of her or anyone knowing the name Phoenix Wright, and if he hadn’t taken up the fae rule of never offering his name first, which he realized the other day when Edgeworth was introducing him to the rest of their team. Paranoia, always, toward everyone equally. “I’m Nick.” 

Athena raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t that super informal?” she asks. “It feels especially so I guess because I’ve been learning German and it’s all figuring out Sie and du and then you’re an American lawyer just like, yeah I’m Nick.”

“It could be ‘Mr Nick’ if you’re feeling formal,” Phoenix says. 

She laughs and stops, abruptly, tilting her head to the side. Then she takes a few steps forward until the police tape is being pulled forward with her, trying to lean in across the scene. When she ducks under it entirely, she watches where her feet go, at least but she’s still where she shouldn’t be, stretching forward like a cautious dog sniffing an unfamiliar object, turning her head side to side, positioning one ear and then the other toward where Edgeworth is talking to a witness. “Hey!” Phoenix says. “You’re supposed to be on that side--”

“Shh!” she hisses.

She doesn’t move any more, is just listening intently even though Phoenix can barely pick up Edgeworth’s voice, never mind the words themselves, over the other conversations and the background noise of Frankfurt at large. After another minute during which Phoenix braces himself to be yelled at for not removing this child from the crime scene, she straightens back up and turns, very seriously, to Phoenix. “Who’s that?” she asks. “The man talking to the man in the purple suit?”

Phoenix would be more inclined to describe Edgeworth as red, or maybe burgundy, but there’s no one else who could be even close to purple in the area. “He’s a witness,” Phoenix says. “And the prosecutor.”

She nods. “He looks like a prosecutor,” she says. “Fancy.” She shakes herself, like trying to focus herself again, and says, “The witness is hiding something.”

“What?” Phoenix asks.

“He’s hiding something,” she repeats. “He didn’t do it, but he’s glad it happened, and he’s starting to get a little worried about the prosecutor’s questioning.”

Phoenix can’t see “a little worried” in the man’s body language. Certainly there is nothing to suggest any of the rest? Glad? “Where are you getting that from?” Phoenix asks. “I can’t even hear what they’re saying.”

“I have really sensitive hearing,” she says. “Like my ears can pick up a lot of things. And sometimes people’s emotions come through in the subtlest tones of their voice.”

“Like when you said I was sad,” Phoenix says. She nods. “I’ll make sure we look into the witness’ and victim’s backgrounds to see if there’s any connecting threads.”

She blinks. “You - you will? You believe me?”

“Yeah,” Phoenix says. “I believe you.” He would know if she was lying. He would be able to see the locks. “I can’t take the chance of ignoring anything if it could help us get to the truth.” Even if anything is a tip from a strange girl from Los Angeles. (Strange girls from Los Angeles tend to be blessed or fae. Maya and Pearl who are fae. Ema whose sister knew Mia. Trucy whose grandfather was fae and left a blessing on her eyes. Athena who - what?)

“Oh,” she says. “You really do believe me. Even my aunts, sometimes, the ones I’m living with here, sometimes they don’t believe me totally, all the things I can hear, when I tell them. And I--” Abruptly she cuts herself off, scrambling back under the police tape but not fast enough for her to be out before Edgeworth is there, close enough that Phoenix can hear him now too.

“Why is there a child on the crime scene?” he asks.

“I was trying to get her out,” Phoenix says. 

“Unsuccessfully, I see.”

“But I was watching her the whole time and she didn’t touch anything.”

Edgeworth snorts. “Small miracles,” he says. “There was probably some other way for you to occupy yourself, usefully.”

“Hey,” Phoenix says. “I was waiting for you to finish talking and catch me up on what everyone else has to say. Besides, I think I’ve got plenty useful for you.” He turns back to Athena. “You should probably go home now. Stop skulking around at crime scenes and giving your name to strange lawyers you just met.” 

“Okay,” she says. “Is this going to trial tomorrow? Is it going to be at the courthouse just up a couple blocks, if I want to see? Since I wonder how actual court cases are different than the stuff I learned back when.”

“Yeah,” Phoenix says. “But, really. This is my fatherly advice to you.”

Edgeworth rolls his eyes. “Wright. I know you’re missing Trucy, but we do have to go, and you can’t just invite every child you run into along.”

“I was not,” Phoenix says. Though it’s true that he misses Trucy; she had wanted to come, very badly, but this is a trial balloon more than anything, a few days, see if they can get away with it. (Which sounds underhanded even though Edgeworth of course went through all of the proper channels to get Phoenix attached as an Interpol/prosecutorial consultant.) Next time, if there is a next time, which doubtlessly there will be considering the number of times Edgeworth has invited him and Trucy along since Phoenix lost his badge, continuing even through Phoenix’s refusals until the home situation was stable - next time, Trucy will get a European vacation.

(For now, she gets an LA vacation, because she’s staying with Larry and that is a situation far removed from any everyday life. Phoenix anticipates washing paint out of all her clothes for days. And he’s been worried, constantly, even though Larry almost has his shit together more than Phoenix does, and even though he’s assured that Larry’s attention is responsibility focused on his books and on Trucy because he swore off women after his crush on Iris and mostly seems to have stuck to that. Which Phoenix empathizes with innately, because Phoenix also swore off women after Iris and has entirely stuck to that.)

“I invited myself!” Athena says brightly. “It’s not his fault! But okay. No more crime scenes! Got it!” 

“See?” Phoenix asks Edgeworth. “I can be a good influence.”

He pairs the eye roll with a sigh this time. 

-

Phoenix makes it an hour into the trial, from the gallery, before the emotional tumult is too much, sets him fraying from the edges in and burning up from the inside out, and he sneaks out during the cross-examination of the first witness (not the witness Athena pointed out, the one he and Edgeworth had investigated further). He intends to go straight out into the city, where the air still won’t be cold or fresh enough to settle his stomach, but the front steps might be far enough from the courtroom to make his hands stop shaking.

He doesn’t get there, because on the wide stairwell down to the entrance lobby, he finds Athena sitting there, her hands pressed over her mouth, her eyes closed, and her shoulders heaving with long, deliberately steady breaths. Standing on the stairs above her, he sees and Sees a girl not much older than Trucy and with all her stubbornness, a girl who gave him and Edgeworth a very useful hint, a with her red hair matted to her neck by sweat, who looks halfway into an anxiety attack. Who looks the way Phoenix’s poker face won’t allow him to anymore, who has a heart on her sleeve instead of locked behind stone. Strange girls from Los Angeles, nothing - they’re an ocean away and she’s a damn kid and he’s paranoid and half heartless and doesn’t know how to change any of those things and get back his humanity because he doesn’t even know how to be kind to humans anymore either. “Hey,” he says quietly. “Athena?” 

She twists her head around sharply, frantically wiping tears out of her eyes. “Oh, hi, Mr Nick,” she says. She sniffs loudly but forces a bright grin onto her face. That reminds him of Trucy, too, the lie inherent in the expression.

“Do you mind if I sit down?” he asks. She shakes her head. He folds himself down onto the stairs next to her. “Yeah. Overwhelming in there, isn’t it?”

She nods. “It’s loud,” she says. “I wanted to watch everything but everyone in there is so loud with everything they’re feeling. And I’d been saying that I’d gotten better at shutting out hearing anything extra but what I wanted to but I guess I was wrong because now I’m…” She rests her chin on her arms. 

“Yeah, I told myself I’d be fine and I was lying to myself too,” Phoenix says. “I’m - I was a lawyer. I’m not anymore. I was careless - someone gave me some suspicious evidence and I just presented it without further investigation, and it was forged and the prosecutor knew in advance, and I got my badge taken.” She stares at him with wide blue eyes. “This is the first time I’ve been back in a courtroom since.”

“And that’s why you were sad,” she says. “When you said to me that you’re a lawyer.” She keeps staring at him, as though she might figure anything out from seeing and not hearing. “Did you ever actually win a case?” she asks.

“I did, actually,” he says. 

She sits back up straighter. “Really?” she asks. “Even with everyone against you, and - and even if you know that they didn’t do it what if no one listens to you? That you go up there and scream and no one listens?”

“You never really know if your client is guilty or not,” Phoenix says. “You just have to believe, and fight for the truth.” Those are Mia’s words, not his own; he has trouble believing, sometimes. He has trouble putting his heart into anything. “But the thing about being a defense attorney, with your badge” - he starts to point to his badge and stops, because it isn’t there anymore - “is that when you’re up at the bench, they have to listen to you. That’s your job and their job. So you get that badge and get back there and you just scream, as loud as you can, in your client’s defense.”

Athena has steely eyes when she’s focused and intent, staring at him like she can find the whole truth of the world and the profession in the words of a man who’s been disbarred almost as long as he ever had the authority of a badge. “I think I believe you,” she says. “You sound sincere. Like you believe you.”

Does he? He doesn’t know. But Larry wasn’t convicted of murder, and Edgeworth wasn’t. Von Karma tries to steamroll the judge and the entire court and still Phoenix, with Maya’s help, screamed louder. Is she right? Is he right?

“Let’s go back in,” she says, standing up and firmly planting her hands on her hips. “We can handle it this time.”

-

The verdict doesn’t come that day, but the witness Athena had earmarked admits, under pressure of being on the stand, to have been involved in the planning of the crime but refuses to say who he was planning with. Athena’s eyes are alight; she leans forward so far that Phoenix is afraid she’s going to tumble out of the gallery and talks his ear off on their way out, tagging along with him like a shadow. He doubts she’s really aware of where he’s going, just that she has things to say to him and wants to say them. If he’s lying, he’s only a little worried about her and this way that she’s just attached herself to a stranger. Does she do this often, or is it just him? He can be grateful that her ears might help her sus out whether someone has good intentions. 

But still, she’s not that much older than Trucy. (And Trucy attached herself to him in the same way. And Ema. Is there some part of a blessing that makes him a magnet for preteen girls? Or is it a very weird curse that no one’s informed him of?)

“And the prosecutor,” Athena adds, not taking in that they are approaching the prosecutor lobby, and that very soon she will be talking about said prosecutor not behind his back but to his face. “Prosecutor Edgeworth - is he the Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth, from Los Angeles?”

“Yes,” Phoenix says, cautiously, and Edgeworth, standing at one of the lobby benches putting the last of the papers into his briefcase, looks up in alarm. It would be nice if the only thing he had to be afraid of right now was Phoenix trying to adopt this child, too. “Why?”

“Because he’s famous!” Athena says, throwing her arms in the air. “He’s Miles Edgeworth! He’s one of the best prosecutors in the state and abroad! Even crazy international cases don’t scare him!” Phoenix has a memory of Ema gushing in a similar manner. “And he cares about the truth and is honorable and that’s tragically rare, but - ah.” Finally stepping out from behind Phoenix, she spots Edgeworth right there, and she shrinks down and retreats back into Phoenix’s shadow. “Oh. Hi.”

“Wright,” Edgeworth says, pressing a hand to his face, which Phoenix swears is turning a little pink. And it’s funnier the more Phoenix thinks about it, because Athena said what she knew of the legal system was what a family friend told her, and that means that Athena isn’t the only Edgeworth fan. The person who told her about him likely was, too. Phoenix needs to mention that to him later. “Wright, Wright, I leave you for two hours and again you find—”

“Wait!” Athena gasps. She springs back from Phoenix, blue eyes huge in her face, turning between him and Edgeworth so fast that she hits herself with her hair. “Wait, wait, Wright? You aren’t - he’s Edgeworth, so you, Mr Nick, you aren’t Phoenix Wright, are you?” She struggles for words, her palms drumming on the air as she searches for what she means to say. “The badge, what you said about your badge, losing it - you’re Phoenix Wright!” 

“Yes,” Phoenix says, and even Edgeworth can hear how pained he sounds on admitting it. (Names matter, in magic and in general, and Phoenix cannot, will not, give up on his own. But sometimes he’s tempted; sometimes he just wants to be Nick, or no one at all.)

Athena’s eager smile slides off her face. “Oh,” she says. “Oh. I’m sorry. It’s just - you’re a legend too!” Implying Edgeworth is, and yes, his face is rather pink, adorably flustered by that bout of compliments earlier. “Will Powers and Max Galactica and Mask DeMasque! And you won all those cases! You won, you actually won!” Her smile returns, infectious enough that it loosens something that has been tight in Phoenix’s chest since he entered the courthouse in the morning. “I didn’t think defense attorneys could, but even though there was evidence and - and it seemed certain - they were innocent and you proved it!” Her mouth hardens in a line of intense concentration. “I want to be a defense attorney,” she says. “Like you. I want to be able to save people, like you, because it’s possible if you did it!”

The constriction around his heart returns with a vengeance. “It’s not as easy as that,” Phoenix says. “Saving people, I mean.”

He avoids Edgeworth’s eyes. They had that conversation during the Engarde trial, back when Phoenix was still trying to hang onto his last bit of optimism and faith in Mia’s words to believe in his client. Back when Phoenix thought he might ever have some sort of moral high ground. There was a crossroads he and Edgeworth met at, then, and Phoenix took the path that Edgeworth had just left behind. And Edgeworth became better than Phoenix ever was. 

Athena frowns. “But they weren’t guilty, and you saved them from the guilty verdict. Trials and investigations are complicated but that’s simple enough isn’t it?”

“Conceptually, anyway,” Phoenix says. 

“A career in law isn’t just something you pursue on a whim like this,” Edgeworth says, and again Phoenix avoids his eyes. This one is aimed straight at him. “It’s a lot of work that you have to dedicate yourself entirely to, and—”

“I know!” Athena says. “I know how much work it is! And how hard the Bar is! And what a mess the system at home in LA is! But I’ve wanted to for years. I just - I didn’t know how. And I didn’t think it could be anything but fighting losing battles.” Again she looks between them, her head tilted, assessing them with eyes and ears both. “But I could! I could, right?”

“You could,” Phoenix says. It isn’t his place to try and crush her. Studying for the Bar would do that if she wasn’t truly determined. “I’ve known some young prosecutors who got their badges abroad, so I don’t see why a budding defense lawyer couldn’t.” Sometimes he’s pretty sure that prosecutors get more leeway to even get the badge - he knows damn well they get more leeway when it comes to conduct while having the badge - but he glances at Edgeworth, who doesn’t make motion to say no, she couldn’t. 

“I’m not too young, am I?” she asks, slumping from what was a moment ago bright confidence. She wheels quickly through emotions, and Phoenix doesn’t remember much about being thirteen, but he does remember feeling everything too much, and like was the end of the world. Hell, he felt like that at twenty, too. 

“My sister got her badge at thirteen,” Edgeworth says. Phoenix can hear the twinge of bitterness. They’ve talked about that, the age of some prosecutors, how they’re so young, too young, set loose to be too easily manipulated by the older people around them. How Franziska should have been allowed to be a child instead just a name. 

But Athena beams, that Edgeworth had addressed her with something that is in one facet encouragement. “I’m thirteen now, so I don’t think I can manage that,” she says. “But I’m already a grade ahead in school so what’s a few more?”

“That’s the spirit,” Phoenix says. 

Again her smile disappears and she fidgets, bringing her arms tight across her chest. “You probably have investigating to do,” she says. “And I’m talking about how important that is and then I’m taking up all your time.”

“It’s all right,” Phoenix assures her. “Edgeworth’s used to finding more kids to advise, huh?” He nudges Edgeworth with his elbow. “And I don’t mind, either. I know how important it was for me to find someone to look up to when I was starting as a law student.”

Athena nods solemnly. “Can I give you my email address?” she asks. “For if I want honest answers about being a lawyer?”

“You don’t think there’s anyone else who can be honest?” Phoenix asks. 

Athena shrugs. “You haven’t really talked down to me, either,” she says. 

His heart, what’s left of it, what isn’t yet frozen, screams in protest. He isn’t a good person to be around - he can’t be a mentor - he’s afraid to love his best friends and his own daughter - he can’t just strike up another correspondence. He might’ve let his emails with Ema trickle out for a reason, and that reason is that he knows the road that Death takes him down, and god only knows what Misfortune will add.

But in the same way he’s afraid because she looks like Trucy, because she’s thirteen years old and bright of mind and bright of smile, he wants to help her. Help her because Mia helped him, like he just mentioned Mia, and he compared to Athena must have looked like far less promising a candidate to take under wing.

(Strange girls from Los Angeles, blessed or fae, another following in his wake. Trucy’s sharp eyes. Athena’s sharp ears. Good for poker, good for witness interrogations. He keeps seeing Trucy or even Ema, not Maya or Pearl.)

(Christ, he’s not adopting her, though.)

“Edgeworth,” Phoenix says. “Do you have a pen and a business card or something? So I can give her my contact info?”

Edgeworth sighs. “Honestly,” he says. “You should at least have a pen and some paper on you. You’re an investigator, you can’t just slack off - and you’re giving her my information too?”

“Yeah,” Phoenix says. “It’s important to know your enemy. See the other side.”

Edgeworth’s glare could split rock, but fortunately, Phoenix’s head is harder than that. “Of course!” Athena says. “That’s very important! And, oh, I never introduced myself to you, Prosecutor Edgeworth!” She extends a hand and he starts, taken aback by her boldness. “My name’s Athena, Athena Cykes!” 

Ah, a last name too, this time. Edgeworth blinks slowly and accepts her hand even more hesitantly. “Cykes?” he repeats slowly, quietly, like he’s not aware of her being there right in front of him to hear him.

She nods eagerly. “Yep! Athena Cykes.”

“Cykes,” he says again, dragging it out like a hiss. “Athena Cykes.” Edgeworth isn’t good with names, Phoenix notices and usually hasn’t pointed out to him when he gets them mixed up, but maybe he’s finally noticed it himself. He’s taking care not to end up calling her Artemis Psyche later, maybe. “Nice to meet you, Miss Cykes.” He releases her hand and then goes into his jacket pocket to pull out a business card. Athena’s grin widens, and Phoenix indulges in a small smile. So she’s won him over now, too. “Now, I suppose…” He hands the card, and a pen, to Phoenix, even though he just as quickly could write down Phoenix’s email and number and office address. It’s the principle of the thing, surely.

“Thank you!” Athena practically squeals when she takes the card from Phoenix. “Thank you both so much, Mr Wright, Prosecutor Edgeworth! Good luck on your case! I’ll let you go to it now! Au revoir!” 

“Even I know that’s not German!” Phoenix calls at her back, and her laugh lingers after she bolts around the corner.

-----

[chapter notes]

#roddy fanfics #fic: the witches of los angeles

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Fictober18 Day 25

Original Fiction

Prompt: “Go forward, do not stray”

I’m posting more frequently over the weekend trying to catch up a little, will have to slow down during the week again, unfortunately. 

Erin/Gerald Story Arc 2, Part 5 - Part 4 linked here. 

Erin was not having a good time.

She leaned around a tree trunk, trying to desperately see something, anything in the fog. Sighing with frustration, she reached up to touch the wind artifact stone hanging from her ear.

“Everyone, hold your position until we confirm the enemy location.”

She turned to Gerald, who stood at her side. “Can you sense them with your insight ability?”

The taller boy shook his head, obviously confused. “I can sense our teammates… no one’s properly in position by the way. Besides that, I sense hundreds of other signals… there should only be five!” He struck his fist against the tree. “I can’t pinpoint them at all.”

Erin reached out, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “You did your best. Let’s keep moving forward.”

“THIS IS RIDICULOUS!” An angry voice spoke out of the artifact. “We’re sitting ducks out here without a plan, leader. We’re just wasting time.”

Erin groaned, “Look, Frederick, I know you’re not happy about this, but we don’t know where the enemy is… charging in without information would be…” she paused, unsure of a non-offensive word to use.

“Idiotic?” Olivia’s voice suggested

“Suicidal?” Gerald added

Even Matthias joined in. “Incompetent?”

“…HASTY.” Erin loudly spoke over them, but it was too late.

“Screw you guys, I’m going forward.” Fredericks voice faded out, and they clearly heard the sounds of someone pushing themselves through the foliage.

“Frederick, stop!” Erin hissed, pressing the stone on her ear with so much force that it was cutting into her ear. “Frederick, turn back now!”

“He’s engaging the enemy.” Matthias reported, his voice sounding bored. “He’s getting beaten fairly badly. I’ll go save him.”

“Matthias! No! Don’t…” Erin threw up her hands as the clearing in the forest in front of them filled with the sounds of fighting.

“Those idiots!”

Gerald looked at her with a smirk. “Well, here we are… what now, Captain?”

“I guess we go save them.” She touched the artifact once more. “Olivia, are you safe for now?”

“Hidden away and ready to heal whenever you need, boss.”

Erin gestured to Gerald, “Let’s move in.”

“I’ve got your back.”

They charged forward into the clearing, only to skid to a stop at the sight in front of them, three shadowy opponents had already subdued Frederick and Matthias, binding them and throwing them to the ground.

Matthias looked up from his bound position and shrugged. “Sorry, Erin.”

Ignoring him, Erin looked around the clearing. “There should be five… where are the other two…”

BAM!

Both Erin and Gerald went down to the ground with a thud, the two shadowy figures that had snuck up behind them joining the other three. Their opponents didn’t have faces, but Erin had the sneaking suspicion they were laughing at her.

At least we have Olivia…. Even as she thought this, a bound struggling form was thrown to the ground next to them.

“Ouch! I hate you guys!” Olivia collapsed backwards with an angry groan.

Erin struggled against her bonds, wondering if she could break free…

“EVERYONE STOP!”

Within seconds, the shadows, the bonds, even the trees and bushes around them… everything vanished.

“I’ll never get used to that.” Gerald muttered.

Aunt Elsinore walked into the practice field, her face livid.

“Terrible. Absolutely terrible! I thought you all had been making progress individually over the past week, but I put you guys into a group exercise, and you fall apart before the test even really starts!”

She threw up her hands with frustration.

“Frederick! You disobeyed the captain’s order, and what’s worse, you charged forward into a battle without any information of where the enemy was. Because of this, your whole team fell into a trap!” She turned over to Matthias. “You’re not much better. You charged in after him without even checking with the team captain… making the situation worse!”

Matthias hung his head down, Frederick, simply glared angrily. Elsinore ignored both of them.

“Gerald, you rely too much on your insight ability, it took no effort at all to confuse you and make you worthless. You insisted on staying by Erin’s side, when your abilities are much better suited to being a mobile scout.”

“But I…”

“She doesn’t need your protection, be useful instead.” The older woman’s face was stern and unforgiving. Gerald held her gaze for a moment, before nodding silently and looking down.

“Olivia…”

“What did I do? I’m the healer, and there wasn’t anyone to heal!” She tried to jump on the offensive, but it was useless against Aunt Elsinore’s glare.

“You have other abilities, if nothing else you’re another set of eyes. Move around the field, find a hiding spot where you can watch others. Erin... actually try leading your team next time.”

She looked around at everyone, “Any questions?”

“…” No one answered for a moment.

“Why should I listen to her? How does SHE deserve to be MY captain?” An angry voice spoke out, and everyone to face them.

It was, of course, Frederick.

Elsinore sounded amused. “Do you really think you’re more powerful than Erin?”

“I don’t think it.” He lifted his chin arrogantly. “I know it.”

She let out a chuckle, the sound lifting the hairs on the back of Erin’s neck. Even Frederick looked a lot less confident. Turning to Erin she grinned. “You can beat him up.” She thought for a moment. “Only use level 4 type wind and fire spells.”

“Not even speed boost spells?” Erin argued, those were technically level 1 wind spells, but she used them frequently.

Elsinore shook her head. “You don’t need it. Trust me.”

Focusing on the hellish training she had undergone this past week, Erin took a defensive stance and prepared a plan in her mind.

Frederick, after getting a nod from Aunt Elsinore after asking if he could start, launched himself forward, firing flames from his hands.

Erin smiled, lifting a palm. All of the flames the came within 3 feet of her automatically dissipated.

“What..?” Frederick pulled back, shocked.

“Can’t have fire without oxygen.” Erin focused on keeping an invisible whirlwind going around her. It was much more complex, taking a toll on her mental energy, but in a strange way it felt good. Like stretching a muscle she hadn’t used in a long time.

This competition was a good idea. She thought idly. If nothing else, it will force me to actually use higher level powers. Elsinore was right, I’m restricting myself without realizing it.

Frederick jumped forward, his fist raised. He hit the invisible wall of wind, and was thrown back thirty feet. Angry, He stood up, clenching a fist, his magic raising up a boulder the size of a horse from the ground throwing it toward Erin.

Erin made a small slashing gesture, and the whirlwind stopped, becoming a thin blade that slashed vertically through the boulder, splitting it in two. The pieces of it flew past her, brushing her shoulders on either side. Erin looked at his shocked face with a calm smile, and answered with a grin of her own.

“My turn.”

She activated her fire magic, coating her skin, hair and clothes in red gold flames. It wouldn’t burn her as long as she remained in control, but it would burn/hurt other people and objects she touched, besides looking extremely intimidating. Once Elsinore taught her this trick she looked in the mirror once, she even freaked herself out. It made her look like a demon that escaped from hell. She ran forward, an arm cocked back to punch him in the face.

“I yield!” Scared, Frederick fell to his knees, his eyes wide, his face pale. Erin stopped at his words, her fist inches away from his skin. There was no sound besides the crackling of the flames that surrounded Erin’s body. With a sigh, she let the flames die out, and walked away.

“THAT WAS AWESOME!” Gerald raced forward and gave her a hug, then jumped back with a yelp as her skin nearly scalded him.

“Ouch!”

Erin laughed. “Sorry, side effect of the spell, it will cool down after a few minutes.”

“Well at least I can say…” His face turned mischievous.

“…Please don’t.”

“My girlfriend is hot!”

Erin groaned, hiding her face in her hands while Gerald and Olivia high fived eachother at his bad pun.

“Erin, time for some personal training.” Elsinore spoke up, “The rest of you, back to your exercises. At least 100 successful attempts before dinner. Go forward, do not stray.”

Everyone let out sad sighs, but knew better than to argue. They went to different corners of the practice field, each attempting different magical or physical tasks that Elsinore had assigned them. Erin was even more nervous, personal training was often grueling.

They went to their own portion of the field, and Aunt Elsinore set up the barrier as usual. Once they were alone, she turned to the girl with a stern look.

“Did you learn anything from that fight?”

Erin knew she was talking about the group exercise, not the smack down she had just given Frederick. “… I need to be a better leader.”

“You don’t trust your teammates, and so they won’t trust you. Gerald and Olivia know that they are the only two you will rely on, so they stay by your side to protect you.” She shook her head. “Admirable quality in friends, but a terrible quality in soldiers in a team. Spend some more time with Frederick and Matthias. Get to know them, understand them.”

“They make me uncomfortable.”

“You don’t have to marry them, or even like them. Just understand them. Once you know what makes them tick, you can motivate them to work with you. Understand?”

Reluctantly, Erin nodded.

“What else did you learn?” The older woman tapped a foot impatiently as Erin hesitated at the question the second time.

“Let me phrase it like this: How did I beat you all?”

“…We weren’t well coordinated.”

“It was still five against one.” She frowned. “You should still have the advantage, coordinated or not. Why. Did. I. Win?”

“There were five opponents…” Erin trailed off with realization.

“No, there wasn’t. I beat you guys, easily, with the power of Illusion.”

Ugh. Erin crouched down groaning. “Not again.”

“You really haven’t been able to do anything with it?” Aunt Elsinore’s voice gentled. “Even with the restriction, you have level 4 abilities. Let’s practice it.”

She helped Erin stand up and gestured to the space in front of her. A simple red rose appeared, lifelike, with drops of dew beading down its softly opening petals.

“Show me a flower.”

Erin closed her eyes, opened her hand up, focusing on the image of a flower.

Worthless. She heard her father’s voice in her head, but pushed down the anger and fear associated with it. Forcing herself to be calm, she tried to focus on a flower.

Nothing.

She opened her eyes with a sigh. “I can’t… Maybe it’s not worth all this trouble.”

Elsinore sighed. “If the last few battles weren’t enough to convince you, I think you have severely underestimated the possibilities you can do with high leveled magic.” She waved a hand again, and a bee climbed its way out of the flower, resting on its petals, its wings flapping with a buzzing sound.

“You think of an illusion as a static picture, but that’s not its true form. High level illusions are tricking the brain into believing something is real. Whether that be visual…” The bee lifted up in the air flying around in a lazy circle. “Auditory,” A loud buzzing sound filled her ear as the insect flew by her head several times. It landed on her palm and Erin studied it closely, astounded at the detail. “Or even tactile.”

“Ouch!” Erin pulled her hand back as the bee stung her, nursing the pain in her hand. “The bee was real?” She looked up at Aunt Elsinore, who shook her head.

“Look again.”

Staring at her hand, she realized there was not a single mark from the “bee sting.” Even the pain had completely faded away.

“Wow.” Clenching her fist, Erin nodded. “Okay, let’s keep trying.”

She closed her eyes, and attempted various illusions that Elsinore called out. This went on unsuccessfully for about thirty minutes, until…

“You can try angels next….”

Nothing.

“Okay try trees….”

Still nothing. 

“What the heck, how about Gerald?”

Immediately Erin’s mind was filled with the image of the young man, his goofy smile and kind eyes. The fresh clean scent he had around him when she hugged him, how his face turned red after she kissed him. Her heart happy in that moment, she couldn’t help but smile.

Elsinore chuckled. “Open your eyes.”

Erin opened them, surprised to find a lifesized image of Gerald standing before her. Embarassed, she waved a hand and the picture disappeared. She turned to her aunt. “Did you…?”

“Nope, that was all you, child.” The woman shook her head, smiling. “I think I’ve figured it out.”

“What?” Erin was still embarrassed, staring off at the clouds to avoid looking at the other woman.

“Illusion is linked to emotions, dear. And you are possible one of the best I’ve ever seen at suppressing your feelings… pretty much all the time.” She sighed. “I understand it. I probably would have encouraged you to if you hadn’t learned it on your own. After all, I’ve been preparing you to kill your own father since you were thirteen. But part of control is allowing yourself to feel things when it is appropriate.”

Erin waved her hands back and forth. “I’m not sure…”

“Happiness, sadness, anger… it’s part of being human.” She paused, staring at Erin’s stubborn expression. “It’s not something we will achieve in a day, dear. We’ll talk again later.”

Erin considered her aunts words, and nodded in agreement.

“…” There was a few moments of silence, broken finally by the older woman’s amused chuckle.

“So you like the boy, huh?”

Groaning, Erin looked up at her aunt. “Yeah.”

“How much?”

“… I don’t know yet. It scares me sometimes.” Erin hugged herself, looking back up at the clouds. “But I will say this: He makes me smile. I miss him when he’s not around…. He reminds me I’m human.”

Elsinore smiled. “That’s a good thing.”

“I think so too.”

“Alright, girl, enough chatter.” Her aunt gave her a hug, her smile complex. “Let’s get back to training.”

#Fictober18 #writing #short story #Erin/Gerald #fantasy #magic #fighting

[ebhenah]

Klancemas 2018 December 3: Ice Skating

 @monthlyklance

Klancemas 2018

“Tumbleweed”

Dec 3: Ice Skating

It was their First Christmas (which was important enough to warrant capitalization!) since they started seeing each other and over the months they’d been ‘officially’ dating, Lance had discovered that Keith had been sorely lacking in romantic moments in his lifetime. There were some that everyone just HAD to experience, and Lance had made it his personal mission to make sure that Keith got to do every cheesy, sappy ‘classic’ date he could humanly manage.

In the time since they’d started actually dating (instead of just hooking up at random intervals) back in April, he’d enlisted the help of pretty much everyone he knew to cross some of the trickier ‘special’ dates off his list- like apple picking, and finding a state fair with a tunnel of love, and now- tracking down the most romantic spot to go ice skating. Well, technically the most romantic spot to go ice skating that ALSO rented ice skates… because he wasn’t shelling out the money to BUY two pairs of ice skates for a single date.

Still, he was excited. So far, all of the ‘special’ dates have been… nice. Really nice. They haven’t really been as perfect as he would like, but real life isn’t a rom-com, despite his best efforts… Plus, Keith doesn’t have as much of a romantic streak as he does. He’s been holding out hope that that is mainly because Keith hasn’t really had the chance or inclination to NURTURE a romantic streak and that one might… kind of… take root in that cynical heart of his.

It was a small hope… but a tenacious one.

And the special dates HAVE been good ones. They’ve had fun. They’ve gotten closer. Keith had stopped saying that Lance was making a ‘big fuss for no reason’. In fact, the last ‘classic’ had been a walk through the park looking at the leaves and getting hot chocolate together and that had been AWESOME! They’d had a blast and when stopping to drink the chocolate and watch the early sunset had meant getting chilly, they’d snuggled up together and Keith had been so relaxed and happy that he hadn’t even scowled when Lance had called him ‘cute’.

This time, he’d actually let Lance blindfold him. Actually, the first miracle was that he’d agreed to let Lance DRIVE… then he’d agreed to the blindfold with hardly more than a sigh and an eyeroll. That was… kind of mind-blowing, actually.

“Do you have, like, hints for me to try to decipher?” Keith asked as Lance parked the car.

“Nope,” Lance answered, smiling hugely, “and you can take the blindfold off now. We’re here.”

“Before I do- this isn’t some kind of ambush is it? I’m not going to take this off and get hit with some weird version of ‘this is your life’ or anything?”

“What? No! But, that’s an awesome idea! I am going to have to put that in the ol’memory bank,” he laughed, leaning in to kiss his boyfriend softly, tugging the blindfold off, “it’s just us. A real DATE- me and you and nobody else, see?”

“Are we…” he looked around, the spot was obscenely pretty. Snow covered the branches of tons of old-growth trees, sparkling and filtering the sun into little pockets of  dancing light. There was a stream nearby, just big enough to keep from freezing over and close enough that they could hear it ‘babbling’ even in the car. There were a few wrought iron benches scattered among the trees, populated by people feeding the winter birds. At the end of the parking lot, sat a small bank of bleachers that looked to be made of halved logs, and a little building that was decorated like a gingerbread house and sported two signs: ‘Rentals’ and ‘Returns’. “Are we at an outdoor rink? We’re going skating?”

“We’re going skating!” Lance repeated, with the proper level of excitement thankyouverymuch!

“Is this one of your whole ‘I learned how to date from Hallmark movies’ things?”

Lance rolled his eyes, “I don’t watch HALLMARK movies!”

“This seems like a Hallmark movie thing,” Keith said levelly.

“Since I don’t watch Hallmark movies, I will have to defer to your CLEARLY more educated opinion,” he teased, “since you’ve obviously watched enough of them to spot the supposed similarity from the parking lot.”

“You’re really not as funny as you think you are,” Keith muttered, reaching for the door handle.

“No! It’s a date, and I drove- so I have to get your door for you,” he insisted, hopping out of the car. He could see Keith shaking his head as he rounded the vehicle and opened the passenger side door.

“You are ridiculous with this stuff,” Keith said, but Lance could see the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He hated to admit it, but Keith really loved it when Lance treated him like he was ‘important or something’ (because he WAS. Keith was very important to him!).

“I am a gentleman,” he argued, slipping his hand into Keith’s as they headed to the rental office, “you are just going to have to get used to that… and that means, I get the door when I drive. It means I walk you to your door at the end of the night…”

“Lance, you walk me to my door at the end of the night because you are SPENDING the night,” Keith laughed.

“But even if I WASN’T, I’d still walk you to your door and say good-night and make sure you were safely inside before I left,” he pointed out, “and maybe leave out the whole spending the night bit if my Mom ever asks if I am being a gentleman.”

“We’ve been dating for MONTHS, Lance… you are the youngest of five kids- your mother is well aware that we are having sex.”

Lance gasped, eyes wide with horror as he turned to Keith, “take that back! My Mom thinks I am an absolute angel! Pure as the driven snow! Nope. Nuh-uh. I refuse to accept that she even SUSPECTS anything else.”

“What’s… happening here? Is this you being in denial?” He asked, brow creasing with confusion, “or is this you being grossed out by the idea that your Mom knows you aren’t a virgin?”

“Stop it!”

“C’mon Lance, be serious,” he chuckled, “she’s a grown woman, she knows how things work!”

“I’m not listening!” He dropped Keith’s hand to clamp both of his over his ears, “lalalalalalalalalalala I can’t hear you!”

“Lance! You are TWENTY years old!” He was on the verge of cracking up, “and your mom is always going on about how handsome you are and what a heartbreaker you were and how ‘all the girls loved’ you… be serious!”

“No! Shhh! Stop talking!” He gave up on the ineffective tactic of covering his ears, choosing the much more rewarding one of kissing Keith until they BOTH forgot what they were talking about.

Keith laughed into the kiss, which was something he’d only started doing recently and that Lance kind of loved. Because he thought it meant that Keith was relaxing with him a bit. Trusting him more. Sometimes, early on, it had felt like he was courting a porcupine or something- one wrong move would trigger a defensive response that could really hurt. Lately though… probably since… ohhh yeah, since Keith had dragged him camping on Labor Day Weekend… things had been… mellower. He’d been less guarded. More affectionate.  So, lately, Lance could do this… kiss him and know that they’d be able to get lost in it for a bit- without losing track of where they were and who might see and start heading down a path that was very much not fit for public viewing.

“You are adorable,” Keith said as the kiss broke, “Loverboy-Lance horrified to think that his Mami knows that he likes to fuck.”

“Keith!” he squawked, head whipping around to make sure there were no kids in the vicinity. “Public!”

“I’m not a complete jackass, Lance,” he chuckled, “I did CHECK for people nearby before I said that.”

“Can we just talk about something else?” Lance sighed, “like.. ANYTHING else?”

“Okay, sure,” he caught Lance’s hand and squeezed it, “I didn’t want to upset you. You know that right? I just… I think it’s funny how much it means to you that she thinks you are… how did you phrase it? ‘Pure as the driven snow’? It’s sweet, though… really.”

Lance huffed, but he rubbed his thumb over Keith’s hand, “sometimes I forget… because you are one of like six people who knows what my life was like in space, who understands about being a Paladin and everything we went through… but THIS… I forget that you and I had very different lives before Voltron.”

“It’s okay Lance,” he said, smiling at him, “I really like your family- your Mom, especially. I love how close you guys are. I just… it’s so different from my relationship with my mother.”

“Yeah, you and Krolia have kind of a unique relationship,” he said, brushing his lips along Keith’s jaw. “It’s awesome, but…”

“Yeah,” his smile was sad, “maybe if we hadn’t been pulled apart by the war, I’d understand better.”

“I love you,” he said softly, “you know that, right?”

“I do,” Keith answered, “and I love you, too… and weren’t we supposed to be ice skating?”

Lance blinked, “oh my god… we need to get our skates!”

He laughed, “you completely forgot, didn’t you?”

“You’re distracting,” he muttered. “Come on,” Lance tugged on his hand, dragging him over to the counter.

It didn’t take long to get situated with skates and before he knew it they were stepping out onto the ice. “So, is the rom-com date just the ice skating? Or is there like a flashmob waiting for some secret cue?” Keith asked, gliding backwards on the ice to make room for Lance.

“Just the skating,” he chuckled, “no flash mob. I mean, I THOUGHT about a flash mob, but… I figured you’d dump me on the spot if I tried.”

“I wouldn’t dump you for something like that,” Keith replied, laughing along with him, “I knew you were an overly dramatic romantic before I fell in love with you. Just like you knew I was a moody loner before you fell in love with me. You wouldn’t dump me for acting like a moody loner, right?”

“Of course not,” Lance smiled at him, stepping tentatively onto the ice and grabbing Keith’s hand, “you’re MY moody loner. I love you just the way you-” Suddenly, he was lying on his back, staring up into Keith’s concerned face.

“Are you alright?” Keith asked, “did you hit your head?”

“Ummm.. yeah, I’m ok. The only thing hurt is my pride,” he flashed a charming smile, sitting up.

“Rusty, huh?”

“I didn’t THINK I was- I was rollerblading most of the summer.”

Keith braced, holding his hand out to help Lance to his feet, only to have him fall again. “Rollerblading? Lance? How long has it been since you were ICE skating?”

Lance’s smile was sheepish, “ummm… never? But blades are blades, right? It’s all just skating.”

“You have NEVER been ice skating?” Keith echoed, “darlin’, why would you pick THIS as a date if you don’t know how to skate?”

“I DO know how to skate! I roller blade all the time, I can even DANCE in old school roller skates!”

“Quiznak,” Keith sighed, dropping into a surprisingly stable crouch, “this is a lot LIKE roller skating or rollerblading, but it’s not the same. Being able to one doesn’t mean you can do the other. You really never learned how to ice skate?”

“If I HAD, I’d be gliding gracefully around the rink with you, not sitting on my ass on the ice, Keith,” he pointed out dryly. “I figured I’d be the one helping YOU- the guy from the desert!”

“Charities LOVE to spring for kids in the system to have big ice skating parties during the holidays,” he explained “I used to go ice skating a few times a year when I was a foster kid. I can teach you, if you like?”

“You can?”

Keith shrugged one shoulder, “yeah. I’ve taught a bunch of kids over the years. It’s not that hard… especially since you are used to rollerblades. Think of it like… um… learning a new weapon. Revolvers and sniper rifles are different in a lot of ways, but they are both GUNS right? The basic principles still apply. Aim. Breathe. Prepare for the kickback. Squeeze, don’t pull the trigger. Etc.”

Lance smiled, touched at the offer and at how Keith was trying to find a comparison to a skillset that Lance, specifically, was confident in. “I would LOVE it if you taught me how to skate,” he answered.

“Alright, first step is to get you up on your feet again,” Keith answered, “c’mon tumbleweed.”

It took Lance about an hour to get the hang of staying upright and moving forward with enough confidence and grace that he no longer clung to Keith like a lifeline. Keith was notoriously hot-tempered, but he was an incredibly patient and supportive teacher. He never got frustrated or cranky, even those times when Lance pulled or knocked him to the ice when he’d fall.

They spent a surprising amount of time laughing, and even more time talking. Keith had quickly figured out that over-thinking was Lance’s biggest downfall. If his mind was occupied with something else, he’d relax and let his body self-correct without stiffening up or jerking. If he was trying to concentrate on the skating, he seemed to completely bypass his own natural grace.

STOPPING on his own still seemed like an impossible dream, but Lance wasn’t really complaining about the way Keith would catch him in his arms and slow them both down to a stop while he skated backwards. He also was definitely NOT complaining about the soft praise and encouraging little kisses Keith doled out once they did stop moving.

The little countdown buzzer they’d been given to track their rental time went off much sooner than Lance had expected and Keith gently guided him back to the little bank of bleachers by the rental office so they could change back into their regular boots.

“This was NOT how I was expecting this date to go,” Lance laughed as they waited in line for the bizarrely small return window to give back the skates. “Did you have fun?”

“I always have fun on our dates,” Keith answered, “I always have fun with YOU, Tumbleweed. Even when we aren’t on a date.”

“Aww… look at you being all sweet and borderline romantic. Here, hand me your skates, I’ll pass them both in together.” He let go of Keith’s hand to collect the skates, handing both pairs over and signing the log book that tracked the rentals. He commented on them using old school pen and paper and how he thought it was cute. The teenager just nodded, a weird smile on her face. Even after all this time, he STILL wasn’t used to the strange pseudo-celebrity status he had as a Paladin of Voltron. It just  always felt WEIRD when someone recognized him, but he was raised to be polite so he just smiled at the kid and didn’t mention the awkwardness.

“Alright,” he said, stuffing his gloves into his pocket and turning back to Keith, “let’s head back to the… what?” He looked around, like scanning the area would somehow change what he saw in front of him. Keith. On one knee. A ring box in his hand. “Oh my god… Keith!”

“Lance,” Keith purred, his voice quiet and sure and steady, even though Lance could see in his eyes how nervous he was, “we’ve been dating for, like eight months, and I know a lot of people would think that wasn’t very long… but you and I… we are so much more than those eight months. We’ve been through the worst stuff the universe could throw at us, watching each other’s backs and working together. We got off to a bit of a rocky start, but it didn’t take long for us to get past that. We are such a good team. You bring out the best in me. I like to think I bring out the best in you. I’m happiest with you. I… make SENSE when I’m with you. I hope I make you just as happy. I hope you want to give me the chance to do that for the rest of our lives. I have loved you for so long, even when you drive me crazy, even when you don’t make sense to me. I was away from you for two years and it didn’t lessen that love, like, at all. You SEE me. ALL of me… and you love me.” He opened the ring box to reveal a very simple silver (white gold? Platinum? Some kind of alien metal? He couldn’t tell the difference.) band with a tiny pearl flanked by two rubies inset in the metal. “Will you please be my husband?”

Lance had been crying since Keith had said his name the first time. Seeing that ring box had rendered him speechless, which was good, because it meant that he hadn’t interrupted Keith’s little speech. How had he ever thought that this man wasn’t a romantic? Apparently, he just saved up the romance for the big moments.

“Lance?”

“What? Oh!” he shook himself out of his state of shock. “Oh my God! Yes! Of course, yes! Yes, I’ll marry you! Oh my God! Keith!”

Keith stood, pulling Lance into his arms for a passionate kiss as the people around them erupted into cheers.

After a moment, Keith pulled back, taking the ring out of the box and slipping it on his finger, “the pearl because you love the ocean. One ruby for your birthday, because you being born changed my life. The other for Red… because we wouldn’t be us without Voltron, and we’ve both been her paladin.”

“Oh my God,” he whispered again, awed, “it’s perfect. You are perfect… perfect for me. The perfect boyfrie-I mean, the perfect fiance. I love you, Keith Kogane. So much. I can’t wait to marry you!”

#Klancemas #monthlyklance #laith #Klance #VLD #Voltron #Ice Skating #Fanfiction #my writing #mywriting

[delineative]

writing year in review: 2018

total number of completed stories: 9

total word count:

ao3: 43 879

(+ ~5k on socks)

fandoms written in:

dorohedoro

we both chose each other - noi/shin

houseki no kuni

growing without rest - phos/phos

idol producer / nine percent

counting flower petals all day long - xukun/zhengting

leaving nothing behind - xukun/zhengting

when we see each other again - jun/zhengting, ziyi/zhengting, yanjun/zhangjing/zhengting, xukun/zhengting, justin/chengcheng/zhengting

take one step closer - xukun/yanjun/zhengting

nct

from first principles - 00line

produce 101 china / rocket girls

coincidence makes sense - yamy/meiqi/xuanyi

seventeen

the earth in its turning stopped (last 2 chapters) - seungcheol/jeonghan/joshua

reaching for you from the endless dream - wonwoo/jun

wips:

out of the wips i’m currently working on:

dirtmix assignment (will be revealed very shortly!)

nahyuck pacific rim au

markrenmin enemies to lovers fantasy au

looking back, did you expect to write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected?

around what i expected... i was aiming for 1 fic a month and didn’t quite manage to hit that but i feel like each fic was longer than usual (i’m a terminal shortfic writer so anything over 3k is long for me). like i kept going 1-4k over my projected wordcount which was extremely panic-inducing when i was trying to write to deadlines lmao so overall i’m okay with the quantity of words i produced this year!

what pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January?

fandom-wise probably the survival show spiral and moving into ncity... if 2017 was the year of yugioh then 2018 was the year of rpf. some of the stuff i posted to socks was very uncharacteristic of my usual m.o but i think everything i put on main was very true to brand i.e ambiguous relationships + vague pining + emo conversations in the dark

did you take any writing risks this year? what did you learn from them?

i signed up for svtbb and had to drop out due to exam pressure, which was sad bc it’s the first exchange/fest i’ve ever defaulted on, but then i went and did lordeventeen and yuletide even though they partly ran through exam seasons too so i guess i learned nothing?!?

actually i think i probably could have afforded to take a few more risks genre-wise, i feel like everything i wrote in 2018 recycled the exact same themes but also at the same time those themes are the only thing i can write. terrible taste i will never change i will never improve that is a promise etc etc

what’s your own favorite story of the year?

reaching for you from the endless dream had me tearing my hair out while i was writing it but ultimately i feel like it paid off! i’ve always wanted to try canon compliant + magic and this ended up with some of the best writing i’ve ever done, plus i’m happy i was finally able to write something for one of my favourite svt ships <3 honourable mention to the concept behind when we see each other again, my post-disbandment allzzt ship manifesto titled after csc_uri_dasi_bol_ttae.mp3 

best story of the year?

also reaching for you from the endless dream! i’m really proud of how this one turned out both in terms of technical quality (.... *repeats the same phrase 300 times* Is This Thematic Consistency?) and emotional beats, and it got so many lovely comments. i think this is probably one of my best fics ever, and i’m glad it struck a chord with other people too!

most popular story of the year?

not counting teiits since most of that was posted in 2017, it’s counting flower petals all day long, which really surprised me when i checked my ao3 stats? i must have hit the sweet spot of fandom growth + burgeoning ship popularity bc literally nothing happens in the fic other than one (1) kiss, but thank you for giving it so much love 💖

story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion:

omg i think everything i wrote this year was WAY over-appreciated but coincidence makes sense, which features a f/f/f rarepair (raretrio?) in a fandom with very little western fan presence, so i’m not surprised by its stats but i’m still pretty fond of this one and consider it one of the better fics i wrote in 2018, and one of the best idolverse fics i’ve ever written

most fun story to write:

from first principles, the debate au fic i’ve wanted to write for like 6 years, my beloved pet project through the month of august, and i think it shows? i tripled my projected word count and in the process of writing fully converted to dreamyism(/renjunism), so a lot of love went into it, even though there are places you can tell i definitely rushed the execution. one day i’ll do justice to a proper nct sports anime fic... 

story with the single sexiest moment:

all the rated content i wrote this year was posted to socks other than the brief dance studio 3some scene in take one step closer, but i genuinely have no idea if that was even sxc since i wrote it on my phone in a feverish last-minute sprint on a plane while blasting twice bdz and haven’t reread it at all jhfgdfjdfh

most sweet story:

the general tone of everything i wrote in 2018 was much less depressing than 2017 but i guess the sweetest story was we both chose each other... what’s more romantic than dismembering a bunch of thugs with your beloved partner and then jumping off a cliff together!!

story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters:

kind of a weird question to apply to rpf... characterisation perceptions are constantly shifting based on current meta and au role needs, though i feel like i’m always struggling to play catchup and by the time i publish anything the general image has shifted ;__; 

most unintentionally telling story:

from first principles draws heavily on my own experiences with high school debating... lots of 3rd speaker related anxieties and hangups projection all over the place in there lmao

hardest story to write:

every time i’m working on something, especially when i’m close to finishing, it is the hardest thing i have ever written... i can’t remember if writing has always been this difficult for me or if it’s an rpf thing. probably i struggled the most with reaching for you from the endless dream bc i’m deeply intimidated by writing jun (light of my life) due to the fear of not doing him justice, and also the deadline pressure nearly killed me. also at one point i called writing from first principles the worst experience of my life but looking back it wasn’t even that bad... mostly it was just that it kept getting longer and longer and eventually i was like Please God Let It End Already

biggest disappointment:

not finishing my svtbb fic... i am literally twitter user juncheolsoo i owe them SOMETHING!! not writing more fic. mediocre execution of decent concepts bc i got too impatient and rushed to finish things before i got bored of them

biggest surprise:

all of my fics about idol boys except one have over 100 kudos, which is just a ridiculous amount?! idol rpf fandoms have been so kind to me... i will work hard to become a better content creator in 2019!!

favourite opening line(s):

from leaving nothing behind:

“Are you looking for Justin?”

Xukun rears back, knuckles still poised to knock on the doorframe. “I—what?”

“Are you looking for Justin?” Zhengting repeats. He’s sprawled across the bottom bunk, leg dangling inelegantly off the edge. The phone in his hand casts an unsteady ellipse of light over his collarbone.

favourite closing line(s):

from growing without rest:

Beyond the arches the world is silent. The gem Phosphophyllite will become returns their gaze steadily, evenly. The shadows lengthen. In the distance behind them, a flicker of white, like light needling off somebody’s back, or the gleam of a pearl eye.

favourite 5 line(s) from anywhere:

from first principles:

“If only Mark-hyung was still here,” Renjun said, only half-jokingly. There was a brief moment of solemn silence as the three of them paused to consider their ex-captain, who had passed on last year to the realm of university debating.

when we see each other again:

So maybe they weren’t friends, but they were something. You couldn’t inhabit the same space for two years and come out the other side as strangers. Sometimes Zhengting thought that might have been easier than whatever this intimacy limbo was supposed to be, knowing somebody in the minutest details, what they looked like at the height of their intensity or the moments before they fell asleep, without really knowing them at all. Looking, and not having the gesture returned, or at least not equally.

coincidence makes sense:

The song ends, starts over. Meiqi doesn’t, though, pivoting to face them, and that’s all the invitation Xuanyi needs to unfold from her position beside Guo Ying and cross the floor. Like two halves of a single movement Meiqi reaches out to Xuanyi and Xuanyi presses their palms together, interlacing their fingers. The tilt of their heads towards each other like it’s something irresistible.

reaching for you from the endless dream:

Junhui was practically raised by the industry. The stage lying close enough to the bone it would be indistinguishable from it. He leaves his intensity on the stage but glimpses of it show through in odd moments, seamlessness without ease. It’s hard for Wonwoo to understand, but most things about Junhui are.

take one step closer:

You want to look into somebody, of course you have to let them look back. This is why he kept away in the first place, the terror of vulnerability when it could be staved off indefinitely instead, though he’d wanted to be seen, hoped for it, even, despite himself, something in the marrow singing out to be known.

It’s like an infection, a second heart in his ribs. A kind of longing that bites right through his hand. Strikes down to the quick. Severs the whole thing clean off. He ran so far from himself he landed in somebody else’s body, and here he is, still trying to escape.

top 5 scenes from anywhere you would choose to have illustrated:

jun lifting zzt up and spinning him around, from when we see each other again (;___; #junting_agenda_seeding)

wonwoo and jun in the kitchen with nectarines spilling out of the open fridge, from reaching for you from the endless dream

cxkzzt conversation in the dark while zzt is wearing a facemask, from leaving nothing behind

00z sports shounen hug, from from first principles

phos getting crushed by their future self’s gold arms, from growing without rest

honourable mention to noishin leaping off a cliff from we both chose each other, which actually did get illustrated in dorohedorozine <3

do you have any fanfic or profit goals for the new year?

cut down my wip list... please i have 25+ wips on my spreadsheet i just want to FINISH something for once in my life instead of constantly starting new wips and letting them rot in the graveyard of my gdocs

practise writing actual shipfic and not poorly disguised gen. i WILL get better at writing kiss scenes

try to write something over 10k again

relearn what figurative language is and how to use it. rpf boosted my productivity stats but at what cost...

#ash writes #i literally log on once a year to make this post

[5hfanfiction]

Wicked Games (Chapter 22)

“Let me be your soulmate, for the night.” - Justin Timberlake

With all the excitement that had happened yesterday, I did not sleep much. I awoke early in the morning, my body too restless and my mind too abuzz to go back to sleep.

I was up so early I had time to go to a local diner and eat pancakes before class. Now I was here early enough to be the first student to arrive to theater.

The rest of the class trickled in slowly, as I tapped my foot at my desk, swearing I could hear every tick of the clock as I waited eagerly for Lauren to arrive.

All morning I couldn’t stop wondering about the fight that had taken place yesterday. I couldn’t stop thinking about Lauren and how she had defended me so unabashedly. She stood up for me and showed that somewhere inside of her she does care for me. Still, I could not help but wonder why she had done it. Why did she get so angry? Plenty of my teammates were hearing and seeing the nasty things Hanna had said and done to me, so why did it light a spark in Lauren specifically?

I people watched for a few minutes to distract myself as my impatience grew. I watched Mr. Vogel arrive, an apple in hand. Today he was wearing a silver coat covered in glitter. Although he looked ridiculous, he also looked spectacular. He had his hair slicked back with gel and it looked as though he had recently got it cut. His face held a freshly shaven look and it seemed to glow with exuberance as he flashed the class a smile that I am pretty sure was only noticed by me.

Finally, I felt the air shift around me.

I looked to my left to see the raven-haired girl. She dropped to her chair with a huff.

I let a few moments of silence pass by excruciatingly before I turned and addressed her, “So, how much trouble are you in?”

I did my best to sound nonchalant, as though my thoughts hadn’t been consumed by her so far today.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “A lot. CG made me meet her at seven AM this morning to read some dumb NCAA rules and regulations packet. She’s making me read the entire thing.”

“Do you have to take a quiz over it or something?” I asked.

“Yeah, there’s basically a question for every single fucking page and there’s like two hundred pages!” Her voice began to rise in loudness and intensity as she decscibed the situation.

“Jesus..” I scratched my head in sympathy.

“Yeah! And so far, none of what I have read has anything to do with fighting!”

I sat quietly as she continued to vent.

“Did you know that a ref can call a technical on someone sitting on the bench for just throwing their arms up in the air??” she questioned me. Her piercing green eyes staring right into mine.

“Um.. no..”

“They can! Why do I know that? Because I have to read this stupid handbook! Ugh, and I have to go in at seven AM every morning until I finish it or else I can’t practice.”

“Ouch.. how far did you get today?”

She threw her hair back in irritation. “Fifty pages just about. Hopefully since tomorrow is Saturday I will get more time.”

I nodded, “That would make sense.”

“The coaches said they expect the conference to hand down at least a two game suspension for shoving the girl, inciting a fight, and squaring up, showing an intention to fight,” she relayed as though she was a robot reciting what phrases she was given.

I figured that would happen. A fight broke out last year because of Hanna Grace. That one was much more severe, but it ended with a player on the opposing team being suspended for four games. Lauren didn’t even get the chance to throw a punch, courtesy of me, so I figured they would be more lenient towards her.

She groaned and sunk in her seat. “Do you remember what our next games are?”

My eyes flickered to the floor, feeling bad for her. Our next couple games would be in San Francisco for a tournament between a bunch of the nearby California schools in Division III after Christmas. Every other college student is still on Christmas break at that point except for us. Although not getting as much of a break sucked, the tournament is very fun. It is a vacation within a business trip.

“Are the coaches going to still let you go?” I pried, hoping the answer would be yes. In reality, it would be good to go on this trip without her and get some more separation from her, but deep down I didn’t want that.

“I don’t know.. the coaches are furious with me,” she dejectedly responded.

A sad feeling surfaced within me seeing her so disheartened. A part of me felt guilty and responsible for what happened. I lost my cool for a moment and provoked Hanna into shoving me, which caused Lauren to go into a frenzy. Now she was in this mess.

“So.. how are you feeling?” I asked her curiously, already having a pretty good idea of the answer. I wanted to show her that I cared too.

She glanced at me as though she hadn’t expected me to ask that.

Before she could answer though, Mr. Vogel’s emphatic voice rang out.

“Last class to practice your performances!!” He clapped his hands to further emphasize his excitement, like he always did. “Please take advantage of today and ask for help if you need it. Props are in the back. Let’s get started everybody!”

Lauren and I both sighed deeply simultaneously.

I had not practiced our lines one bit. In fact, I hadn’t touched the script packet once since I had haphazardly thrown it inside my backpack the day we got it. It freaked me out to think about the performance, so instead of preparing for it, I put it off.

Lauren was wearing a black tank top with a blue jean long-sleeve cover up. Her long hair was flowing in natural waves down her shoulders and back. My eyes could not help but make their way to her cleavage that at the moment was exposed to me as she leaned over to get her script out of her bag. Memories flashed across my brain of amazing times where I got to kiss and suck on those-

‘Jesus Christ Camila!’ I admonished myself. I shook my head, shaking those thoughts away and focused back on the lines in front of me.

We both sat like that in awkward silence for about fifteen minutes. Both of us just staring at our scripts, hopelessly trying to memorize the lines. I cringed at every cheesey word splashed across the page, truly loathing the prospect of next Friday.

“You know ladies, it’s one thing to memorize the lines, but quite another to actually perform them.”

I looked up to see Mr. Vogel looking down at us with a disappointed expression despite his signature smile.

It was then that I looked around and noticed all of the commotion in the room. Nearly every partnership was standing around the classroom, actively practicing their scripts back and forth with eachother. Some had even grabbed props such as hats and canes and were utilizing them. 

I looked back at Mr. Vogel uneasily, hoping that if neither Lauren or I said anything, he would eventually just go away and leave us alone.

Unshockingly, that didn’t work.

“You two aren’t planning to wing it, are you?” he asked pointedly, although I suspected he already assumed the answer.

I shrugged and said “No..” unconfidently, not really sure how I planned to handle this situation.

He did not like how apathetic we were being. That seemed to be Mr. Vogel’s biggest pet peeve.

He made us both get up and spent the rest of the class working with both of us, giving us suggestions on how we should move and when to be especially dramatic and when to be more reserved.

At first, I resented the fact that he wouldn’t leave us alone, but then I grew to appreciate it. He was giving us tips and pointers that would improve our grade if we did them in the performance, as well as being a third party that could lessen the awkwardness I felt trading these cringeworthy lines with Lauren.

But now here I was, a couple days later, completely alone with Lauren Jauregui, trying desperately to memorize these lines and not die of embarassment every time I thought of having to perform them in front of the class.

This time there was no Mr. Vogel to mediate or correct things.

I sat on the couch of my teammate’s home, with Lauren on a bean bag chair a couple feet in front of me.

For the past twenty minutes we had been trying to just simply say the lines without looking at our scripts, but I kept messing up. Lauren seemed to have a good memory, so she was doing it with ease, but for some reason I could not for the life of me get it right. I kept forgetting one or two words, or saying the lines out of order.

“Let’s try it one more time,” Lauren suggested.

I nodded, giving my lines one last once over. Then I set my script on my lap and looked up at the younger girl across from me.

I started, “What are you gonna do?”

Lauren instantly responded without much emotion, “I don’t know.”

I blinked, realizing I was already forgetting how the next part went. “So we’re back to that?Are we back there?” I trailed off, trying desperately to think of what came next. I looked at Lauren, hoping it would somehow jog my memory. A raised eyebrow from her infuriated me, but I continued to think.

I had an ah-ha moment. “Oh!” I paused and then reiterated what I thought the line was. “The past couple days happened, you know.”

I sat up straight, proud of myself for remembering.

Lauren sighed and shook her head. “It’s 'What about the past couple of days? They happened you know.’”

I cursed and slammed my script down on the coffee table. “Fuck this stupid shit.”

“Woah..” Lauren spoke, putting her hands up as though I had pointed a gun at her.

I rolled my eyes and grimaced at her overdramatic reaction. “This is maddening, ok.” I was super frustrated and I had enough stress on my plate without this silly script that I could not seem to get locked into my mind.

Her eyes narrowed, as she set her script down softly on the coffee table and stood up from her bean bag. “You have a short temper don’t you?” she asked rhetorically. I scowled at her.

“You’re one to talk,” I retorted, trying to keep my cool under her tantalizing stare and blatantly suggestive tone. She’s the one who got into a fight the other day.

She ignored my sarcastic remark and started inching dangerously close to me. She added, “I never noticed that before,” with a smirk and finished it off with a sultry “it’s kindof sexy.”

I’m pretty sure all of the color left my face after that comment. I was so caught off guard by what she said I didn’t have a chance to react when she lowered herself onto my lap.

“What are you doing?” I mumbled slowly, her lips hovering maybe an inch from mine. My heart beat started exploding inside my chest as her familiar smell cascaded me.

“Just let it happen,” she exhaled. It did not take her long to close the distance between us and forcefully plant her lips upon mine. Today my walls were weak because I made no move to stop her. I sat there unresponsive for a few moments and then her tongue brushed my bottom lip and I was unable to resist any longer. I pushed my lips back onto hers and let my hands rest on her hips. My lips felt on fire as they moved in rhythm with hers.

She pulled away slightly. “You’ve been so tense lately.. let me distract you,” she whispered seductively into my ear before she proceeded to nibble on it.

She was right. Everything in my life seemed to be stressing me out right now. I had to learn the lines for this stupid scene, I was frustrated with the way I had been playing lately because it was not to my standard, our team was in trouble for that fight, I had two big finals coming up, I was worried about my professional school interviews that were happening soon, and my ambivalent love life was also not helping matters.

But still, I continued to be stubborn. “What about our lines?” I mean, we do have to perform this scene in a few days. Just thinking about it was giving me anxiety. The thought of going out there and not even knowing the lines and blubbering through it was almost enough to send me into a full-blown panic attack.

“We can practice the lines later. Right now.. we should practice something else..” she charmed. I could literally feel her smile on my skin. “I have some tension of my own I need to get rid of too..” she huffed as her warm fingers slid under my shirt and gently stroked my skin, causing me to shiver as a heat ran down my stomach.

'Fuck’ I thought to myself, no longer being able to ignore how much she had already turned me on.

She was kissing down the side of my neck and I was just starting to relax and get into it when I had an 'oh shit’ moment remembering where we were. I gently nudged her off me. “Lauren, what if somebody comes home?” gesturing towards the front door.

We would be busted immediately. The couch was directly in sight of the door.

“Well, I guess we’re just going to have to move this to my room,” she said smoothly, a smirk across her face. Her eyes blinked at me suggestively and I knew I was in no state of mind to disagree.

I sighed loudly, accepting that I was not going to fight it today. I roped my arms underneath her butt and stood up from the couch. She wrapped her legs around me and giggled cheerfully, knowing she had won. I walked to her room carrying her in my arms, pecking her lips periodically, fully giving in to her. She adorably laughed against my lips as her palms felt my cheeks. In response, a feeling that couldn’t be described as anything other than happiness, rushed through me.

For tonight at least, I was Lauren’s and Lauren was mine.

__________________

Wattpad: mothertruckin

#UPDATE #series #AU #slash #camren #based on song #angst drama #romance fluff #submission #Wicked Games