#and by get rid i mean like just…cut off or even slow down communication from them

[sanjisblackasswife]

idk if this is a hot take??

but i think it’s important to realize it’s ok to get rid of friends (or even family) that mentally drain you.

not worth the hassle

[candychronicles]

carve // k. bakugou

A/N: hello and welcome to my take on the all about bakugou bnharem collab! this is a potential intense read so please heed all warnings! 

this is a continuation of quarantine that i wrote last year for a harem collab. it’s not required to read in order to read this story but feel free to read if you’re interested!

i am so sorry that i solely write for collabs now lol 

CHARACTER PAIRING: bakugou katsuki x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 3,050

WARNINGS: heavy knife play (mentions of blood, wounds, weapons), super intense emotions, oral (f!receiving), good ol fashioned penetration, implications of a lighter skin tone if you squint

SYNOPSIS: your boyfriend suggested to try a new kink over quarantine yet life was beginning to resume some semblance of normalcy with no excitement in sight. what was going on? 

want to enjoy more bakugou? i mean, c’mon, who wouldn’t? 

head on over the the masterlist!

you did not, in fact, try anything risker. bakugou balked at the thought of hurting you once he got over the high he was in, lusting over the fact that you were able to put him in his place so easily, though he would never admit that. he wouldn’t admit a lot of things, in fact, like how he was afraid he was going to slip and cut too deep, how he thought you secretly didn’t trust him, how he wasn’t and never would be good enough. all these thoughts kept running through his head as time went on, as quarantine sunk deeper and deeper into chaos, as he got called back into action much sooner than expected and never really got a chance to spend time with you like he really wanted to.

over a year had passed since the last first and last time he had ever brought the knife up. you had asked him plenty, showing him different blades, trying to get him wound up, but he always pushed the thought away, fucked you into submission, or if you were being particularly relentless, let you fuck him. it kept you at bay for awhile but you both knew that things wouldn’t stay quiet forever.

it was on a normal tuesday evening that you sat him down for a serious chat. he had been gone for awhile, quarantines lifting up left and right, people getting vaccines and life returning to as normal as it could be after what everyone had went through. he was distant, stressed, unsure of life and frustrated with how he was feeling and you could tell. he didn’t, however, know that you were that observant and he was sure that you were going to kick him to the curb. honestly, how could he blame you with the way he was treating you, acting like you were some fragile doll that needed to be kept at arm's length wrapped in bubble wrap your whole life? fearing he would break some sort of trust between you two or worse, snap you in half. it wasn’t until he felt your gentle hand on his own that he realized he’d been consumed in his own thoughts.

“Katsuki, what’s wrong?” you finally asked, not one to beat around the bush.

“nothing’s wrong babe, just tired, you know i’ve been working a lot,” he brushed off, going to stand up.

you didn’t give him the chance though, yanking his hand so that he was pulled forward, slamming into the table.

“don’t. lie. to. me,” you commanded, anger evident on your face, brows furrowed and eyes challenging straight ahead.

he sat down with a sigh, not sure of where to begin or even if he had the strength to say anything to you, but before he could, he heard your voice, unusually meek, ask “was it something i did?”

his hand tightened around your own before he realized he was squeezing harshly, quickly letting go and rubbing his fingers as if he had burned you, which he might as well have with the way you recoiled at his actions.

“Katsuki, please, if there’s something i did, at least tell me. i’m going crazy watching you run away from me without me even knowing what’s going on.”

fists clenching under the table, he huffed, attempting to collect his thoughts once more. he knew now that there was no running from this, no more hiding his feelings or wallowing in his own despair and pity.

“i’m afraid of hurting you. during sex, especially. with the knife kink, ya know?”

you cocked your head at his, eyes squinting as you tried to analyze what he had just said.

“i’m not made of porcelain. i think that, as adults, you and i can have a conversation about boundaries, safety, how to keep in communication and what to properly do during aftercare. it’s really not any different from the conversations we’ve had before in any part of our life, really.”

“but what if i go too far?”

“then i’ll just embarrass you by going to the hospital and telling them that my boyfriend’s monster cock split me in half. m’sure they’ve heard worse,” you teased, reaching out to poke at his forehead that was set in a permanent wrinkle, face scowling at how nonchalantly you were talking about this.

“i’m serious, what if i fuck up and cut too deep or nick an artery or accidentally slip and stab you or you sneeze and stab yourself or-”

“hey, ‘Suki,” relax. it’s why we’ll educate ourselves and take it slow. you’re not putting a knife to my neck after all. we’ll learn and talk together so that we’re both feeling safe and if you still don’t want to do it after then that’s fine! we have a great sex life as is. i don’t need every one of my kinks fulfilled to be happy and satisfied with you.”

despite the insecurities and confusion that settled in his brain like a thick fog, he nodded his head, agreeing to learning and trying this new experience with you. secretly, he was ecstatic, his cock twitching as he thought about carving his name into your body, but the logical part of his brain still wasn’t convinced. 

you two spent the night educating yourself, figuring out what blade you wanted to purchase, how to keep it clean, how to safely take care of wounds, both minor and major, safety do’s and dont’s and going over boundaries and safe words. it was hours later that you both collapsed into bed, thoroughly tired yet satisfied after the conversation and education that had just taken place.

three days later, a nondescript package arrived at your door, simply labeled with the postage and address. you quickly grabbed it and rushed inside, careful to close the door quietly. Bakugou had the day off and spent most of the morning doing paperwork, only now choosing to workout in order to get rid of the boredom that was already seeping into his brain. 

you tore the package open as quietly as possible and shimmied the box tucked inside the package out, careful not to damage anything, popping it open and smiling at the sight inside. a shiny blade stared back at you, hilt a forest green, deep and inviting. you pulled the object out, running your finger along the cool metal, admiring the way it glinted in the harsh kitchen light. 

quickly, you scrambled into the bedroom, eager to see what Bakugou would think but when you peeked your head inside the room, it was dark. you frowned before realizing he had already sat down at his desk, tolling away at the mounds of papers he had to go through. sighing, you gently placed the blade down on the dresser, forgetting about it as the day went on.

it was only when you were in the shower later that evening, ready for bed, that you remembered you didn’t put it away. you hurried to finish, barely throwing a towel on yourself before whipping the door open only to see he had already spotted the object. 

Bakugou was twirling it in his hands, testing the weight, prodding at the tip with his fingers, letting out a sharp hiss when the blade nicked his finger.

without thinking, you stepped forward, taking his hand into your own before slowly lifting it up to your lips, sucking on the wound, the taste of iron and his own sweet flavor hitting the roof of your mouth. you watched him with hooded lids as your towel dropped haphazardly to the floor, body still dripping from the shower.

“princess, you’re playing a dangerous game tonight.”

you only hummed around his finger, stepping closer to him, pressing your wet body to his, shivering at the warmth he radiated. he pulled his hand away from your mouth, choosing instead to cup your chin and bring it closer to him.

“are you sure you want to do this? do you remember everything we learned?”

“i’m sure, Katsuki, i promise. we have our safety words if things get out of hand, yeah? but i’m sure it won’t,” you reassured, blinking up at him with such sincerity it nearly took his breath away.

with the knife tucked firmly in one hand, Bakugou led you to the bed, laying you down gently, propping your head up and settling into your thighs, kissing, biting, sucking.

he took one deep breath, hands trembling, before the coolness of the blade just barely grazed your skin. you took a sharp inhale of breath but before he could ask what was wrong, he heard you beg for him to do it again.

his tongue came out to press flat against your clit and you jolted, his one hand coming down to hold you still and the other using the knife to trace lazy shapes along your thighs, up your pelvis and around your stomach. 

you struggled to maintain your breath, the sharp scratch of the knife as it tickled your skin contrasted with the soft and soothing tongue of Bakugou as he leisurely lapped at your sensitive nub. you begged and pleaded for more friction, white knuckling the sheets as you tried to keep your composure but all he did was sadistically smile and hum, the vibrations driving you crazy. 

he kept up that pace for a while, the blade leaving behind bright pink swirls on your skin, tickling and pinching you at the same time. it was all so exhilarating, knowing that something bad could happen and yet being at the complete mercy of your boyfriend. 

Bakugou, on the other hand, was stalling for time. he wanted so badly to claim you as his own and yet he was still convinced this wasn’t what you wanted. he thought you were faking it or doing it for his own pleasure and yet in this moment, all he wanted to do was please you, make you feel good, make you know that nobody would ever lay a hand on you besides him, that you were and would be his forever. he felt so strongly about you and about you being his that he didn’t even notice he was applying more pressure to the blade until you let out a gasp.

immediately he sat up, blade dropping clumsily to the bed as he examined your hips, realizing he had nicked the thin skin on your pelvic bone. he stared blankly at the red welt, a pinprick of blood seeping out of the cut. numbly, he looked up at you, ashamed he had hurt you. before he had a chance to open his mouth and apologize, however, you surged forward, crashing your lips against his own, teeth gnashing. he was sure he tasted blood but the way you were kissing him, he didn’t think he could stop even if he wanted to.

“Katsuki, i need more, please. i need you, all of you, need your name carved into my body, need to know that i’m the only one for you.”

he paused, hands coming to gently push you away, looking into your eyes to see what kind of game you were playing but all he saw was that same sincerity and desire as always.

“i just hurt you know. what if i go too far?”

you grabbed his face fervently, squishing his cheeks with your hands. 

“I trust you with my life. I always have and I always will. I am yours as you are mine. I want, no I need, this from you. Please.”

his heart practically squeezed in his chest, an unusual lump forming in his throat as he stared at you, at the way the tears pooled at your lashes, how you looked at him like he was the sun, how your warm breath caressed his face and your soft hands held him so tenderly. it was in that moment that he finally realized how much you loved him, trusted him, needed him as much as he needed you.

no words were spoken as he wiped away the tears from your cheeks, laying you back down gently on the mattress, knife picked up firmly in his hand as he splayed his other across your stomach, stretching and pulling at the skin to make it taut. he didn’t even think before he put the blade to your skin and began carving the first line in the K.

the first cut stung, a slow, agonizing pain as he sliced straight up and down, pinpricks of blood following in the wake of his actions. he looked up at you, making sure you were okay, but you were already placing your hand on the blade, urging him to continue.

the next few lines continued to sting but with it came an utmost sense of security and pride. he was carving you, embellishing his name into your body, carving you, marking you, molding you to become a piece of his own flesh. you were his canvas, his artwork, the beauty that was brighter than the stars. he was the sun, hot, fiery, full of temper and you were his moon, patient, calm, full of emotion. together, you two worked in tandem, balancing each other out, keeping each other in line, never able to fully connect but never being able to stay away from one another. but today, on this glorious evening, the sun and the moon meet, an eclipse in the night, destined to become one, and as the blade finished slicing you, the final stroke, the “I” to end it all, your souls merged.

Bakugou stared back at his own name, his first name, carved along your skin, rivulets of red pooling along your skin, eager to be released from their confines. his hand came to gently wipe away your skin, wincing as you hissed.

“let me get you cleaned up.”

he tried to get up, he really did, but when you reached for him, your voice wanton, begging him to fuck you, pleading, saying that you needed him now more than ever, he sunk back down onto the bed, his shirt flinging over his head, clothes kicked off to the side. gingerly, he climbed on top of you, not even getting a chance to adjust or make sure you were okay before you were trapping him in your legs, pulling your bodies practically flush, his cock sitting heavily against your aching cunt.

“baby, please, i want you too, so fucking bad, but i need you to tell me you’re okay first, need you to talk to me before we go any further,” he begged, eyes searching your own frantically to make sure you didn’t get lost in the emotions.

“m’okay ‘Suki, promise. just need y’so bad, please.” 

he breathed deeply through his nose, cock twitching painfully, before he situated himself properly between your legs, gently thrusting into you, nearly gasping out as you sucked him in, soaking wet and eager for his touch.

“fuck baby, you’re so wet. been waiting for me to fuck you senseless, hm?”

you only whined out in response, hands curling around his neck to pull him closer to you, sealing him in a kiss and wriggling your hips.

he obliged without question, too consumed in the feeling of you, your scent, the stickiness of the blood, your hands in his hair, everything about you was driving him crazy. you were everything to him and he could feel in the way your body reacted to his touch, the way you cried as he kissed you, how you whispered over and over again how much you loved him, how you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him, how you needed him at your happiest and darkest moments in life, how you two would meet in every life and love each other no matter what, he felt it all. so much so that his own tears began falling, soaked in your soft skin, slipping between each kiss, sealing your fate with one another.

his thrust were slow and deliberate, taking his time, savoring every breath that he stole from you, every gasp and moan and cry and prayer as you worshipped him over and over again. your body was on fire, adrenaline making your toes curl and fingers tingle, head dizzy from lack of air but you couldn’t stop, meeting his thrust with your own, legs locked tightly around his torso, hands pulling him impossibly closer, loving the way his body set you on fire. you were drowning in the flames and yet only wanted to sink deeper into heat, consumed by the tranquility it gave you. you were at peace, body alight with pleasure as your chest met his, back curling off the bed as he rocked you through the most intense orgasm you had ever had.

it only took a few moments of your cunt clenching around his cock before he came, thrusts becoming sloppy as he rode you both through your high. breaths were caught, bodies untangling from one another as you came to your senses. after a few minutes, Bakugou gently began stroking your cheek, bringing you back to reality, going through his checklist as he made sure you were okay after what had happened.

after he had gotten you some water and began tending to your wounds, you looked at him, hand coming to gently grip his, stroking the calloused palms of your lover. 

“thank you, Katsuki.”

he looked at you like you had two heads before scoffing, claiming that he only did what you two wanted to do before finishing cleaning you up, going to the bathroom to take his own shower and wash the blood off of himself. you laid there, donned in one of his shirts, taking in your emotions, when the door opened up, Bakugou stepping out dressed in sweatpants, flashing you a rare soft smile as he took in the name carved on your stomach.

“y’know, that’s just the beginning,” he started, coming over to lay down next to you, gently pulling you into his side, kissing the top of your head and watching the way you looked at him, expectant and full of love.

“you’re not going to just have my name carved on you, princess. soon, i’ll give you my last name too.” 

[cevansfics]

Promise?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve finally comes home after being away for so long.

Word count: 3.6k+

Warnings: language, very brief mentions of blood, not too much detail, fluff, a little angst, SMUT 18+ NO MINORS

A/N: this is a repost of an older fic that I rewrote a little

if anyone wants to be added to my tag list, let me know :)

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6 weeks. It had been 6 weeks since Steve left for his last mission. That's the longest he's ever been away from you where he can't make contact. At first, you didn't think much of it. Everything seemed normal. Steve told you he would be a couple of day tops. He went on missions all the time. He's Captain America, for crying out loud. It was normal. Even after the first week and a half had gone by, you hadn't begun to worry, you sometimes knew things would get out of hand, and he would end up having to be away longer.

You weren't an Avenger. You weren't part of the 'team'. At first, when you first started dating Steve, everyone was standoffish when it came to you. It never bothered you. With their line of work, you just guessed it was normal for them not to trust easily. Soon enough, everyone came round to liking you, especially after seeing how happy you and Steve were together. So usually, when Steve left for a mission, someone would update you even if it was just to let you know they were on their way home, but this time everyone had been called out. The worry started to set in around the third week of him being away. You hadn't heard a word. All Fury would say was the mission had got extended, but he knew everyone was safe. That helped you relax a bit. Fury wouldn't lie about everyone being okay, would he? He promised to let you know when he heard any news from anyone or when they would be coming home. You knew Steve could take care of himself, but that didn't make you any less concerned for his well being. You just had to keep yourself busy telling yourself, Steve would be home before you know it.

So you did just that, kept yourself busy. Working more hours than you needed to. You took up reading any book you could get your hands on, watching all the crappy TV imaginable just so you had something else to think about. It worked, during the day, that was. Come night time, being alone in the apartment you shared with Steve was when your mind would wander. By the time the sixth week came around with him being gone, you were only sleeping due to exhaustion from worry.

One late evening after finishing dinner, putting away the leftovers in the fridge, you were cleaning the kitchen when you heard the front door to your apartment open. You froze. Stopping to listen for any sign, it was Steve. When you hear something metal being dropped to the floor, instantly you knew it was his shield. You dropped the plate you were cleaning in the sink and rushing into the living room. As soon as he laid eyes on you, his face broke out into a smile.

"Hi, doll." He said, barely a whisper. Finally, he was there standing in front of you after 6 excruciatingly long weeks. You still hadn't moved or said a word, holding your breath, afraid that if you said or did something that he would vanish from in front of you. He slowly opened his arms for you. Motioning for you to go to him, still with that beautiful smile on his face. Your shoulders dropped, without hesitation, you ran to him. You wrapped your arms around his neck with his arms slipping around your waist. You heard him grunt as your gripped hold of him, afraid you'd hurt him. You tried to pull away, but that only made his grip tighter as he nuzzled his face in your neck, breathing you in. Closing your eyes, running your hands up his neck into his hair. Feeling him, holding him, knowing he was home and alive, you never wanted to let go.

After what felt like forever just standing there and holding each other, you loosened your grip on him, leaning back from his embrace. Realizing you didn't get a proper look at him. You finally noticed he was still wearing his suit, which was unusual for him, as he always got changed before he came home. Your eyes, shifting over his face, seeing bruises running along his jaw. He has a tiny cut above his right eyebrow, blood running down his face, ever so slightly. He was also filthy, covered head to toe in dirt. Making you think what on earth he had been up to on his mission. Carefully you brush the back of your fingers over the bruise, then you cupped his cheek. Careful not to hurt him. Steve sighed as he leaned into your touch. Reaching to hold your hand as he turned to place a single kiss in your palm, all while keeping his eyes closed, enjoying your touch.

That's when a small cry seeped out of your mouth, one that you were trying your hardest to keep contained. You had never seen Steve like this before. Hearing the sound that came from you made Steve's eyes dart open, noticing a single tear had escaped your eye and was running down your cheek. Quickly wiping his thumb over it.

"Hey, Shhh, it's okay sweetheart, I'm okay, I promise." He pulled you closer, placing a kiss on your cheek where the tear had fallen, then another on your forehead. He pulled you closer to him as your face on his chest.

"I-I'm sorry," taking a second to compose yourself, you sniffed, holding back more tears, "I just have never seen you in this condition. It's a bit of a shock." You tried to explain. That was the truth, despite being while him for a while, knowing loosely what his job entails, only being able to guess at what happens on missions. Yet you hadn't seen him this injured and dirty, especially to this extent.

"I know, I'm sorry. Our communication was cut off, so I couldn't let you know we were okay and on our way back. It had just been so long since I'd seen you so, as soon as we had landed, I came straight here. I didn't even think, I just needed to see you, I should have got cleaned u-" you cut his rambling off by pulling his lips to yours. He was stunned at first and didn't react as you caught him off guard, but he soon leaned into the kiss, his mouth moving against yours in the same slow rhythm yet with so much passion, gripping your body so tight it hurt a little.

"Don't apologize. It's just a bit of shock seeing you like this."

Placing another peck on his lips, you take a deep breath settling your emotions before continuing. "Right, so here is what's going to happen. You are going to get out of that god awful, filthy suit. I will run you a nice hot bath, you will relax, then after, I am going to warm you up some food, if you are hungry, then we are going to snuggle in bed, ending with you getting some much-needed sleep. How does that sound?"

"Sounds good to me. It would sound a lot better if you were in the tub with me." He expressed with a wink and a smirk. You just laugh. Only Steve would suggest such a thing even in his condition. Turning to walk down towards the hall to the bathroom, calling over your shoulder as you did.

"Suit. Off. Now."

"Yes, ma'am." You heard him mumble as lean over the bath turning on the water. Adding some bubbles, not too much as Steve wasn't a fan, but even with a small amount, it filled the room a nice fruity smell. Once the tub is full of water, you turn off the taps and turn to face the door when you see Steve walking into the bathroom. He had done as you asked and taken off most of his clothes. He was now standing in just his underwear. The dirt on him only seemed to cover him from the neck up due to him having his suit on, but you could see a big purple bruise covering the right side of his rib cage. Reaching out, you gently trace your fingertips over the edge of the bruise before shaking your head slightly. Trying to rid yourself of the dark thoughts of what had happened to Steve while he was away. Looking up at him, you see that he's going to say something, but knowing what he's about to say, you stop him.

"I know, take these off and get in before it gets cold. I'm just going to get you a towel from the cupboard." You say, snapping the waistband of his underwear against his flesh before you slip past him out of the room.

While you were getting him a towel, you heard the water sloshing around meaning, Steve had got into the tub. Heading back into the bathroom, you see him lying there, surrounded by bubbles leaning back with his head resting on the edge of the tub with his eyes closed.

"You comfy?" You ask with a slight chuckle as you try to lighten the mood.

Steve eyes open as he answers, "Why yes, thank you. It's very hot."

"It's supposed to be. Will help relax your muscles."

"You getting in?" You hear the hopefulness in his voice; he needs this just as much as you do.

You nod as you pop open the button on your jeans and start to pull them down. Steve rests his head back against the edge of the bathtub, this time keeping his eyes open and locked on you as you start to undress. Once your jeans are off, you quickly pull your shirt up and over your head, leaving yourself standing in your bra and panties. You turn to face the mirror, wasting not time wanting to take off what little make-up you had on before you got into the water. While looking in the mirror, you can see Steve's eyes had dropped, focusing on your ass.

You chuckle before asking, "See something you like?"

"Always," he replies, clearing his throat. Turning back to face him, you slip your arms around your back to unhook your bra sliding the straps over your shoulder letting it drop to the floor. Followed by you removing your panties. His eyes never leave you. Noting every move you make as you undress. He takes in the sight like it's the first time he's ever seen you naked. Carefully you step into the bath and sit down. You are at the opposite end of the tub, facing Steve. As you lay back, the water laps around your boobs, which are still barely visible above the water.

"You know it's rude to stare." You tease.

"Can't help it, I haven't seen you for six weeks, and you pretty much just did a striptease for me. What do you expect me to do?"

You just blush at his comment. He wasn't wrong. You did purposefully take your clothes off, knowing he was watching you. You knew what it did to him. You sit up straight, looking him right in the eye as you carefully climb onto his lap to straddle him. It's a bit awkward as there isn't much space being in a bathtub, but you make it work. Gliding your naked body against Steve's, you almost give the game away with a moan, but you manage to hold it back. Once you are sitting in his lap, you feel Steve's hand slip up your thighs until they rest on your waist. Slowly you lean towards him. You make it seem as though you are going to kiss him. He quickly swipes his tongue over his lips in excitement, and you feel him hold on to your hips tighter. Your lips brush past by his. Leaning more into him until your body is pressed against his, your mouth is on his ear. You nibble his earlobe before whispering, "We need to get you clean up first." As you reach behind him for the washcloth, pulling your body away from his. Steve groans at the loss of contact with your body, still holding you firmly at the hips, letting you know he's not allowing you to move further away from him.

"You're such a tease."

"I don't have a clue what you are on about," you say sarcastically. Steve just rolls his eyes as you wet the washcloth and starts removing the dirt from his neck and face. You gently wiped the dried blood from around his eye, carefully cleaning his cut. You can see that it's already starting to heal, a factor of the serum you are very grateful for.

"As much as I am enjoying you taking care of me. I'm all clean, so I think we should get out."

"Why is that?" You ask, acting oblivious.

"Y/N," his voice is low and rough as he gently grinds his hips once. That's when you feel it. His rock hard cock rubs over your groin, and this time you can't contain your moan. The second the sound leaves your mouth Steve sits upright, pulling your body against his. Lips attached to yours before you even see it coming. You start to move in sync, slowly getting more heated as your hips automatically begin to grind against him.

"Bed," you managed to get out in between the make-out session. With one quick motion, a blink of an eye, Steve is on his feet in the tub, carefully placing you on yours. You stepped out first, grabbing the towels you'd got, passing one to Steve. You both briefly rub the towels over yourselves, removing most of the water.

You walk into your bedroom about to wrap the towel around your body to secure it, so it stays up by itself. But you don't get the chance to do that. Steve comes up behind you. Pressing his bare chest against your back. He takes the towel from you, discarding it on the floor forgotten. Placing his lips on the tender spot on your neck, kissing and nipping with his teeth. His hand roamed up from your hips over your stomach until he cups your boobs, squeezing and rolling your nipple between his fingers. He turns you around so you are face to face with him. You notice his towel wrapped loosely around his hip. Grabbing your chin to tilt your head up to his so you are looking him in the eyes, he says, "you are so goddamn beautiful." He kisses you, leaning into you until you start walking back and are met with the edge of the bed. Carefully, he lays you down, not breaking the connections of your lips as he does. Once you are lying flat and comfortable, you feel him softly trace his lips down your neck, over your collar bone, before reaching your boobs. Taking one of your nipples in is his mouth, licking and sucking on it like a starved man. You can't help but moan, running your hand through his hair, gripping it tightly.

"Please, Steve… I need you…"

Releasing your nipple with a pop sound, he shuffles upward until he's hovering over you once again.

"Say that again," It wasn't a question.

"Steve, I need you." He smiles as you instantly do as he says.

"What do you want me to do, doll?"

You sigh, withering beneath him; he knows what you want. You try to thrust your hips against the towel he is wearing, desperate for some friction. But Steve holds you firmly in place so you can't move.

"You gotta use your word, sweetheart," he whispers against your ears, nipping your ear lobe. You wish you could continue this little game with him, but your need for him was too strong.

"Please, I need you inside me, Steve… please." You don't even try to hide the desperation in your voice.

He pushes up off you slightly so he can remove his towel, throwing it on the floor next to the bed.

"That's it. All you needed to do was ask." He taunts you. You pay no attention to him reaching down and wrap your hand firmly around his cock, pumping a couple of times. This time it's Steve's turn to moan.

He stops you, removing your hand from him, replacing it with his own. You see him do the same action on himself you had done only moments ago. Moving closer to you, rubbing to tip over your entrance. Dragging out the torture a little longer.

"You're so ready for me." His voice is deep.

"Plea…" you don't get to finish as he's already started entering you. Slowly filling, he doesn't stop until you are full of him.

He wraps his hands around both of your wrists, shoving them above your head, holding them in place, and his hips start to roll.

"Fuuck… ah-Stevie." It's almost too much for you as he starts to pick up the pace, thrusting into you. Trying your best not to completely lose your head, you move your hips the best you can match his. Steve groans at the motion; gripping your wrists tighter, he starts fucking into you like a mad man.

"Oh god yes," you heard him murmur, in-between his grunts and moans.

"It's been so long, ah fuck - you feel so good - fuck Y/N!"

You feel the sensation building up inside of you, and Steve can feel it too, and his trust becomes more determined to bring you to climax.

"That's it, doll. Come for me. Come on, my cock." That's all it takes, Steve, to utter those words to you as you release rolls over you, tightening your walls around his cock. You could never get enough of his dirty talk. Arching your back the best you can, you roll your hips towards Steve, lasting out the orgasm. Steve's movements are slow as you try to catch your breath.

"You okay?" He asks as you are shaking beneath him.

"G-god, yes."

"You okay to keep going?"

"Mmhmm, Please, Steve, don't stop." You almost shouted.

Steve picks up the pace again. His grip on your wrist has loosened, and you managed to get them free, quickly grabbing his face and pulling him into a kiss. Pulling his hair and scratching your nails over the tops of his shoulders.

The only sounds in the room are skin slapping on skin and the occasional grunt or moan from either you or Steve. You feel the pleasure building up inside you again. It never surprised you how quickly this man could bring you to an orgasm.

As Steve's begins to lose his rhythm, you know he's close too.

"You gonna come again for my doll." All you manage to do is a nod.

"Then do it, let go. I got you, doll, I got you." Coming for a second time that night, Steve thrusts and grinds into you, dragging out your orgasms, until he starts to stiffen, giving into a release of his own, coming inside of you.

Silence, but the good kind, fills the room, and neither of you moved to try to catch your breath. Steve reaches up and moves the hair from your forehead, which got stuck to it with sweat. He starts kissing your face all over. Uttering how much he's missed you. Seconds, minutes, hell, even hours could have passed before Steve moved to get up.

The cold hits your body at the loss of contact with his body heat, and you shiver.

"One second, sweetheart," he says with a peck on your lips as he jumps up, jogging into the bathroom. Returning moments later with a damp cloth. He carefully cleans you. You flinch a little as he runs the fabric over you.

"Sorry!"

"It's okay, just a little sensitive." You explain. Discarding the cloth, Steve jumps into the bed next to you, making you wobble as the bed moves. Shuffling in next to you, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you to lay on his chest. You are careful where you lay on him, remembering his ribs are bruised.

You both lay there enjoying being in each other's arms, just listening to each other breathe. You can hear Steve's heart slowing down as he relaxes.

Gently, barely touching him, you run your fingertips over his chest, as his hand is ghosting over your back and down your arm drawing little patterns.

"I missed you so much," Your voice cracks, as you are the first one to break the silence.

"I know, sweetheart. I missed you too." He pulls you tighter onto his chest. "I am going to do everything in my power to make sure I'm never away for that long again."

You turn to look up at him, your chin now resting on his chest. "You promise?" You ask quietly.

"I promise." His reply is confident and reassuring, but you know that wasn't something he could guarantee. You knew this, but you also knew this was who Steve is, and he's more than capable of taking care of himself. Either way, it was nice to hear him say it. Pressing his lips against your forehead, you turn back, cuddling into him, letting sleep take over peacefully for the first time in a long time, and you know Steve would be there when you woke up.

tag list:

@a-little-counter-esperanto

@patzammit

@chris-butt

[beyondspaceandstars]

While You Sleep

Chapter 18

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: angst Summary: Soulmate!AU - Throughout life, you’re given glimpses of your soulmate through dreams. As you sleep, memories flash in your mind showing you the life your soulmate has lived. Everyone around you raves about how their soulmate reads great books or volunteers in their spare time. But you can’t relate as your dreams end up being more like nightmares. Through initial images of death and violence, you come to learn your soulmate is the Winter Soldier.

A/N: so sorry I’ve been slow with updating Tumblr - my blog was shadowbanned (basically Tumblr hid my blog in searches, notifications, tags, etc.) and it just got fixed so I’m working to update here!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

“You’re back,” Dr. G smiled as you plopped down in the seat across from her. 

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes and instead forced a tight smile. “I’m back,” you confirmed with a dramatic nod for emphasis. You didn’t know why you were feeling so hostile. You had shown up here willingly this time. 

Bucky didn’t even know you were seeing your therapist again. But it wasn’t exactly like he was around to find out. He had left for his mission yesterday in the very early morning and you were now on constant edge. You didn’t know what he would encounter. You knew none of it was at your clearance level seeing as you had no government clearance level to begin with but still… You didn’t like that anything that went wrong would come back to you in the depths of your sleep. Even if Bucky had shared everything step-by-step, any mishap was another blow. Even if everything went right, you feared you were bound to see something. 

“Would you like to share anything?” Your therapist asked, disrupting your spiraling thoughts. It was like she knew and, well, maybe she did. You really did kind of suck at hiding your emotions. You could practically feel your face darkening with worry. 

“Bucky and I learned something about us recently,” you said a bit nervously but Dr. G nodded in encouragement. You tried to steady your breathing and continued, “Our soulmate bond has been disrupted. It happened when he was part of Hydra — I mean, not like part of. That makes it sound like he joined willingly which he absolutely did not—,”

Your therapist said your name sharply, cutting off your words. “I know what you meant,” she said.

You nodded briefly, recomposing yourself, and began again, “While under Hydra, he was brainwashed and in that process, they thought they had rid him of his soulmate. But, turns out, all they were doing was tampering with the transmission lines. This means any sort of trauma or… or really emotional occurrences in Bucky’s life gets passed along to me, intercepting any, well, normal dreams. And there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Nothing?”

You glanced away. “Well, I’ve asked him to retire to maybe… minimize the damage.”

Dr. G nodded as she scribbled something on her notepad. She let out an interesting hum. “How did Bucky respond to that?”

You fought back the urge to roll your eyes. You weren’t really upset with him, more angered by the situation. “It took him a second to come around to the idea and, sure, eventually he did but then he was given another mission. A mission he couldn’t turn down.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

Another feeling of annoyance flashed across you at the cliche therapist speak but you could also recognize the question for its worth. Someone was actually asking you how you felt about the new, and last, mission. Lord knows Bucky hadn’t.

You bit your lip, feeling tears already threatening to run down your cheeks. “It made me feel bad, to put it simply. I just felt horrible and scared. I know that with time it’ll go away and maybe we’ll find some peace but I’m just really hurt it has to be this way.”

More notes were scribbled. “How did Bucky react to hearing that?” Dr. G asked without looking up. You shifted awkwardly in your seat, fiddling with your fingers out of habit. Your therapist glanced up once her writing has finished. Her brows raised as you struggled to find an answer.

“He doesn’t really know.”

Your therapist placed her pen on her notepad and leaned forward in her chair, eyeing you a bit upsettingly. “Do you remember what I told you during your last session?”

Talking. Talking, talking, talking. Just let it out. How could you forget? That’s exactly what you had done and while it made some kind of progress, you were still stuck at this godforsaken dead end for the time being. 

You picked at the chair cushion. “He didn’t ask,” you sighed. “Besides, what good was it going to do? I couldn’t have stopped the mission.”

Dr. G shrugged. “No, I doubt you could’ve, but that’s not the point. The point is you’re hurting and your soulmate needs to know this, especially when it involves him. You can’t beat around the bush or try to sidestep this kind of stuff. Be gentle, yes, but little progress can be made if everything is bottled in.”

“Well, doc, I’m sorry to break it to you, but I’m sure he knows very well how I feel about all of this,” you snapped back. “Think I made myself super clear during our first conversation about retirement.”

“Fine,” she shrugged. “Assume he did. Assume Bucky knew everything that was going through your mind. Did it open any conversation?”

Your shoulders slumped. You looked away. 

Dr. G continued, “My point exactly. Of course, you don’t want to hurt him but you can’t hurt yourself in the process. How many people actually knew about the nightmares to begin with?”

“None,” you mumbled. And it was, sadly, the truth. Your coworker was the first to know. You hadn’t even had the guts to tell your parents. 

“I’m sure I make it sound easier than it really is but there are some benefits to it over time,” your therapist said after a moment. 

You let out a dramatic sigh. “You’re kind of annoying, you know that?”

Your therapist laughed. “You’ve been wanting to bite back for a while, haven’t you?” You didn’t answer. She shrugged. “Already testing out those communication skills I see.”

You let yourself roll your eyes this time.

***

It was nearing midnight when your cell phone rang. You jumped, suddenly disturbed by the ringtone as you laid on your couch watching some sitcom reruns. You frowned in confusion as you stretched to reach your phone on the coffee table. You weren’t expecting any calls.

You turned the screen around and were greeted by one name: Bucky. You just about yelped when it registered he was calling you -- and from his mission, amazingly. You sat up quickly and answered.

“Hi, Buck,” you greeted, hopefully sounding a bit more cheerful than you felt. Your therapy session from the morning still had you a bit shaken. 

“Hey, doll,” Bucky responded, his voice a bit hoarse. He sounded exhausted and...defeated. 

You sink into the couch. “Is everything going okay?” You guessed it wasn’t too weird he was reaching out while away but something was off in his voice. You thought you had already mentally prepared for the worst.

“For the most part,” he mumbled. “I have to tell you, sweetheart, it wasn’t smooth sailing. We… We all had to do some things we aren’t proud of.”

You shut your eyes, trying to reel in your panicked brain before you said something you’d regret. This couldn’t all fall on Bucky, it wasn’t fair. He had a job, one final job, and you were going to have to accept that. 

Regaining your voice, you said, “What… What things, Bucky?”

He fell silent on the other end. All you could hear was some soft breathing and others talking in the background. The rest of the team you could guess. You said his name into the receiver again.

“Just know I didn’t like what I had to do and I can’t wait to put this life behind me.”

If that was all you were getting from him, you’d have to accept it. “Okay,” you said, your voice cracking slightly. “I-I understand.” You didn’t really but you knew after tonight you definitely would.

Bucky took another pause. “You deserve so much better than this.”

“Bucky-,”

“You really do, sweetheart.”

“Bucky, please, listen,” you sighed. “While this isn’t ideal and I was very upset you just jumped on this assignment without speaking to me, I know it won’t be like this forever, right? 

“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about the assignment before leaving,” Bucky responded. “I-I knew I couldn’t do anything about it but that’s still not fair to you. You deserve to be heard.”

“It’s okay, honey,” you said, fighting back some tears getting ready to start again. “You’re almost done, you’re almost back home.”

Bucky hummed. “I am,” he confirmed. “And when I get back I’m going to make up for all of this, I promise.”

You let out a weak laugh through the tears. “You can make it up to me by getting home safely.”

Bucky was about to say something else but was then cut off by someone yelling at him in the background. He gave a curt response before turning his attention back to you. “Sorry, doll, but I have to go. We have some debriefing to do.”

“Of course,” you said, waving a hand in the air like he could see you. “I’ll see you soon, alright?”

“See you soon, sweetheart,” he said. “Love you.”

The line cut before you had the chance to say the words back. You held your phone out in front of you, staring at your lit homescreen, shocked and overwhelmed. He loved you. And he had said it.

***

You were dreading getting ready to go to sleep but, at the same time, your body was practically begging for it. You were finally getting back into the swing of working and now with therapy sessions on top, you couldn’t believe how exhausting life was. As if you had forgotten at some point. 

But with that craved moment of relaxation, an unnerving threat lurked. 

You practically moved with caution when it came to your nighttime routine now. You washed your face carefully and precisely. You scrubbed every tooth again and again for a good minute. Even combing out your hair seemed to be tedious. 

It was all sad attempts at procrastination and you knew it but what could you do? It wasn’t like you were jumping into bed happily no matter how much your body screamed. 

When there was no more to do in your routine, you had to accept it. You had to finally lay down in your bed, let your head hit the pillow, curl up under the duvet, and welcome whatever kind of sleep was going to greet you. 

Almost immediately, you were hit with everything.

As always, you’re seeing it in glimpses from Bucky’s eyes, from his mind. In this instance, he appears to be located in some kind of warehouse. It almost reminded you of where you had been taken to but abandoned.

At first, Bucky seems pretty calm and collected. He’s assessing his surroundings and mapping out a plan. He says something to the person next to them. You can’t see them and possibly you don’t want to. 

They agree with whatever Bucky has suggested but before their plan can commence, they’re both attacked. Guns blazing, doors busting, a whole goddamn ambush. You’re panicking, you feel Bucky panicking. But it doesn’t last long for him. No, within seconds he’s in destruction mode, stomping towards the pop-up army - you don’t even know what they’re part of - dodging bullets and taking them down one by one. 

Some others are helping out it seems but you’re only allowed to be consumed with Bucky’s take on the situation. Despite how much you don’t want to be, especially when he… You see the glint of his metal arm rush past. They’re dying. Being killed. These soldiers or whatever are dropping left and right around him. You feel Bucky’s pulsing anger. He has no plans of slowing down. You feel the tension in his arm as he strangles another and another and another. At one point, he even throws some across the room.

They’re finished. No more men pour in. The rest of the team has stopped. They’re all looking at Bucky, wide-eyed and nervous. You feel his fury turn to shame. You didn’t know the mission’s expectations but you could guess they didn’t exactly involve this much death. No one says anything as they move on. 

The images fade but the feelings don’t. You suddenly want to cry in your sleep feeling Bucky’s distraught and embarrassment. 

Unable to deal with it anymore, you force yourself awake, everything vanishing as your eyes open. You look around your dark room. The clock beside your bed reads just past three a.m. 

You curl back into your blanket and face the wall. You stare at it for the rest of the night, heart pounding and hands shaking.

[drabbles-mc]

“Get It Out!”

Angel Reyes x Reader (Guest appearance from EZ)

Warnings: language, mentions of blood/injuries

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: We love a little Injured!Angel having to get taken care of by his girl and his brother. This was technically a Whumptober prompt but I have fallen behind on posting those in order so here’s a little one-shot. 😁 Feel free to make requests!

When you had told Angel that you wanted him to be more honest with you, to let you in on what was going on with the club, this is not the direction that you saw it going in. You just wanted to know why he was gone for days at a time and couldn’t communicate with you. You did not expect to have him turning up on your doorstep, half-draped onto his brother, bleeding.

“What the fuck,” you opened the door all the way and helped EZ pull him inside.

“He got stabbed,” EZ didn’t really know how much he should elaborate—he didn’t know how much you knew.

You scoffed, “Yea I can fucking see that, Ezekiel, the blade is still stuck in his leg.”

The two of you carefully lowered Angel onto the floor. You had so many questions but from the look on EZ’s face you weren’t confident that either of them were going to give you many answers. Blood was trickling down Angel’s leg and it was almost too distracting. It was hard to think about what to do when all you could think about was the fact that your boyfriend was one wrong decision away from bleeding out on your floor.

“What do you want me to do?” you finally managed to ask.

“I don’t know,” EZ replied honestly, “He insisted that we come here because you would know what to do.”

You huffed, “Fucking hell. Alright, um, go grab some towels out of the closet. I’m gonna grab some gauze and other stuff. I’ll see if I can get him patched up enough to take him to a real doctor.”

“No doctor,” it was the first time Angel had spoken.

“Angel,” your voice was firm, “this isn’t a debate. I’m gonna get rid of the evidence of whatever crime was involved here,” you gestured broadly to his whole body, “and then I’m gonna come up with a fake story and get you to an emergency room.”

“But—”

“It wasn’t a question,” you cut him off before he could argue.

You flew up the stairs, heading to the bedroom that you and Angel shared. You looked through his drawers, finally finding an old belt that would do exactly what you needed. You gripped it tight in your hand as you also dug around for an old pair of shorts and a clean shirt for him to wear instead of his now-bloody jeans and his kutte.

Once you found everything that you needed in the bedroom, you made your way to the bathroom. You called out to EZ to put the towels underneath Angel’s leg so he wouldn’t bleed all over the floor. You could hear Angel’s voice but it was muffled and you couldn’t make out what he was saying. Surely is was some sort of sarcastic remark. It was probably better that you didn’t hear it.

You rooted through the cabinet in the bathroom until you found some peroxide and gauze. You also grabbed a wash cloth before making your way back downstairs. You dropped all of your treasures on the couch before proceeding to the kitchen. You grabbed a pot and filled it with warm water. You also got your fabric scissors out of the junk drawer, chuckling to yourself that your random crafting phase a few years ago was paying off in the strangest ways now. You brought them out to the living room and set it on the ground next to where EZ had positioned Angel.

You looked over at EZ, handing him the scissors, “Help him get his pants off while I get all of this set up.”

Angel groaned, “C’mon, Y/N, we don’t gotta do all this.”

“You came to me for help, Angel.”

“Just get it out,” he gestured to the blade jutting out of his leg, “Get it out and slap a band-aid on that shit, Querida. I’ll be fine.”

“I say this with all the love in the world, Angel: shut the fuck up,” you gave a pointed look to EZ, “Scissors, jeans, now.”

Angel might be up for arguing with you but EZ knew better. He had yet to piss you off and today certainly wasn’t going to be the day that he changed that trend. He pulled off his brother’s shoes and set about carefully cutting the fabric above and below the blade that was in Angel’s leg, peeling off the piece that was below. The cut off his leg with no issues.

“What do you want me to do with the fabric that’s cut by the knife?”

“Leave it for now,” you were getting the gauze ready, “that’ll be the last piece we take care of.

EZ helped brace Angel off the ground just enough so that he could push the waistband of his jeans down off his hips. It felt foreign to him to try and get his pants off when there was only full leg left of them. EZ carefully maneuvered the cut piece around the blade without touching it too much, but it still made Angel wince and curse under his breath as he wriggled his other leg out of the fabric.

Once his jeans were off and tossed to the side, you started telling EZ your plan. It wasn’t an elegant plan, and honestly if the blade had gotten one of Angel’s arteries there wasn’t going to be all that much you could do for him anyway. So this was your best shot, you just had to pray that it would work as well as you hoped.

“I’m gonna pull the blade out,” your breath shook just saying it, “Then you’re gonna press the gauze hard against the wound to try and slow the bleeding. Then I’m gonna use this,” you held up the belt, “to wrap around it to try and get some good, consistent pressure on it. Hopefully that’ll all work and then we can get fresh clothes on him and get him to the hospital.”

“What about me?” Angel piped up, “What do I do?”

You looked down at him. His face was pretty neutral given the circumstances, but you could see the fear in his eyes. You placed your hand gently on his cheek, “Try to sit as still as possible. It’s gonna hurt like a bitch.”

You looked over at EZ again to make sure that he was ready. He gave you a small nod and you gently wrapped your fingers around the handle of the knife. It wasn’t your typical little pocket-knife, and you were glad they someone had had the foresight to not just yank it out right away. You let out as steady of a breath as you could manage.

“Just get it out, Y/N,” Angel’s voice was harsh but you couldn’t blame him.

“Sorry,” your voice was soft as you pulled it out in one smooth motion.

“Fuck!” Angel screamed and clenched his fists, fighting the urge to squirm from the pain.

You pulled the last small piece of fabric down away from the cut and EZ immediately placed the gauze onto the wound, stifling the bleeding slightly. You took a breath and tried to reassess for your next step. You were going to have to clean out the cut—god only knows where that knife had been before it got jammed into Angel’s leg.

“This is gonna sting, Angel, I’m sorry,” you couldn’t meet his eyes. You lifted EZ’s hands and poured the peroxide onto the cut, immediately pushing EZ’s hands back down again.

Angel’s eyes were shut tight, fighting the urge to let out another scream. He had the towel balled up in his fists, knuckles white. You tried not to think about that as you grabbed the belt, propping his leg up just enough so that you would be able to loop the belt underneath it. He didn’t have scrawny thighs, so it didn’t loop around as many times as you had originally thought it might, but it seemed like so far your plan was working about as well as could be expected. There was no blood spraying everywhere, and it seemed like you would be able to clean him up a little bit and get him to the hospital without him passing out from blood loss. All of those things were huge wins in your book.

You took a deep breath and looked over to Angel, who was a little paler than usual. You gently ran your thumb across his cheekbone before setting about to clean off his leg. You soaked the wash cloth in the warm water and wiped down his entire leg, trying your best to get as much of the dried blood off as possible.

“EZ,” you looked over at him with pleading eyes, “Can you help him stand up so I can pull on his shorts?”

“I can pull on my own shorts. I’m injured, not unconscious,” he sounded bitter.

“You shouldn’t be bending that leg, Angel, that’s all. I know you’re capable of dressing yourself. Don’t start being a baby about all of this now.”

EZ stifled a laugh as he helped his brother to his feet. Angel leaned more of his weight onto EZ than necessary just to make him pay for finding any humor in this situation. Angel did as he was told, though, and allowed you to pull his shorts up. Changing his shirt went much smoother and soon enough he was ready to be taken to the hospital.

They helped him hobble out of the house. EZ was about to guide him back to the pickup but you steered them towards your car. “Back seat is bigger,” you stated matter-of-factly. You and EZ helped ease Angel into the back seat. You hopped in the driver’s seat and EZ sat shotgun.

“What’re you even gonna tell the doctors?” Angel piped up from the back seat.

You looked at him through the rearview mirror, “You work at a scrapyard, can’t you just tell them it was a workplace accident?”

“I mean,” he huffed, “I guess.”

You chuckled, shaking your head and returning your eyes to the road. EZ looked over at you with a smirk, “Not bad for not a doctor, Y/N.”

“You boys and your praise. It’s a wonder I can stay so humble.”

[sapphicknightaesthetic]

Prompt #2: The winds call me back to you

Ireland had proved to be more than Eivor had bargained for. She sailed home on the wind-tossed sea, wondering if the trade routes, outposts, and alliances she forged would prove to be worth it in the end, compared to their exorbitantly high cost. She remembered Barid’s eyes, soft but desperate, pleading with her to ensure  King Flann’s allegiance with his last breath, paired with an intensity of his love for his son. He had built a thriving city all so that Sichfrith could prosper...

“...Valhalla need not be a place, Eivor. It can be a legacy…”

She thought about her own legacy. Her intention had always been a life dedicated to fighting for honor, for the glory of her people, for some measure of peace where she no longer needed to pick up her axe to defend them at every turn. But is that what England had given her? She had spent much of her energy and immense skills at the whims of others with political aims and goals, not always aligning with her own. She had placed more than one puppet king on a throne, often needing to choose between the better of two evils. Was this honor? Was this a legacy worthy of entrance to Valhalla? 

Eivor felt exhaustion roll through her like the tide, filling every crevice. She felt unsure of her place in the world, and just needed the comfort of home. Of Randvi. That was her raison d'être, as Estrid would say. Her reason for being. If she fought for the betterment of her clan, if she made connections and alliances to ensure their safety, that was all that mattered. She shook the sad cobwebs from her mind, determined to have a genuine smile for her wife when she returned. She leaned against the firm wall of the longship, and fell into an uneasy sleep.

Birna shook her shoulder. “Come on Sunbeam. Home time.”

Eivor’s eyes fluttered open, she blinked sleep back to its void. “Have we docked?”

“Not yet. We’re just around the bend.”

“Thanks for waking me, Birna.”

“I’m so glad to be rid of Ireland! Those Druids were something else, eh? Giving decent Pagans a bad name.”

“Mmmm.”

“Eivor, I don’t mean to pry. But you spent a lot of time with that red haired witch...what’s her name…”

“Ciara. I did. What’s your question, Birna?”

“I’m just wondering if you made any Druid magic of your own in that wet bog of a land?”

Eivor rolled her eyes. Birna knew full well she hadn’t, though this question seemed to pop up after every major journey they undertook. Eivor had tried to tell her multiple times that she would never be unfaithful to Randvi, that she could not bed anyone for the sake of it if her heart wasn’t in it. The concept had been lost on Birna, and so the questions had persisted. 

“You know I didn’t.”

“I’m just checking. You do have a type, Sunbeam. That red hair burns like fire.”

Eivor grinned ruefully, shook her head, and turned to look at their surroundings. They were just passing the trined point in the river that led to Grantebridge, the ruins of Duroliponte looming to the Southeast. One more bend and they’d be home. She wondered if Randvi would be there waiting; she had sent Sýnin ahead with a note. The evening was well on its way, Randvi might even be asleep. She pictured their bed, warm and soft, furs piled on top of them as they snuggled together, limbs entwined. More and more, this was what she wanted. The return home was always worth it, and was always something she looked forward to, but lately she no longer wanted to return, she only wanted the simple everyday fact of her and Randvi together, because she had never left in the first place.

She watched, wistfully, as the crew lowered the sails and started rowing, this part of the river too narrow to traverse safely. Her heart rate increased as the Raider’s hut roof became visible, growing closer with each stroke of the oars. She felt a swell of pride as more of her village emerged from the lowland fog. Her village . She had built this place from almost nothing, discarded hovels of canvas and sticks. Sigurd may have claimed it as theirs, but Eivor had been the one to turn it into something to be proud of, something worth protecting. She leapt to the back of the ship’s tail, standing on a ledge. “...Valhalla need not be a place, Eivor. It can be a legacy…” This was her Valhalla, and it would never be complete without the person at it’s centre, at its heart. 

Eivor realized then that while she was proud of Ravensthorpe, Ravensthorpe, much like her former idea of Valhalla, was only a place. Randvi was her true home. She’d go wherever Randvi was, without question. Their love, with all of its storied history of waiting, longing, and hiding, was her legacy. She saw copper hair, cloaked against the oncoming chill of the evening, waiting like a beacon between the posts of the village entrance.

The ship glided silently up to the dock, and Eivor immediately leapt off, running as fast as her exhausted legs would carry her. She grabbed Randvi, lifting her off the ground in a tight embrace, spinning her around. She inhaled Randvi’s scent, spice and fire blending with earth and ink and smoke. Her heart beat Randvi’s name in fast repetition, her hands holding onto her wife as tightly as she dared without hurting her.

“My love,” Randvi whispered, as she held fast to Eivor. “How I’ve missed you.” Her hands caressed the back of Eivor’s newly shaved head, luxuriating in the velvety feel. 

Eivor couldn’t speak, she did not want to break the moment with words, but slowly set Randvi down, quickly finding her mouth and communicating everything she couldn’t say with a long, slow kiss, paying attention to the feel of Randvi’s lips, the warmth of her mouth, the teasing nature of her teeth. 

Claps and pats of hands landed on her back and shoulders from the crew as they walked past the pair. Their hearts never failed to be happy for their Jarl, for the love that she had found and fought for. For all of her sacrifice, for the enormous work she had devoted to make their lives better, they gladdened at the sight of Eivor and Randvi together. They knew how hard her road had been, how much she had suffered, often silently, from such a young age. Her happiness was their happiness, and they showed her whenever they could. Birna let out a whistle. 

“You better get her to bed, Jarlskona.” Birna wrapped an arm around Petra, who had walked down to meet her wife when she saw the familiar Raven sails from her hut.

“Leave them be, love. I’d better get you to bed.” Petra wrapped an arm around Birna’s waist.

“You’ll hear no complaints from me, Petra. Good night, Sunbeam!”

Eivor and Randvi watched them leave, as Eivor sent them off with a wave. Randvi turned back around, seeing the edges of something in Eivor’s face. “What’s wrong, darling? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. I have a few cuts and bruises, nothing to worry about, my heart.”

“Thank you for sending Sýnin. I have a bath prepared. And some roast boar, thanks to Petra.”

Eivor felt overcome at the thoughtful care Randvi showed her in all things. “Randvi...thank you.” Was all she could manage. 

Randvi smiled at her, her wife was always so ready to display gratitude, a custom she never tired of, but she furrowed her eyes, wondering what was troubling her usually contented drengr.

“Let’s get you home.”

 

Randvi and Eivor sat in deliciously scented hot water. The worry and tension Eivor had carried home with her evaporated into the steam drifting to the longhouse ceiling. A satisfied smile now constantly fixed on her face. 

“This was a great idea, possibly the best you’ve ever had. And that’s truly saying something.”

“I aim to please, my Jarl.” Randvi felt self-congratulatory at the obvious change in her love’s mood. Years of observing Eivor, of seeing her come home in different states of health and happiness, of finding different ways of tending to that glorious body and soul made Randvi an expert in the proper care and maintenance of her physically ferocious wife. But one truth prevailed among her experience: Eivor always recooperated faster with a bath. 

“Are you ready to talk about Ireland?”

Eivor exhaled. “I will do my best. It still feels...fresh.”

Randvi sat up in the bath, giving Eivor all of her attention.

“You know I went to Ireland to help my cousin, Barid. And I did help, although Barid fell in battle. His High King did not heed Barid’s warnings. We were able to beat the Druids back, but I have been wondering if his death was needless, no matter how good and glorious his end. He died a hero, and is no doubt in Valhalla, but had his words been listened to, he would still be the King of Dublin, and his son would still have his father.”

“It is not up to us to change fate, Eivor. It sounds like the Nornir gave Barid a good death. What else can we ask in this life?”

“The love of the most beautiful and intelligent of women, for a start, at the very least.”

Randvi rolled her eyes and laughed, pleasure and embarrassment mingled together. When she looked back at Eivor, sorrow still crept in the periphery. “Is that all that troubles you, Eivor?”

“The Druids of Ireland are much like us, trying to carve out a life for themselves, trying to hold onto their traditions and culture, though the Christians would willingly wipe them, and us, away if given the chance. There was an extremist faction, the Children of Danu, that were causing all the strife while other Druids were forced to live in fear and even secrecy. It made me wonder if we will ever truly pacify this land. The Christians make no room for anyone else. I…I had to kill a Druid priestess who I thought was my friend, all for a Christian King who would rule over all. Was that honorable? I feel...stained, Randvi. I wonder if the decisions I’ve made in my time here are hurting our people, rather than truly helping. She was misguided, angry, she caused a lot of pain in the land there. I think King Flann Sinna saw the error of his ways in his treatment of the Druids, and he will make amends - he said as much. But these Christians...they can be false as well as unyielding. I’m not sure how far he can be trusted.” 

Memories of Fulke and King Aelfred made her skin prick involuntarily. The Norse and Danes were often met with a great deal more than suspicion and hostility, labeled as barbarians and savages for their voracity in war. But there was something honest and forthright in them as a people; they hid nothing, they lived openly and celebrated the customs and cultures of all who chose to live among them. Sharing resources through a community was their way, regardless of the people that community comprised; yet this was not the way of the Christians. From what she had seen, they feared all outsiders. She was unsure if this was unique to Anglo-Saxon Christians or not, but from all she had experienced, she was not keen to go looking for other examples. 

Randvi found Eivor’s hand under the warm water, and stroked soothingly. Her love never lost sight of the broader view and what it meant for her people. It was one of the many things she adored and cherished about her. She took Eivor’s fingers and brought them to her lips, kissing them lightly. 

“These are large questions, my love. Too large to confront in one night. But I promise I will help you as much as I can in our time come in this land. You try to take care of so many, Eivor Varinsdottir. I fear the world is too big, even for your very broad shoulders.”

Eivor felt her heart flutter. After all these years, after all this time, being with Randvi made her feel like she was falling in love with her over and over again. She never stopped falling. 

“But maybe, just for tonight, you can let me take care of you?” Randvi leaned forward, kissing one cheek lightly, then the other cheek, her nose, her chin, across her forehead, until she found Eivor’s lips, nipping lightly, until Eivor pulled her forward and kissed her with earnest desire. She opened her body, as Randvi lay on top of her in the bath, relishing the closeness after too many months apart. 

Eivor leaned her head back slightly, looking into Randvi’s eyes, darkened to forest green between her desire and the dim candlelight around them.

“Barid said something to me, before the Valkyrie came to claim him. He told me that Valhalla need not be a place, that it can be a legacy.” Eivor held Randvi’s gaze, needing her to feel how much she meant what she was about to say. “I think perhaps for me, it is not so much a legacy, as it’s you, Randvi. You are my home, my Valhalla. After all of our time in England, all of the campaigns, the politicking, the alliances we have paid for with sweat and blood, we could walk away tomorrow and I would not care. The winds always call me back to you, wherever you are.” 

Randvi felt strangely vulnerable, though deeply moved. She felt her heart race to echo and return Eivor’s sentiment. If Eivor ever left Ravensthorpe, Randvi would follow without hesitation. She used the moment to lean down and kiss Eivor again, with unashamed love and lust and pride and longing and hope. Their lives together had not been easy, but it had been worth every moment they had paid. 

She felt Eivor’s hands slide down to her lower back, holding her closely. She felt a hot rush in her center, and decided it was time to leave the bath. 

“Shall we adjourn to our chambers, my Jarl?”

Eivor smirked, knowingly. “Indeed, my Jarlskona.” 

Randvi made her way out of the bath, as Eivor followed suit. Randvi spied some new blade slices over Eivor’s body, and some fresh bruises getting ready to bloom; she’d be sure to kiss them all later. She took Eivor’s hand and led them naked to their bed. Their bed . A place she was never tired of acknowledging. 

Eivor pulled Randvi to her, wrapping her in strong, solid muscle. “I missed you, Jarlskona.”

“And I you, my Jarl.” Randvi pressed her teeth against Eivor’s neck, nipping and sucking her way along the tender flesh under her chin. She heard Eivor’s breath catch, and a gasp after she released skin from her teeth. She moved a hand, cupping Eivor’s sex, feeling the wet traces of her want on her fingers. Eivor bowed her head resting it on Randvi’s shoulder, her breathing deepening with anticipation. This fierce drengr, terror of England and Ireland, great Jarl of a proud clan, was made vulnerable and soft with a single touch. It was a power Randvi knew only she wielded, and she never took it for granted. 

She brought Eivor to the bed, guiding her down. “What would you like, darling?” She purred in a way that drove Eivor wild.

“You. I just want you.”

“I am yours, Eivor.”

And the sound of those words, said by the only woman in the world she needed to hear them from, snapped Eivor out of the worry she brought home with her. As the sounds of their love-making filled the longhouse, Ravensthorpe sighed relief, and for tonight at least, everything was well in the world.

[scientific-tricorder]

A while back, this post happened and I mentioned an excessively detailed response, and here it is, presenting a (more or less) physiologically reasonable process for the entire function and breakdown of Garak's implant in “The Wire”. This breaks down into three main parts: how the implant is supposed to function, what went wrong, and how it's fixed. I'll add a TLDR as well. There's a lot of assumptions made (namely that Cardassian physiology is more or less functioning like Earth mammalian physiology), determinations that characters don't necessarily know exactly what they're talking about, simplification of exceedingly complicated things, and terminology.

Before we get into headcanoning and speculating, let's cover what we know of the implant from the episode. The implant is situated in the “postcentral gyrus and has filaments that connect it to [the] entire central nervous system” and “was designed to stimulate the pleasure centres of [the] brain to trigger the production of vast amounts of natural endorphins” in case of torture. The first symptoms include clammy skin*, dyspnea (difficulty breathing), miosis (contracted pupils), high level of pain (specifically a headache, although potentially in other areas as well), and “some type of seizure”. Later on, there is mention of deterioration of the “cranial nerve cluster”, bradycardia (a slow heart rate, likely since treatment was a stimulant and cardiostimulator), and toxins accumulating in lymphatic tissues caused by an altered leukocyte molecular structure. After turning off the implant, synthetic leukocytes are required to cure lingering effects (the aforementioned toxins and altered leukocytes). (*Clammy skin refers to cool, pale, and sweaty skin, so if one is looking at a purely canon view, this does mean that Cardassians sweat. However, the idea of ectothermic Cardassians that thus don't sweat is pretty common, so it's possible that one could interpret this as thus referring solely to cool and pale skin, or, since Bashir is basing his assessment on solely visual examination, just paleness, likely in the mucous membranes of the conjunctiva and gum tissue)

Let's break this down a little, starting by getting some of the nonsense out of the way. Endorphins (which are by definition natural) aren't produced by any 'pleasure centers' of the brain, they come from the pituitary gland; 'cranial nerve cluster' is essentially meaningless (although I suppose that the brain could be considered a nerve cluster); and, unlike the episode suggests, leukocytes aren't molecules – they're cells and thus made out of countless molecules. Moving onto breaking down terminology that has actual meaning, the postcentral gyrus is a part of the brain (roughly the middle top) that contains the primary somatosensory cortex, which helps the brain know where sensory signals are coming from, including pain. So, good job writers, you did mention a brain region associated with pain sensing! The central nervous system (CNS) is the brain and spinal cord. Endorphins are a type of what are called endogenous opioids, opioids produced by the body itself. They have more or less the same effects as other opioids like morphine, so that's probably the best starting point for research on side-effects and withdrawal symptoms for anyone who wants to look into that. Most relevant is that they're an analgesic (pain killer) and increase the production and release of dopamine, the “happy chemical”. Lymphatic tissues are just the tissues of the lymphatic system, which is kind of like an extra liquid collection system and aids in immune responses by producing, processing, and storing immune cells (and fat transport, but that's extraneous here). Leukocyte is a generic umbrella term equivalent to 'white blood cell' and thus contains a lot of different types of cells doing different things. Dr. Bashir really should have been more specific there.

That's what we get from canon, so from here on out it's pure headcanoning based on science. Let's tackle the first part: how does the implant work in the first place?

If the implant's purpose is to make one immune to pain, it needs to accomplish two main things: first, detect when pain is happening, and second, do something to stop that pain from being sensed. We're going to need to cover some basic nociception (pain sensing) here. The first step in pain detection is that a neuron called a nociceptor detects something pain causing, namely temperature (fun fact: spicy foods feel hot because some chemicals in them activate heat pain nociceptors in the mouth), chemicals (particularly chemicals released by damaged cells), and getting damaged itself. The nociceptor then releases a neurotransmitter (chemical that neurons use to communicate with each other) called Substance P. Substance P is then picked up by a secondary neuron in the spinal cord that sends the message of pain up to various parts of the brain that spread the message around and eventually cause effects, include the actual sensing of the pain, telling the brain where the pain is (that's where the primary somatosensory cortex and postcentral gyrus come in), and inducing the fight-or-flight response. One part of the brain that gets the 'we're hurting!' signal and sends a message that eventually results in the release of endogenous opioids like endorphins, which in turn prevent Substance P from being released, thus cutting off the pain signal, as well as do the other opioid things.

To accomplish the first task of detecting pain, the implant most probably has sensors for Substance P. These would probably be those filaments connecting to the entire CNS – since the Substance P is released in the spinal cord, these sensing filaments kind of need to be covering it all to detect any incoming Substance P. The second task of cutting off that pain signal then functions simply by flooding the body with endorphins (and probably other endogenous opioids). These endorphins could be sourced in three ways: via some sort of storage within the implant, via the implant causing the body to produce more, or via the implant itself producing and releasing more. Having enough stored for constant release for multiple years seems unlikely, so we'll scratch off that possibility. Garak's dialogue does suggest that the implant causes the body itself to produce more endorphins, but I'm going to go with the third option because we're going to need truly excessive amounts of endorphins to fully kill off pain signals (and it'd likely be hard to get the body to produce that much) and because it makes it easier to explain what might go wrong.

And speaking of what might go wrong, let's now look at that. The first noticeable symptoms are pale/clammy skin, dyspnea, extreme pain, and miosis. Miosis is caused by opioids, and would thus be induced by the implant and extreme pain. The pale skin and dyspnea are consistent with the heart not pumping enough blood to all the tissues. Other related symptoms include fatigue and anxiety, which are consistent with Garak's behavior. This is also consistent with the later bradycardia. This sort of heart issue is generally associated with heart attacks and other failures of the heart muscles itself, but could be caused by anything interfering with the heart's function. Since heart rate is largely controlled by the CNS, disruptions to it (such as by, say, a malfunctioning cranial implant), could induce these symptoms. We later learn that there is also deterioration of neural tissue (or at least that's how I'm interpreting Garak's 'cranial nerve cluster' comment) and damage to the lymphatic system due to toxins caused by altered leukocytes. It seems logical that these toxins are also responsible for the neural tissue deterioration and the CNS effects on the heart.

The next obvious question then is what are these toxins? Here comes the most speculative bit: the toxins are an autoimmune response caused by the implant producing malformed endorphins that bind to and affect the receptors of mature cytotoxic T-cells and cause them to bind to Class I MHC molecules in the absence of foreign antigens and result in the destruction of healthy cells. That's a lot of terminology and concepts that I just threw out, so let's break all that down. Malformed endorphins would be just what they say on the tin – after working for so long, the implant starts making making mistakes when producing and releasing the endorphins. Cytotoxic T-cells are a subtype of a subtype of leukocytes that work by destroying any cells presenting the 'red flag' that they've been invaded: a bit of something foreign to the body held out by what are called Class I MHCs, which are found on all cells. They sometimes accidentally respond and bind to plain Class I MHCs, thus resulting in an autoimmune reaction wherein the immune system attacks the body it's supposed to be protecting. Normally, these malfunctioning cytotoxic T-cells are taken care of before they mature and actually go to work, but if mature T-cells are being modified (there's your 'altered molecular structure of leukocytes'), the main bulwark against this type of autoimmune attack is side-stepped. And thus we have a malfunctioning implant killing Garak, and being able to continue to do so even when deactivated – the modified cytotoxic T-cells are still there, doing damage, even if no more new ones are being created.

This brings us to the third and final part: aside form turning off the implant, how are all its ill effects stopped? The big issue here would be the modified cytotoxic T-cells still running around, killing cells. There is one other mechanism for stopping self-attacking T-cells: regulatory T-cells. In the proposed situation, the body just doesn't have enough circulating regulatory T-cells to take care of the modified cytotoxic T-cells. Thus, the synthesized Cardassian leukocytes are specifically Cardassian regulatory T-cells that then help get rid of all the dangerous cytotoxic T-cells, thus stopping the toxins they produce from continuing to damage and kill tissues and effectively curing Garak.

So that's a lot, covering the very complicated and not entirely understood areas of neurology and immunology, so there's an amount of oversimplification, and I wouldn't be surprised if I mixed up or missed something that completely topples this entire thing.

But the TLDR is: Garak's implant makes opioids, but then it malfunctions and starts to instead make toxins that cause Garak's body to attack itself. Turning off the implant stops the production of the toxins, but Garak's body is still attacking itself until the synthesized Cardassian leukocytes are administered and fix things.

[renaerys]

Okay I've got one: Prompt 15 with Reds. 🤣🤣🤣

15. “I can’t hear a word you’re saying, I just keep thinking about how good that mouth feels.”

Somehow they can make even breathing a competition.

Send me a prompt and some characters! Reminder that the challenge is to make everything SFW, so we're getting creative here.

List of prompts

xxx

“So, we’ve called the paramedics and they’re on their way, but until they arrive it’s up to us. Remember the acronym, kids: C-A-B. What’s the first thing you do?”

Aiyeesha Simpson, a gunner in the making destined for academic greatness and social ruin, raised her eager hand. “Find a flat surface to lay him down!”

“Correct.” Blossom took Brick by the shoulders and shoved him down to the floor. A gaggle of Girl Scouts gathered around him as he wheezed for air.

“Ow,” he said.

Blossom patted his chest. “Please choke more quietly.”

I will end you, he thought so loudly he hoped she could hear him through the murder in his eyes. There was community service, and then there was cruel and unusual punishment. When his required hours were up and his record expunged, he was going to write a very negative Yelp review of the local Townsville Girls Scouts of America chapter and tank this year’s cookie sales. Supremely annoying, outrageously petty, and totally legal. That would teach Blossom for sure.

“Place your hands here between the nipples.”

Some of the Cadette Girl Scouts giggled. To be fair, Blossom of all people saying the word nipples in reference to her former mortal enemy as she trained a room full of twelve-year-old girls in CPR using him as the dummy was a perfect storm of absurd and kinky that he did not see coming. And now he was giggling himself, because he was a teenaged boy who thought the word nipples was funny regardless of the very clear contextual cues, and that pubescent shame was on him, one hundred percent.

Blossom, an ancient and inconveniently attractive evil resurrected in a lab for the sole purpose of making his life miserable, did not appreciate his amusement. “Push hard at a rate of 100 to 120 compressions per minute. Remember to put your bodyweight behind it, like this.”

Brick flexed, and Blossom pushed against his heart like she was trying to crush it in her hands. Once, twice, three times she administered compressions, and Brick’s eyes glowed red with impotent rage.

“Assist Blossom with her CPR lessons to her satisfaction, and we can forget this ever happened,” Mayor Bellum had promised Brick when he lost his temper and blew up an (empty) ambulance. Butch didn’t need his Super stomach pumped no matter how much he drank, so the ambulance and the four-figure bill that came with it were completely unnecessary. This defense did not convince the mayor, however.

The promise of the bill forgiven and his record cleared—and the deterrence of Aiyeesha Simpson filming the whole thing to upload to YouTube later—gave Brick the strength not to eye beam Blossom in front of the children.

“Okay, who wants to try chest compressions on the dummy?” Blossom offered to the girls.

You evil bitch, thought the aforementioned dummy.

After the third little girl properly placed her sticky, little girl hands between his nipples, Brick had had enough. “Hey, I’m still dying over here. Can we move on already? Jesus Christ.”

“Of course.” Blossom smiled, and she had never looked more terrifying.

Brick hoped Butch was suffering. He hoped he was hung over so bad he couldn’t piss standing up. He hoped Butch tried going online only to find that Brick had disconnected the Internet and cut him off from all his online games and porn because fuck Butch and his weak-ass stomach.

“Who knows what the next step is? Maybe someone other than Aiyeesha this time?”

None of the other girls seemed willing to stick their hands up. The carpet under Brick had scorched where his power leaked out in his building resentment for this entire situation. The smell of burned polyester just made him feel even more powerless to stop this.

“No? Okay, well, remember the acronym. A is for airway. You want to be careful about a possible neck injury, so gently lift the chin…”

Blossom’s hands were not sticky like the Girl Scouts’ hands, but they were cold where they touched his skin and forced his head back.

“Are the paramedics here yet?”

Brick got a tight fist in his short hair for that one, and he considered it a small victory. “No. Something about a shortage of ambulances, apparently.”

Biiiiiiiitch.

God, he was going to destroy her so bad.

“Once you’ve cleared the airway and confirmed there are no obstructions—”

“Then you kiss!”

Some girls picked up the giggling again. Blossom, ever the professional, cleared her throat. “Mouth to mouth is a life-saving procedure and not something I’d recommend doing to someone you plan to kiss.”

Wow, great advice.

Some girls still giggled and whispered to each other. Brick had a sinking feeling that this was only going to end with his embarrassment: everyone knew that the cold judgment of pre-pubescent girls was the absolute worst type of judgment a person could suffer.

“Are you gonna show us?”

“Well, I don’t think I need to show you all how to breathe—”

“It’s in the manual! You have to demonstrate every step.” Aiyeesha waved the CPR manual, and Brick realized his misjudgment. She was no vapid goody two-shoes in the making, but a future Honors Student with a secret, a Work Hard Party Harder, an Ivy League Early Decision candidate with all of senior spring semester to slack off because no one was ever going to touch her 4.3 GPA.

Aiyeesha beamed a winning smile at Brick, and it was as chilling as Blossom’s.

Jesus Christ, there are two of them.

True to form, Blossom had never been able to defy a good instructions manual. “I suppose if it says so in the manual…”

Locking lips with Blossom was not a big deal. He’d done it before when they were kids, and he could appreciate the irony of a gesture meant to save his life this time rather than end it. She didn’t even try to mess with him by using her ice breath, just went through the motions as described in the instructions. The girls were disappointed with the lack of hormonal fanfare of it all, which was probably for the best. Leave it to Blossom to make mouth to mouth the sexless, medical act it was literally intended to be. He was almost upset, because it felt like she’d won something here, which could only mean he’d lost.

Disappointed but more educated than they’d been when they’d arrived two hours ago, the Girl Scouts dispersed after the lesson, leaving Blossom and Brick to put away the equipment they’d used.

She held a dummy torso, and she was looking at him with that pinched, constipated look she got when she was about to say something especially snobby. Instead, she surprised him. “Brick, thanks for being mature about it. I can honestly say you surprised me.”

He stared at her.

“I’ll talk to Mayor Bellum. I’m sure you’ve done enough to meet your hours quota.”

He had not fulfilled even half of his required community service hours and they both knew it.

“So yeah, thanks. I can finish up here if you want to leave.”

Was she trying to get rid of him? Why?

“Brick? Why are you looking at me like that?”

When Blossom was winning, he was losing. That was simply the way of the world. So, if she was losing, it could only mean he was winning.

“Are you listening to me?”

Brick smiled in what he hoped was a cool, sexy way if he imagined looking at anyone but Blossom. “I can’t hear a word you’re saying. I just keep thinking about how good that mouth feels.”

Blossom stared. “I’m sorry?”

He would make her sorry.

“Yeah, you’re a great teacher. I could really feel your passion for demonstrating the lesson correctly. With your mouth.”

Her staring intensified. “Did you.”

“Oh, yeah.” He leaned his hip against the table like he’d seen in the movies. It worked for Daniel Craig in Casino Royale, and that guy had convinced Eva Green. Iconic. “I could really feel you trying to save me.”

Where was Aiyeesha with her phone to film this? There was so little he could do to rattle Blossom as they got older, and while the challenge delighted him, it was also exhausting being constantly a step behind her. Was this truly her demise? Had he won the Teenage Experience? Was this poetic justice for how she’d once killed him with a mere kiss, only to suffer the same fate in turn? He could have cackled. This was better than trolling the Girl Scouts of America reviews, although he might still do that because it was a genius idea and he had always indulged his own genius ideas when they came to him.

So infatuated was he with his own self-fellating digression that he was slow to react to Blossom sidling up to him. Her hand was still cold on his chin, and it sent a shiver down his spine. “Shall I save you again?”

Brick’s dignity drained with his blood, which was an unfortunate side-effect of being a teenaged boy that he would just have to suffer. But winning was about recognizing one’s weaknesses and working around them. He leaned into her personal space. “Please.”

He wasn’t sure who kissed who first, but it was happening and all he could think was I am better at this than you and I hate you and also Do that again. He tried holding her waist, and she fought back with her fingers in his hair. Not one to be deterred, Brick tried some tongue but pulled back when he tasted thirty degrees below zero. He immediately went back in because he could feel her superiority, her Got you, you horny idiot, but the joke was on her because he liked her cold, always had when it was hot as balls out and he’d make up any excuse to pick a fight with her just for the chance to cool off.

The Girl Scout troop leader walked in on them competitively making out in the classroom like it was an Olympic sport and put an end to things, leaving them at a frustrating draw for now. They said barely a word to each other when Brick glared at the troop leader so bad she flustered and didn’t even question them before running out of there with some excuse about getting the wrong room.

Later that evening, Brick caved and changed the Internet password back just so Butch would quit whining at him. He Googled kissing techniques and spent the next hour and a half watching YouTube videos and reading GQ articles about How to Please Her Like a Champion, because he was a champion and a winner and he was not going to lose to Blossom in this. Not a chance.

This had to be what they meant when they said kill with kindness.

“I’m going to end you,” he muttered to himself as he read about the top ten highest voted movie kissing scenes, which he would then stream and commit to memory in order to be fully armed and armored for the next time he encountered Blossom alone in a classroom. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe during their shared free period.

Truly, he had the most genius ideas.

xxx

If you enjoy my writing, check out more of my fics on AO3, link in my profile. I’m currently updating Trinity House and The Alchemy of Us. Thanks for reading!

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #194

(Woops, day late, sorry)

Today on Fate and Phantasms, we’re finally done with servants with hidden true names! 🎉 Well, after this one, anyway. Today we’re bringing you the Caster of Midrash, whose true name doesn’t even have anything to do with Salem anyway! Check out her build breakdown with true name spoilers below the cut, or her character sheet over here!

Next up: A completely different character, I swear.

We’re building the Queen of Sheba, who is- wait a second. That’s not a name, that’s just a title! And it’s one that’s been subject to so much memetic mutation I’m pretty sure dropping “midrash” in her fake name is more of a hint to her identity than her true name is! What the hell!?

You know what? It’s not worth getting angry. Moolah is an Order Cleric to lay down the law for fair negotiations, as well as a The Genie Warlock for the sake of getting her genie assistants. And also being a genie, I guess.

Race and Background

As I just said, Moolah is part genie, and going by our previous rulings with the Pandevas, that means she’s an Air Genasi. This gives her +2 Constitution and +1 Dexterity, as well as Unending Breath so you can hold your breath forever, and Mingle with the Wind to cast Levitate once per long rest for free, using your constitution. Wind Genasi are probably the weakest subrace (which is really saying a lot), but being able to float around it just fun. For background, she’s... a queen... Noble. History, take Deception instead of persuasion to act like a maid for the singularity. Don’t worry, we’ll get persuasion back later.

Ability Scores

Your highest score should be in Charisma. Moolah’s good at talking people into deals they shouldn’t take. Just because negotiations are fair, doesn’t mean she isn’t better than you. After that is Wisdom. Half of business is all about finding the right mark- I mean customer. Also, wisdom is literally one of her skills. Third is her Intelligence, it was good enough to impress Solomon, but we need the other soft stats more. Your Dexterity is still above average, since you definitely aren’t wearing heavy armor. That means we have to avoid dumping Constitution at the last second, leaving Strength as your lowest stat. Just wind up anything you need to carry, easy.

Class Levels

Cleric 1: Starting off as a cleric gets you a couple goodies, like proficiency with Wisdom and Charisma saves, plus Religion and Insight. Since you’re an Order cleric, you also get proficiency with Heavy Armor (which we won’t use here), and Persuasion. Told you we’d get that back. Order clerics are also a Voice of Authority, which lets your allies help you while you help them. If you target a friend with a leveled spell, they can use their reaction to make one weapon attack against a target you choose. Don’t try to be a rules lawyer though- only one ally can attack per spell, so you can’t hit your whole team with Aid and get a free round of combat. Speaking of Spells, you have those! You can cast and prepare spells with your Wisdom, and you get Command and Heroism for free, so they’re always prepared without taking up space. You can also use spells like Bless to make allies a bit better at everything, Detect Magic to make sure nobody (else) has enchanted your courtroom, and Protection from Evil and Good so you can be on equal terms with even the most outlandish opponents. You also get some cantrips, with Guidance delivering wisdom to your allies once per casting, Thaumaturgy for some courtroom theatrics, and Mending to patch up your robes. Something tells me you’re a bit of a spendthrift.

Cleric 2: The second level of cleric isn’t quite as crowded, but it’s still pretty useful. You can now Channel Divinity once per short rest, either Turning Undead and forcing them to flee if they fail a wisdom save or delivering Order’s Demand. As an action, you can force a wisdom save on all creatures within 30′ of you, charming them for a round or until they take damage if they fail. You can also force them to drop whatever they’re holding. Negotiations tend to go more smoothly when you get rid of the claymores.

Warlock 1: Now that we can calm people down, we can get some other stuff going on the side. First level The Genie warlocks get a Genie’s Vessel, which lets you hide in it for a Bottled Respite, letting you hide out for up to 2x your proficiency hours, once per long rest. More frequently, you can unleash the Genie’s Wrath, adding your proficiency bonus in thunder damage to one attack made with an attack roll. You also get Pact Magic, which doesn’t blend with multiclassing like other spellcasters. You can either kind of slot for either kind of spell, but you don’t use the multiclassing table- just keep them separate, and use your class levels to determine the slots for each class. You also don’t prepare spells, so you’re stuck with what you get here. Grab Eldritch Blast for the prerequisite caster balls and Mage Hand for a helpful little genie to carry stuff for you. You also get Detect Good and Evil to sniff out elder gods, and Sanctuary to stop them from slapping you while you give them a verbal beatdown.

Warlock 2: Second level warlocks get Eldritch Invocations for customization, like Armor of Shadows for free mage armor so you don’t die, and Mask of Many Faces for your shapeshifting. You can also cast Distort Value now, because let’s be real, you’re going to do that whether magic helps or not.

Cleric 3: Third level clerics get second level spells, like your freebies Hold Person and Zone of Truth. Most people assume that means you can’t lie, but all zone of truth does is make it so you can’t tell untruths. There is a difference, and if you want to be a true Moolah you’ll have to learn to embrace that. You can also Aid your allies with extra HP or Enhance Ability, or use Augury to get some of that Solomonic wisdom. If you’re dealing with some angry customers, just use Calm Emotions to make them settle down.

Cleric 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to bump up your Wisdom for stronger spells and demands. You can also Spare the Dying, which will be helpful if you have to stabilize someone after, say, they get half-hanged.

Cleric 5: At fifth level, your turn undead turns into Destroy Undead, instantly killing all undead of CR 1/2 or lower when they fail a wisdom save. You also get third level spells, like Mass Healing Word and Slow! Those aren’t really what we’re here for though. You can also use Tongues to communicate with anyone, regardless of how far away they come from. If they’re from particularly far away, you can use Magic Circle to lock them in place during negotiations. You also get Clairvoyance for more solomon style wisdom.

Cleric 6: Sixth level clerics get a second Channel Divinity each short rest, and you become the Embodiment of the Law- now you can shorten the casting time of a leveled enchantment spell from 1 action to 1 bonus action. You can do this Wisdom Modifier times per long rest. This way you can throw up a zone of truth and keep multitasking at the same time.

Warlock 3: Bouncing back over to warlock at last, just in time for your Pact Boon! The Pact of the Chain gives you the Find Familiar spell, letting you pick special forms. None of those are genies, but an Imp is probably pretty close. You can cast touch-range spells through them, and attack using your own attack to do so. Oh hey, feign death is touch range. Just throw your familiar at Mata Hari & boom, one faked hanging. You can also make a Gust of Wind, creating a line of wind that extends 60′ away from you. Creatures that start their turn have to make a strength save or get pushed back 15 feet, and they spend double movement moving towards you in that area. You can change the direction of the wind as a bonus action.

Warlock 4: Use your next ASI to become Silver Tongued, rounding up your Charisma score and doubling your proficiency bonus with Deception. It’s a useful business tool, and also you managed to hide your identity while also starring in a play as your true identity. I know puritans are dumb, but that’s just cheeky. Also, you can use your attack action to make a contested deception check against a creature’s Insight. If you win, you don’t get opportunity attacks from them, and your own attacks have advantage. This lasts for a round, or until you use the ability again. If they win, they can’t be affected by this for an hour. You’re not really a fighter, so talking your way out of a sticky situation can be a lifesaver. Alternatively, talk your way into slapping them with tons of damage thanks to Eldritch Blast next turn, since this ability doesn’t specify weapon attacks. You can make this even easier for yourself by casting Friends for advantage on charisma checks, and you also learn Flock of Familiars to bring all your genies out to play. It’s Find Familiar, but three of them.

Warlock 5: Fifth level warlocks get third level spells, like Intellect Fortress, which will protect a creature from psychic damage, and give them advantage on soft stat saves. That’s all intelligence, wisdom, and charisma saving throws! Is some nerd tossing zones of truth left and right? No need to fear any more! You also get the invocation Voice of the Chain Master, letting you see, hear, and speak through your familiars. Genies can talk, and now so can your familiars, congrats.

Warlock 6: Sixth level genelocks get an Elemental Gift, giving you resistance to thunder damage, and you can fly for 10 minutes as a bonus action proficiency times per long rest. Finally, controlling wind can be fun! Speaking of controlling wind, your spell this level is Thunderstep, letting you escape from one spot in a burst of thunder damage and reappear in another.

Warlock 7: Seventh level warlocks get fourth level spells, and Charm Monster will help calm down even the strangest of adversaries. If you’re already fighting it’ll have advantage on its save, so you better hope Cthulhu has a bad wisdom score. You also learn how to pull yourself out of the toughest of scrapes with a Trickster’s Escape, letting you cast Freedom of Movement once per long rest for free.

Warlock 8: Odd numbers are bad, so use this ASI to round up your Dexterity and Intelligence for a higher AC and more gooder brain. You also learn how to cast Banishment to throw Cthulhu back into the void he came from once you’re done whupping him in a legal battle.

Warlock 9: Ninth level warlocks get fifth level spells, and Seeming gives you the ability to hide your physical appearance for up to 8 hours. You can alter the appearance of any number of creatures within 30 feet, but this is mostly for your benefit. Fluffy tails and ears tend to stick out in New England. You can also make more destructive genies by summoning Minions of Chaos. Once per long rest you can use a warlock slot to cast Conjure Elemental, creating a CR 5 or lower elemental of your choice for up to an hour. If you drop concentration, it sticks around for the rest of the hour, but now it’ll be hostile to you. Good thing you’re good with negotiations!

Warlock 10: At tenth level your vessel becomes a Sanctuary Vessel- you can pull up to 5 willing creatures into your Bottled Respite with you, and they can be forcibly ejected as a bonus action if you choose to do so. In addition, anyone who stays inside for at least 10 minutes gets the benefits of a short rest, and they get extra healing if they use hit dice. You can also cast Prestidigitation for little bits of casterliness, and you can Contact Other Planes for guidance. Summoning Elementals will probably go better if you give them a heads up, and contacting Mount Celestia is probably the only way you’ll be able to talk to your husband. Sorry about that, btw.

Warlock 11: Eleventh level warlocks get a Mystic Arcanum. Basically, it would be really busted if you could cast two sixth level spells per short rest, so you get one per long rest instead. Yours is Investiture of Wind, giving you yet another way to fly, defense against ranged weapons, and you can create cubes of swirling wind that deal bludgeoning damage and push large or smaller creatures around. We’ve been so focused on legal and business stuff we really haven’t had much focus on wind. To be fair though, it’s not like WotC did much better, but this spell should make up for that.

Warlock 12: Use this last ASI to bump up your Charisma for stronger spells and more convincing lies. You also get one last Invocation, and an Eldritch Mind will help you keep concentration on your spells. You don’t want to run out while flying, and you especially don’t when you’re keeping a living tornado in check.

Warlock 13: Your last spell for this build is the seventh level spell Forcecage. It’s not quite as elegant as a Magic Circle, but it’s way more likely that the giant monster you’re dealing with is coming from this dimension, so this will help trap anything that can’t teleport away.

Warlock 14: Your ultimate level grants you the ultimate power of the genelock- Limited Wish. As an action, you can use your genie’s vessel to cast any spell of 6th level or lower that can be cast in 1 action, without using any material components. You can only use this once every 1d4 long rests, but it’s very cost effective.

Pros and Cons:

Pros:

You are very good at ending fights nonlethally, either restraining enemies of all kinds or negotiating their anger away from the party. Depending on how your DM does experience points, this might make you very unpopular.

On a related note, you’re really good at avoiding combat in general, using spells like Forcecage or Gust of Wind to keep enemies away, Flying out of their reach, or using spells like Seeming and Disguise Self to hide in plain sight

Mixed casting classes are usually a bad thing, and to be fair not getting wish does hurt, but it’s also really useful here. Mixing warlock with another casting class gets you extra spell slots, but you can still recharge your biggest slots on short rests. It’s the best of both worlds.

Cons:

Your Wisdom isn’t amazing. It’s fine for most builds, but it means your cleric spells are going to be pretty easy to escape from.

Grabbing Embodiment of the Law means we’re one level shy of the fifteenth level of warlock, which would have given you an invocation that lets you cast Alter Self at will. Without that, your shapeshifting powers are in name only, which is a downer.

Even with Eldritch Mind, your Concentration is still pretty bad, and you’ll have to choose between defenses, charming enemies to bring them out of combat, or your more powerful offensive spells. Nobody ever said being a lawyer was simple.

[jaskierek]

Wildflowers

Part 1 Part 2

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier had been friends for over two decades before Geralt forced them apart. Afterwards, he’d looked everywhere. The bard was nowhere to be found. Not even magic could find him. What had happened to his friend? ao3

--

Eight years into their partnership, Geralt was commissioned to rid a village of a nasty foglet that had taken up residency in a swamp at the centre of the neighbouring forest. The blacksmith, Filip, lived closest to the forest edge and had three young daughters who he feared for. He had collected money from the villagers in order to afford the Witcher’s services and had insisted on showing Geralt the way. He’d said the forest had many low-lying bogs and marshes, especially during this time of year.

Jaskier had been eager to join the Witcher, despite knowing that his outfit would return ruined, yet he’d been relegated to the role of babysitter.

“Come on, Geralt!” He whined, watching the Witcher swing his swords onto his back and collect the moondust he needed.

“No.” Came the simple response. Jaskier huffed.

“Honestly, why can’t Filip hire someone from the village for a night or leave the kids on their own? It’s not like they’re infants, and there’s three of them for goodness’ sake.”

“All of them have yet to reach the age of ten,” Geralt said in that rumbling voice of his as he walked up to the bard, gear on and a vaguely scolding look on his face, “and why hire someone to babysit when we’ve got a lovely and willing nanny here for free?”

Jaskier’s jaw dropped dramatically and he sputtered, trying to get past the offence and form a coherent sentence in response to Geralt’s shit-eating grin.

“You - I - listen here, Witcher - while I am lovely, there is no - how -“

The Witcher simply patted Jaskier on the head a bit harder than necessary, and stepped out of the room Filip had given them to get prepared.

“Ready?” The blacksmith asked. He stood in the doorway dressed in a thick, wool coat, hood over his head and straw-blonde hair peeking out from under his coif. He held a glass lantern in one hand and a sturdy, steel sword in another.

“You won’t need that.” Geralt grumbled, walking towards the man. Filip took what Jaskier knew to be an involuntary step back. The bard still winced. There was still a ways to go in Geralt’s image rehabilitation he was learning.

“I could help.” Filip countered weakly. Jaskier admired the man’s bravery, most tended to let the Witcher do what needed to be done with no care for his return or survival. Jaskier also didn’t doubt that Filip could have been of help. The man stood tall, with rounded shoulders from years of smithing, the thick coat only making him look bigger. He could definitely have been of help if-

“Silver swords kill beasts, your steel won’t do much harm.” Geralt said, walking past and heading to the door. “Better to just stay out of the way.”

Filip paused for a moment.

“Yes, well, I think I’d like to take it. For my own peace of mind.”

Geralt studied the man over his shoulder before seemingly accepting that there was not much else to say on the subject and the two left. Jaskier tapped his foot uncertainly before running to the door and swinging it open.

“Oi! Witcher! I am very much not willing and this is very much not for free! I am expecting compensation!” He yelled out to the shrinking figures.

“Fuck off, Jaskier.” Jaskier could just make out Geralt’s gruff but amused reply through the whipping of the wind. He smiled and returned inside, only to be faced with three pairs of large brown eyes. Startled a little, he smiled tentatively. Unlike their father, all three girls had reddish-brown hair and gentle features.

“You must be Filip’s daughters.” He said in way of greeting. He received an eerily unison blink. “Right uh…you should be in bed.”

“Where’s daddy gone?” The tallest one to the left asked.

“He…he went to go show his friend something.” Jaskier responded, trying not to worry the children.

“That man is a Witcher.”

Jaskier paused, not really knowing what to say and eventually settling on a slow “yes, he is.”

“Daddy’s not friends with Witchers.”

“Well, he is now.”

“But Witchers can’t have friends.”

“Now that’s just not true. Who told you that?” Jaskier asked, a bit peeved. They just blinked again and didn’t respond. “Ok, well, that’s not true because I’m friends with a Witcher.” He huffed, whether or not the friendship was mutual was still a bit in question for him.

The girls stared at him silently and Jaskier was honestly at a loss. He hadn’t had much experience with children, apart from singing the occasional fairy tale or nursery rhyme.

“Would you like me to play you a song?” He asked, fingers twitching to hold his lute.

“No.” They all said monotonously. Alright, really, were all children this difficult? And this…synchronised?

“You really should be going to bed then.”

“Can you paint?” The smallest one asked suddenly. Jaskier frowned at the question, a bit confused.

Thats how Geralt and Filip found him three hours later. Paints and unfinished artworks scattered around the floor and at the centre of it all, a very colourful bard. He sat on the floor, legs spread out as three auburn-haired little girls stood around him, paintbrushes in hand.

Filip laughed loudly. “I just bought them all paints and parchment two days ago.” He commented, taking his coat off.

“You don’t say.” Jaskier responded sarcastically as one of the girls poked at his temple with a green brush. He had rolled up his sleeves and trousers to give them some more space to work and also to avoid as much paint on his clothes as he could. It hadn’t worked very well as evidenced by the many drips and smears on his purple doublet. His face, arms and legs were covered in mostly yellow smudges, with a couple of green and pink accents here and there.

The girls hadn’t reacted much to their father’s return, nor to the intimidating presence of the Witcher. Speaking of, Geralt was currently leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking very entertained. Jaskier tried to communicate with his eyes that he was in dire need of aid, yet the cruel man did nothing but observe the multicoloured bard and the three little girls dancing around him.

“Ok, girls,” Filip said, coming over and kneeling beside them, gently removing a paintbrush from the youngest’s hand, “time to say goodbye and go to bed, hm?”

“Do you like our painting, daddy?” She asked, blinking those big brown eyes at him. They all looked very pleased with their work. Filip’s eyes looked over to Jaskier, giving him a once-over and smiling apologetically.

“Yes, love, it’s gorgeous as always. Now bed?” He tried again, reaching out to the others. Jaskier didn’t know how happy he was at being called an “it” but decided to hold his tongue for now. The brushes were all handed over. They themselves were smeared with paint as well, nowhere near as much as the bard though. He was more canvas than a bard at this point.

Filip told Geralt and Jaskier that he’d wash the girls - and their sheets - tomorrow and that they could have the bath for tonight, both men in desperate need of a wash.

Geralt, in a rare show of mercy, allowed Jaskier to go first. He sat by the wall, listening to the bard complain about how difficult the paint was to scrub off. He couldn’t help but let out an amused huff occasionally, earning a sour look from the bard.

“Oh, how you revel in my misery.” He muttered. Geralt rolled his eyes.

“Now we know that you’re not cut out to be a nanny after all.” Geralt teased.

“All things considered, I think I did an alright job.”

“Jaskier, you’re yellow.”

Being glared at by a wet bard sitting in yellow water was not the most intimidated the Witcher had ever been.

Not long after, Jaskier stepped out of the wooden bath and Geralt stepped in.

The Witcher melted into the tub as Jaskier’s nimble fingers threaded through his hair. Albeit, a bit rougher than usual. He had started using his own soaps and oils on Geralt, leaving his hair soft and shiny. He could tell Geralt liked it, despite his complaints that it left him smelling like rose water and cloves. It was a pleasant scent though.

“Why’d they paint you yellow?” Geralt asked placidly, eyes closed. Jaskier laughed softly.

“I told them what my name meant. I was meant to look like a field of buttercups, I presume.” He replied fondly. Geralt hummed. They bathed in silence for a while until Jaskier said softly; “the second eldest one is called Julia. She told me the name means strength.”

Geralt said nothing, sensing the bard’s mood had changed.

“I had a sister once.” Jaskier continued.  Though surprised, Geralt made no comment. “Her name was Julia.” Silence fell again as Jaskier gently pushed Geralt’s shoulder. The Witcher moved at the pressure, allowing the bard to tilt his head back and rinse his hair off.

“Julka przed samotnością nie odczuwa lęku, bo to dziewczyna pełna wdzięku.” Jaskier said, more to himself than to the Witcher.

“What does it mean?”

“In the face of loneliness, Julka is not afraid,” Jaskier whispered, recalling the old saying, “because she is a girl full of grace.”

Geralt clenched his eyes tighter, not knowing what to say in the face of Jaskier’s gentle grief.

Geralt had stared down that same face of loneliness. Could he say that he’d confronted it fearlessly?

Jaskier ran his fingers through the Witcher’s hair one last time and gave it a hard tug.

“That’s for calling me a nanny again.” He remarked weakly. Geralt opened his eyes, watching Jaskier walk away and change into his night clothes.

The face of loneliness seemed to blur.

Filip allowed them to stay the night and they left early the next day. Geralt was prepping Roach when Filip’s three young girls ran up to him, the one in the middle holding a bag of coin. The blacksmith was crouched in the doorway, watching them with a small smile.

“This is for you.” The one in the centre said very seriously, handing over the payment with an air of importance. Not an ounce of fear showed on any of their faces. Geralt felt vague concern over their survival instincts.

“Er…thank you.” Geralt said awkwardly, taking the money. He was about to stuff it into Roach’s saddle before he thought better of it and placed it gently into his breast pocket, patting it to reassure the girl that he’d keep it safe. She smiled brightly at him and the three of them blinked at the same time. Geralt could only blink in return, not knowing where to go from there.

“Goodbye, Jaskier’s friend!” They announced and scurried off. Jaskier was just coming out of the house as they ran past, giggling. He jumped out of the way with a  yelp, eyes following them bemusedly. Looking back to Geralt, he raised a brow. The Witcher simply shrugged. Jaskier laughed.

No, loneliness did not feel as present anymore.

—

Eleven years into their familiarity, Jaskier asked a question.

“I wonder what it feels like to die.”

Geralt had sensed his miserable mood all day. He’d been quiet and he hadn’t touched his lute or hummed a melody and strangest of all, he’d done what Geralt had told him. He’d stayed at the camp when Geralt had taken a contract to get rid of a wild boar and he’d collected firewood with no complaints when told.

Geralt sensed Jaskier’s unhappiness, he knew something was wrong, yet he didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to help. The very fact that he wanted to help, instead of revelling in the silence, came as a surprise. Jaskier’s statement was even more of a surprise. The casual way he said it jarred with the reality that this was the first thing Jaskier had said in hours.

They stared at each other from across the fire between them. Jaskier’s cornflower eyes lustreless and not expectant of an answer.

“I know what it feels like.” Geralt responded, own voice gruff from disuse. He could tell that he’d startled the bard. Jaskier’s blue eyes suddenly cleared and glinted with concern.

“How…how do you know what it feels like to die?” Jaskier asked and Geralt was surprised by the emotion behind his words.

“There are many ways to die, bard.”

Jaskier frowned.

“How do you know what it feels like to die, Geralt?” Jaskier pressed.

“I do not know what death feels like, but I am familiar with the journey.”

Geralt didn’t know whether he was skirting around the question on purpose. The initial response to Jaskier’s statement of a question had come unbidden and honest. Now he could feel heat under his skin and an urge to sneer and turn tail. He couldn’t do that though, not now, not with Jaskier as he’s been all day.

“Geralt, you-“

“Jaskier,” He cut him off, then stopped himself. He took a breath, “I can’t imagine a Witcher who isn’t familiar with the experience.” Jaskier shut his mouth and remained silent, an unspoken offer to continue. Geralt accepted the moment of quiet, taking the opportunity to arrange his thoughts and suppress the grief that had suddenly swelled in him.

“When boys were recruited to become Witchers, they underwent mutations that most did not survive.” Jaskier nodded, this Geralt had told him before, “They put elixirs, poisons and mutagens into our tea for days beforehand and when we were immobilised, they injected them directly into our veins. Most who did not die immediately, died by the third day. Those who did not die by the third day, went mad from the pain -“

Geralt stopped, hesitating, eyes drifting to the writhing flames between them.

He remembered their glassy eyes, unseeing. Nothing existed but their agony. They’d scream themselves hoarse, shredding vocal chords and vomiting out blood. He knew that he must’ve been the same but he could not remember anything he did while undergoing the mutations. Nothing existed, nothing mattered, but the torment.

Geralt looked back at Jaskier, who’s gaze remained strong and level, though sad.

“After we went mad with pain, they injected us again. We were all restrained, of course, otherwise we would have torn our skin off to find some relief. This round of mutagens induced seizures, hallucinations, and in our weakened state, our body had to fight the viruses. On the seventh day, three out of ten boys woke with cat eyes, the rest were dead.”

Geralt closed his eyes for a moment.

“I did not…I woke up with human eyes. The mutagens hadn’t worked on me to the extent they had worked on the others. I was uniquely resistant.” The words sounded bitter. “They gave me a couple of extra rounds and that’s why you won’t ever find another white wolf, bard.”

Jaskier remained silent. Geralt saw tears had slipped down his face, the reflection of the fire turning them gold. Geralt couldn’t stand the thought of tears being spilled for him but he stayed quiet, he found he had no more words to give.

“That’s not dying.” Jaskier finally said, voice unwavering through the tears. “That’s not dying. That’s torture. That’s something that no one should go through, let alone a child. You don’t know what it’s like to die, Geralt, and you won’t know for a long time to come.”

Geralt didn’t know who he was trying to convince.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“Jaskier,” The Witcher tried to make his tone gentle, “Witchers don’t retire. I know what it’s like to bleed out. That is likely my fate.” Jaskier flinched and looked down at his hands, clenched around each other, knuckles white. Golden tears slipped between his fingers.

“What does it feel like to bleed out?” He whispered so quietly that Geralt wouldn’t have heard him had he not been what he was. He frowned, but complied.

“You’re thirsty and your tongue feels swollen. Your vision becomes distorted and blurry. You feel a numbness as your head pounds with pressure. You can’t stand for long, so you’re left bleeding out on the ground, trembling and sweating, feeling like you’re going to vomit.” Jaskier’s shoulders were trembling. Geralt couldn’t stop. “You feel like you just want to rest your head forever.”

Finally, Jaskier broke, a sob breaking out past his lips, only for more to follow. It felt like the whole day had been building to this breaking point and Geralt itched to hold him. Let Jaskier release all that had been welling inside him. Geralt stayed, staring at him through the fire, sure that his own grief was showing.

“Geralt?” Came Jaskier’s small voice, head finally rising to look at Geralt. His eyes were red and tears fell freely.

“Yes?”

“Has this happened since we’ve met?”

A pause.

“Once.”

“You didn’t tell me.” His tone wasn’t accusatory, yet it sounded hurt.

Geralt suddenly felt guilty. He hadn’t thought it information that Jaskier needed, or wanted, to know. He’d clearly been healed and the next time they had run into each other had been months after the incident. Geralt himself hadn’t thought much of it. Yet now he felt guilty, it felt as if he had withheld something from the bard. He didn’t know why the thought of him keeping secrets from the man sparked a pain in his chest. He couldn’t stand to look at the hurt in those blue eyes so he looked away.

“I understand why you didn’t, Geralt, I don’t blame you…just - just please -“ the bard’s voice broke. He took a moment to breath in, pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Please tell me, whether I’m around to help or not. I can’t - I can’t be a part of your life and not know. I -“

“Okay, I will.” Amber eyes locked with blue, reflecting the same flame. They gazed at each other for a time. Then, the bard rose on unsteady feet, rounding the fire and sitting beside the Witcher.

“I meant what I said. You won’t know death for a long time, dear friend. You will live for a good while yet.” He stated with no room for argument. Geralt couldn’t help but smile.

“Does destiny will it?”

“No,” said his friend, “I do.”

And so they sat for the rest of the evening. Golden eyes and golden tears.

—

Fourteen years into their friendship, there was a meadow.

It was spring and the meadow was blanketed by buttercups and dandelions and daisies and wild lupine. It was a messy quilt of colours that beckoned the bard forwards. The Witcher had taken notice of Jaskier’s love for spring, he’d taken note of a lot of things. He watched Jaskier run into the field, voice bubbling with laughter.

“Geralt look at this! It’s exquisite! We have to break here.” He was grinning at Geralt in his faded blue doublet. Geralt ached at that smile. He reluctantly agreed. How could he not?

That’s how they’d spent an all too rare afternoon lying on a sunny patch of grass. Geralt listening to the bard talk and hum, feeling the gentle heat from the sun-warmed ground seep in through his clothes, and when he opened his eyes he watched. He watched birds flit between trees and leaves shuffle in the breeze. He watched the bard blow a dandelion, blue eyes following the fluff as it glided through the air. Then those blue eyes turned to him and Jaskier smiled.

“You know what I’ve always wanted to learn, dear friend?” Suspecting another long Jaskier ramble, Geralt closed his eyes and hummed noncommittally. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to braid a flower garland.”

“Hmm, you don’t already know?” What with Jaskier’s love for spring, Geralt would have assumed that something as simple as making a flower crown would have easily found its way into the bard’s skill set.

“I suppose I’ve never had the opportunity.”

“Hm.” Geralt responded, mulling it over. They lapsed into a calm silence, well as much of a silence as one can get with a humming bard collecting flowers.

It was noon and the sun was overhead, its brightness filtering through his eyelids.

The humming stopped and he heard an excited “Geralt?”

“What, Jaskier?” He sighed.

“Teach me how to make a wreath.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, you grumpy Witcher.”

“No.”

“But just look at these beautiful blossoms, it’d be such a shame not to put them to use.”

“Flowers have no use to anyone other than bees. Unless you’ve found some verbena or white myrtle.”

“How cynical of you, I can hardly believe it.” Geralt snorted at that. “Flowers have many uses, some of which I will detail to you now.”

“Please don’t-”

“Flowers are used for beautiful arrangements, placed at the centre of dinner tables or on mantelpieces, for magnificent perfumes that attract even the most stoic, and they create the most darling garlands, of which I am dying to learn the craft and am imploring my dear friend to teach me.”

Geralt groaned and opened his eyes to glare at the bard who was grinning cheekily at him.

“You are a pain in my ass, bard.” He acquiesced, knowing that Jaskier would take it as the acceptance that it is.

Sitting upright, he saw that Jaskier had already collected a bundle of wildflowers. Cornflowers and daisies and a myriad of others lay between them as they sat crosslegged, facing each other. Geralt’s hand immediately drifted to the cornflower nearest to him.

“It’s easier when you have a circle of string to wrap the stems around,” Geralt began, glancing back up at the sun-lit blue eyes looking right back at him, “but we’ve no string to spare. So once you’ve picked your starting flower, you pick another and wrap the stem a way’s down the stem of your first. Then you pick a third and wrap it around the stems of the first two.”

“A bit like braiding.”

“More like weaving,” Geralt explained, already a couple of flowers down his chain, “and then you keep adding more.”

Quiet settled between them once more. Geralt looked up every so often to check the bard’s progress, watching his nimble fingers weave his crown of flowers, rarely faulting. His eyes would wander up to Jaskier’s face, the bard’s brows frowning in concentration. The Witcher allowed himself a small smile. Jaskier had once told Geralt to alert him whenever he’d do this, hating the thought of wrinkles between his brows. Geralt of course never did. After all, it wasn’t his job to look out for the bard’s skin when it wasn’t being threatened by beasts or cuckolded spouses.

Geralt finished his garland first, realising that it consisted mostly of blue cornflowers and yellow dandelions and buttercups, broken up occasionally by reds.

“Complementary colours.”

“Hm?” Geralt asked, looking up at the bard.

“Yellow and blue. They complement each other. Honestly, Geralt, it’s simple colour theory.”

Geralt levelled him an unamused look, sending him back to work. Not long after, he watched the finishings of Jaskier’s own crown. An eager gaze slid up to Geralt’s face, eyebrows raised suggestively.

“No.” Came Geralt’s instant response.

“Please Geralt.” Jaskier whined. “No one’s here, your reputation is safe.” Geralt grunted, scowling at the bard whose big, blue eyes were pleading with him. With a sigh he reluctantly agreed. How could he not?

Jaskier’s own wreath was more varied than Geralt’s, with white daisies and purple aster and multicoloured poppies. Geralt let Jaskier shuffle closer, raising himself up on his knees so he could crown his Witcher in blossoms. Geralt watched his delighted face as he arranged the flowers just right, fingers grazing and pushing back the Witcher’s white hair. Geralt resisted the urge to lean into the touch. The gentle hands fell to his shoulders, warm gaze falling to look into yellow eyes.

“I’d write a song about this, a Witcher in a flower crown, if I didn’t think it’d be very unpopular.”

Geralt growled, glaring up at him.

“Ah, yes, and also because you’d gut me on the spot.” Jaskier added on. “I must say though, you look very dashing.”

Geralt didn’t say anything to that. He continued to stare up at the bard, glad that the man was happy, and content to be in his presence in a rare moment of peace.

“Now, my dear, I must wear yours.” Jaskier said. Geralt blinked then looked down at the wreath in his hands. Jaskier sat back, awaiting his floral coronation. Geralt smiled softly as he placed the crown on Jaskier’s head. It was a bit big for the bard’s head and pushed his fringe further into his eyes as it slipped down his head slightly. Snorting, Geralt pushed the brown hair from Jaskier’s face, fingers brushing his cheek as he pulled back. He found himself longing to touch him again but pulled away at the look of wonder in the bard’s eyes.

Jaskier went on to make another garland for Roach, making a show of crowning her “Lady of the Meadowland”. It was all very ridiculous so Geralt closed his eyes again and lay back onto the sun-warmed grass. He heard Jaskier amble over, felt his presence as he lay beside him with a deep sigh.

Geralt cracked an eye open to look at him. His eyes were closed. The sun turned his brown hair bronze, blue and yellow petals resting there crookedly. Geralt couldn’t help but think that Jaskier belonged here.

He belonged among the sun and the wildflowers.

—

Sixteen years into whatever the fuck they were and Geralt had been hired to kill a Griffin.

Fucking griffins and their fucking talons.

Geralt felt the ground pull at him magnetically.

He’d lost a lot of blood.

He stumbled to the ground.

He would have been content to press his feverish face into the cool, damp grass and simply lay there, if it hadn’t been for a single thought in his head.

Jaskier.

“Please tell me, whether I’m around to help or not.”

Fuck.

He pushed himself up shakily, a stab of pain pierced through the pressure in his head. He tried blinking past the faded edges of his vision and the spots floating between the trees like black will o’ the wisps.

He stumbled forward, hands pressed to his stomach. They didn’t do much to stop the heavy flow of blood gushing out of him. His fingers were numb but the rest of him was warm, so warm. He had to make it back, he couldn’t die without seeing Jaskier one more time. He couldn’t die here alone.

The face of loneliness came into focus amidst the blurry forest.

Somehow he made it back to the camp. Jaskier’s back was to him. He was stroking Roach’s snout, singing to her softly. It was a lullaby Jaskier sang whenever either of them couldn’t sleep. Geralt smiled in relief, the pressure in is head lifting slightly at the familiar sound.

“Jaskier.” The bards name fell out of him like a breath. Finally, he let the ground pull him down.

He woke up again in rather large bed, head cushioned on a feather pillow. Looking around he saw a glass of water on the desk in the corner, a painting of a long-bearded, angry-looking man on the wall across from him and a silk sheet covering him up to his bare chest. He frowned. This was not the typical establishment he was accustomed to.

Shifting slightly, he felt a weight on his arm. Confused, he looked to the right to find a mess of brown hair resting on his bicep. Geralt blinked, eyes widening. Jaskier was clearly asleep, curled around his side, head on his arm and hand resting in Geralt’s loose fingers. The Witcher suddenly felt warm and couldn’t help but tighten his hand around the bard’s.

While closing his hand, he involuntarily closed his other one, feeling something hard and cool under his fingers. Lifting it to his face, he saw that it was actually a stone, vaguely triangular in shape, with a wonky hole in the middle. What was strangest however, were the smudgy yellow flowers that had been painted around the hole. He assumed they were flowers as he could just make out some petals and wobbly, green stems.

Putting the mystery aside for a moment, he placed the stone down on the bed beside him. Removing his covers gently so as not to wake Jaskier, Geralt felt along his bandaged belly. The pain wasn’t too bad, more of an ache than anything and that could’ve simply been from the blood loss.

He wondered where they were. Their camp hadn’t been too far from a town, but that meant that Jaskier had somehow lifted him onto Roach and galloped through the forest and into town in search of a healer. Geralt knew that the bard was strong, muscle lined his arms and legs, tightened his stomach when he stepped into cold water. Almost two decades of joining Geralt on the path had given him a rather large build. Nevertheless, a limp Witcher was no easy feat to lift, especially onto a horse.

He felt Jaskier stir beside him. His head was still towards him but he could tell he’d opened his eyes because he promptly covered the Witcher back up with the silk cover he’d peeled off earlier. Geralt shifted and suddenly big, blue eyes were looking up at him. From this angle, he could see that the bard’s feet had been hanging off the edge of the bed from his position on Geralt’s arm.

“Geralt!” He exclaimed, smiling brightly. “You’re awake.” Geralt gave a soft grunt in response. “How are you feeling?” Jaskier asked, sitting up. He realised he was still holding onto Jaskier’s hand, so he let it go reluctantly, allowing the bard to pull it out of his grip.

“Like I lost most of my blood.”

“Ha ha.” Jaskier said humourlessly. Geralt sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

“Are you upset with me?” He asked finally. He knew Jaskier was upset but he didn’t know what kind of upset it was. Angry? Sad? Annoyed?

“I was,” Jaskier began. Geralt’s jaw tightened and Jaskier grasped his hand comfortingly. “But then I realised that I had no reason to be upset with you, I think my feelings of fear and concern got a bit muddled. Geralt, I was fucking terrified.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault, it was just…a lot.” Geralt winced and looked back to the bard. He was looking at their joined hands, blue eyes hazy and far away. Geralt didn’t know what he was seeing. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He gave Jaskier’s hand a tight squeeze, bringing him back. Jaskier smiled at him sheepishly.

“Were you surprised to wake up?” The bard asked. Geralt thought for a moment.

“No.”

“No?”

Geralt raised a brow, not entirely knowing what Jaskier wanted him to say. No, he wasn’t surprised. His only thought had been Jaskier. That he wanted to see him again. He wasn’t thinking much of being healed or waking later. Yet now that he thought about it, there wasn’t much doubt in him that Jaskier would help him in whatever way he could.

A thought came into Geralt’s mind.

“What’s this?” He asked, raising the painted stone. A blush tinged Jaskier’s cheeks pink.

“Ah…it’s a - it’s a hagstone.”

Geralt rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I see that, why was it in my hand and why is it covered in flowers?”

“Well, if you don’t like it, I’ll take it back.” Jaskier said pettishly, reaching for it. Geralt pulled it out of his reach.

“No, I want it.” Geralt said, grinning. Jaskier dropped his hand and huffed, looking away.

“Remember when you left me to babysit those three girls a couple of years ago?”

Geralt blinked, vaguely recalling three sets off big brown eyes.

“They painted you yellow.”

“They painted buttercups, just…on me.”

“They painted you yellow.”

“Yes, okay, thank you.” Jaskier sighed, rolling his eyes. “The hagstone dropped out of my pocket and they…painted that too.” He smiled sheepishly.

That was nearly a decade ago. Geralt couldn’t believe he’d held onto it for that long. He pulled it closer so he could examine it genuinely. He could make out the smudgy, yellow petals attached to green stems. They were dotted around the stone, growing in a cluster. The yellow paint had remained fairly unfaded. Geralt rubbed his thumb over the stone.

“You can keep it if you want.” Jaskier said. Geralt turned to find him already looking at him, eyebrow raised and smiling. The look of sincerity on the bard’s face had Geralt looking away.

“Why did you put it in my hand?”

“They’re for protection and healing. Surely you know that.”

Geralt knew what they were for, theoretically. The protective powers of witch stones were a myth though, just humans placing undue importance on an unusual rock. In reality, it was just that. A rock. One that had been eroded by water or animals. Geralt didn’t say anything though.

He didn’t know if he could say anything. Jaskier had carried this stone with him for a decade, maybe more, hoping for protection and now he was giving it to him. A Witcher who, by all appearances, didn’t want nor need luck. The bottom line was that the bard wanted him safe and Geralt had absolutely no way of dealing with that.

“They’re also used to keep witches away,” Jaskier continued, “useful incase we ever cross paths with Yennefer again.”

Geralt snorted.

“She’s a sorceress.” He countered

“And I’m a musician. It doesn’t mean I’m not also a bard.” Jaskier sniffed disdainfully. He pushed himself up the bed so he was leaning against the headboard and sitting next to Geralt. He continued to talk, allowing the Witcher to simply listen and think about how close their hands were between them.

—

Twenty two years since they met.

The wind bit at him, seeking to push him off his feet as he looked down at the snarling Witcher.

“Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you shovelling it?”

“That’s not fair.” He couldn’t help protesting weakly.

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.” Geralt gritted out between clenched teeth, amber eyes burning with emotion, he was practically shaking with it.  

Jaskier stood and watched as the Witcher turned and stormed further away from him. Tension and aggression written into the way Geralt’s shoulders tensed, fists tight, arms loose, ready to attack. Jaskier had seen Geralt like this before, more times than he could count, but it had never been directed at him. No matter how many times he irritated the Witcher or inadvertently gotten them into trouble, Geralt never had more for him than a hard glare and some frustrated shouts.

This was different. This felt final. This felt like the end. The inevitable conclusion to his tragic love story because fuck him, he’d fallen in love with a man sworn to someone else.

“Right, uh,” Jaskier managed to get out, suddenly finding it difficult to breath, “right, then,” he tried again, looking away, eyes blinking rapidly, “I’ll - I’ll go get the rest of the story from the others.” He turned and walked away, his attempt at casualness flimsy and transparent.

While Geralt berated destiny, fought against it and ignored it wholeheartedly, Jaskier accepted his fate because he had always known it was coming.

But, damn, did it hurt.

He didn’t get the rest of the story.

He stuffed all of his belongings into a bag, slung his lute over his shoulder, gave Roach one last, teary-eyed hug and ran. Geralt had walked away from him, both physically and metaphorically, and now Jaskier needed as much space between them as possible. He ran down the mountain, tripping on uneven paths and scratching his hands bloody. The burn in his lungs and chest felt poetic.

In the last two decades of his life, he and Geralt had always found their way back to each other after weeks or months apart. Sure, he’d keep an ear out for news of a Witcher but most of the time, Melitele save him, it had been a gods-honest accident. The romantic that he is believed it to be fate, and perhaps it was, but he knew now that it wasn’t the kind sort.

Fate was cruel and maleficent, making him believe that their hearts were intertwined when in reality it had been a ploy to torture them both in the end. Destiny left Jaskier heartbroken and Geralt with a life he didn’t want.

—

Some part of his mind registered Jaskier walking away.

Most of it was focused on containing the pain.

He had felt it slowly bloom in his chest at Yennefer’s weak “that’s why we can’t escape each other?” Anguish and bitterness in her voice. From there it had unfurled and spread throughout his body, the emotion burning him from the inside.

His being was now solely fixated on not letting it spread further.

Again, some part of him registered that it already had, it had spread to the bard, it had lashed out at him.

He felt like a flaming whip pulled taught. He felt in in his shoulders, his fists, his jaw.

He breathed in deeply.

His eyes were wet. He tried focusing them on the green valley below.

He breathed out and sunk to his knees.

He waited for the rushing noise in his head to stop.

His cheeks were wet.

He turned around. Yennefer was gone. Jaskier too.

So were their things when he returned to camp.

He breathed in and wailed.

—

The world was dull to him. The trees were not as green. The shades of blue across cornflower petals didn’t look the same anymore.

The world was quiet to him. Too quiet. Something was missing.

Never did he think the world would be dull and quiet. It had always been the opposite, too much, too loud.

He missed Jaskier desperately.

He hadn’t found him again since the mountain.

He could tell Roach missed him too.

Snippets of songs and melodies that had Jaskier’s mark drifted here and there. They were never him. How strange it was to hear others recount his own tales when he had grown so used to Jaskier being the only one.

For the first six months, he’d kept an ear out for any gossip of the famous bard but he had always seemed to arrive just a few days behind. Two months later and the chatter had dried up. No one had seen the bard, no one sang any new songs of his. He had searched the continent, gone to the coast, gone to Jaskier’s own town and found no sign of him.

It was like he had ceased to exist and so, Geralt’s world was dull and quiet.

The face of loneliness had never been clearer.

After those first eight months, he’d also started sleeping poorly.

Before, he’d been a light sleeper, ready to jump out of his bedroll fully aware and ready to defend. It came with being a Witcher. Although, admittedly, the nights spent in inns, on a relatively soft mattress, with a sleep-warm bard next to him had left him sleeping a bit deeper, waking a bit dazed.

Yet after those eight months, he’d slept restlessly. He’d dream of a weeping willow, drooping sadly. He’d dream of an open field and oddly wake up feeling caged.

When he himself found no sign of the bard, he’d gone to one of the few people he trusted, Triss Merigold. He had given her an old undershirt that Jaskier had forgotten to take with him. He made her try for three days before she had finally said “I really am sorry, Geralt, but truly, I can find no sign of your friend.” Geralt took the soft material back. “I fear he’s -“

“Don’t.” Whatever look he’d had on his face made her snap her mouth shut. Dark eyes looked at him with pity as he had turned, dropped some coin and left.

He’d go to Yennefer next.

“Geralt,” she greeted tensely, “didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon.”

Geralt had found Yennefer a few months after the dragon contract. They’d agreed that though they cared for each other deeply, it was best for them to have space, to move on. Geralt hoped desperately that one day they would become friends. Yennefer, though difficult and battle-hardened, remained fair and kind, one of the only people with whom Geralt shared easy conversation.

There was a longing between them, one that both knew was not falsified by the djinn. Neither knew what sort of longing they felt. One of friendship, companionship, understanding? Time and space would let them learn.

“I know,” He muttered apologetically, “I need your help.”

“You look awful.” She simply responded. Geralt winced. “You haven’t been sleeping.”

The Witcher opted for silence. He knew that she had heard him and knew that she was studying him, pondering his request.

“What do you need?” She asked finally, tone not one of acceptance but of curiosity.

“Jaskier.” The word came out sounding more distressed than he had intended. It was harder to maintain a mask through sleep deprivation. Yennefer’s expression briefly shifted to one of concern.

“What happened?”

Geralt’s throat suddenly felt compressed. Those two words somehow confirming that something had happened. Something had to have happened if he and Triss couldn’t find him.

Fear was a terrifying emotion because he truly didn’t know what he would do to end it.

“I…I don’t know. I can’t find him and neither can Triss.” Geralt pulled out the same shirt he had given to the other sorceress, gripping the folded fabric tightly in his hands. He looked up at Yennefer to find her looking right back with a sort of unease. “Please,” he said, offering the garment to her, “track him if you can.”

She stared at the shirt apprehensively, gaze snapping up to Geralt’s, looking for something. Finally, she sighed and turned to walk over to a large bookshelf, pulling out a thick, yellow-paged tome that had clearly not been removed for a good while.

“You’re lucky night is falling,” she said, stepping outside, not waiting for Geralt to follow. He did. “If regular tracking didn’t work, we’ll have to do it the hard way.” She walked to the middle of her large garden, sitting cross-legged in the grass, wine-coloured dress pooling around her. Geralt approached, ready to be told off and to step back, yet Yennefer said nothing as he sat down across from her.

The sorceress flipped the tome open to the centre, each side resting on a knee. Each side also being a couple inches thick. Tucked into the middle, between the two pages was a thin, silver geometrical compass. Yennefer lifted it with an elegant hand and placed it over one of the many configurations on the page. Geralt’s limited knowledge allowed him to surmise that they were astronomical. He looked up to the sky and the stars that he only knew to use for navigation.

“The shirt.” Yennefer said sharply, snapping his gaze back down to her and her outstretched hand. Shirt in one hand, compass in the other and tome on her lap, she began to speak. It was some variation of Elder. Geralt, only knowing the basics of the root language, was left clueless as the space above the book began to glow.

The light transformed the yellowed pages gold, illuminating Yennefer’s perfect features and making her look all the part of the powerful mage he knew she was. She dropped the shirt on the grass between them. Violet eyes looked up to the stars, compass travelling across the golden pages of the book. She flipped back and forth between the pages, her eyes shooting between stars. The compass twisted in complicated circular motions across configurations.

The light began to die slowly, Yennefer’s words slowing to a stop as she closed her eyes, clearly disappointed. Geralt’s stomach dropped and he felt like he might throw up the paltry dinner he’d had a few hours earlier.

“Yennefer, please -“

“I’m not done yet, Geralt.” She responded sharply before taking a breath, “I need something personal to him, something with an emotional connection. I may not be able to find his physical body,” because he may be dead was left unsaid “but I can perhaps find his spirit.”

Geralt tried to keep the devastation off his face at the implication.

An emotional connection. He knew immediately what to give her. A small pocket in the side of his leather armour held a painted witch stone. He gently pulled it out, rubbing his thumb over the messy petals of the buttercups. Yennefer didn’t comment on the item, though she looked at him with pinched brows. He placed the stone in the sorceress’ outstretched palm.

The golden light returned and Geralt watched as the sorceress studied the stars, measuring out constellations and distances in her book. Geralt had never been one for religion but he prayed, prayed for something.

Again, the light faded and Yennefer looked to him with a frown.

—

He’d been looking for tracks in the large forested area Yennefer had pointed him to. He’d been looking for two days and nothing had been found.

Honestly, he didn’t know what he was looking for. Yennefer had been unable to find his body but had found his spirit? Were they no longer attached? Geralt’s mind had been filtering through the different options of what that could mean, but even Yennefer didn’t know what to say. The thought that he might be dead was an unwelcome one in his mind.

It had recently rained and the ground squelched and shifted under Geralt’s boots. Most of the tracks had been washed away by the rain. Geralt lead Roach through the trees, eyes catching on imprints in the ground and broken shrub twigs. All signs indicating animal presence rather than human.

The forest was familiar to the Witcher, he’d been here before. He didn’t think much of it, he’d been to most places on the continent, the Path taking him wherever he needed to be. Yet when he tried to recall the memory tied to this place, it was not one of necessity or danger.  He couldn’t quite pinpoint it.

Giving up on the meagre prints, he let the memory lead him. His feet found a forgotten path. Boots had flattened the earth so compactly, it was likely to last a long time. But it was littered with leaves and branches, clearly not trod on for a long while. He remembered the path, it had not looked so different the first time he had found it. It had soothed him that though this forest may once have been peopled, it was unlikely that they’d run into trouble.

They. He hadn’t been alone in the memory.

Vague and distant chatter tugged him forward, the line between reality and recollection blurring. He let go of Roach’s reins, trusting her to follow. He surged through the trees, pushing aside branches. Sunlight and grass filtered through the trees.

Spring.

Buttercups, dandelions, daisies, cornflowers.

A laugh ringing in his ears.

“Geralt look at this! It’s exquisite! We have to break here.”

The Witcher burst through the line of trees and froze. A field of green grass. It was familiar, but not just from the memory. A shiver down the back of his neck. Dread tightened his chest. His eyes landed on a weeping willow, its leaves pale. He didn’t remember it being here the last time.

Uneasily, he made his way towards it. It sagged so low that Geralt could not quite make out its bark. The pale leaves almost sparkled in the sun from the wetness of the leaves.

The Witcher crouched lower as he got closer, seeing a body through the drooping leaves. His hand hovered over his sword. He stopped before the wall of pallid green. The person behind had not moved, clearly unaware of his presence. He reached a hand out and pulled the leaves away, one hand still on the pommel of his sword.

His eyes landed on the man sitting on the damp grass, leaning back against the tree.

Geralt felt like the air had been punched out of him, body becoming immediately slack.

Wide shoulders. Soft, brown hair. Blue, inquisitive eyes.

“Fuck-“ the word came out sounding more like a sob than anything else, “Jaskier”.

Geralt took two steps forward and collapsed on his knees.  

“Jaskier.” He reached out to touch him, to feel him warm and safe.

He felt nothing. His fingers slipped through.

A shimmer and a blur and the bark of a willow tree.

[bbyboibinnie]

two of us

synopsis: love is hard to come by, especially when the boy you’ve been pining over is already taken. pairing: reader x jisung  genre: fluff, angst, romance, college au  warning: explicit language/cursing wc: 2.8k

one

It was halfway through your senior year in high school when you two had met. This was unexpected to say the least because it was the last semester of your last year; you had no intentions of making any new friends, considering you already had a handful of people you were close with and stuck by for the last three years. It was Chan that introduced you to him. You had known Chan for awhile–he was your lab partner for two consecutive years now–and although you considered him as a friend, you had never actually hung out outside of school before, unless it was for a group project of course. However, one day he had invited you to his birthday celebration and that was the day when you met his other friends, one of them being Jisung. 

“Woah, slow down there.” His word caught you by surprise as you were stuffing cupcakes in your mouth. You didn’t really know any of Chan’s friends at the time and socializing with new people didn’t exactly come by easily for you, so you had opted to linger around the snack table instead. 

Hastily dusting the crumbs off your face, you introduced yourself, “Oh, hey. My name is y/n.”

“I’m Jisung. I think we have calculus together right?” You looked at him closely; with black hair, deep brown eyes, and round cheeks you couldn’t lie–he was pretty cute, but you shook your head in response as you didn’t recognize him.

“Ya, Jisung! Come help me set up the cake!” Another one of the boys had called out, cutting your conversation with him short.

“Keep an eye out for me in calc.” He said as he was dragged away into the kitchen.

two

Sure enough, he was in the same math class as you. Honestly, besides your best friend in that period, you really didn’t pay attention to the other people. After all, the class was impacted and half of them were underclassmen so why bother remembering all the names and faces? 

It was the day after the party and you looked around at everyone in the class; it only took you a moment before you spotted him in a seat two rows over. The lecture hadn’t started yet so he was talking to his friends. You didn’t feel the need to get up to go over and spark a conversation or anything, but when you two made eye contact, you gave him a quick smile before turning back to face the front board. 

For a while, you two would occasionally spare glances at each other and wave or smile if you locked eyes, but there was nothing more. It wasn’t until after the latest exam when he approached you again.

“Hey, how’d you think you did?” He asked, waiting as you finished packing up your belongings. 

“Could’ve done better. What about you?” You made your way to the door and he followed suit.

“Just hoping for that passing grade. Anyway, Chan and I were going to meet up to grab food after class today, wanna come?” You debated going with them for a second but ended up agreeing anyways. 

You didn’t know what to make of Jisung at first, considering you had only exchanged a few words, but after hanging with him, even if it was just for a few hours, you found him to be quite likable. 

From then on, he stuck around and you didn’t mind, in fact, perhaps you enjoyed his presence a lot more than you were willing to admit. 

three 

High school came and went but you were ready to face the new challenges and opportunities that college presented. Most of your other friends had been accepted to places further away, but you had settled for community for the time being. For the most part, you were an independent person; therefore, you tried to not be clingy when your friends left to reach their own goals–you’d see them soon enough again–but you had been worried about starting this whole new chapter of your life alone, luckily for you, someone by the name of Han Jisung had enrolled right alongside you.

As days went by, you two were seen together more and more. Of course he met new people, and so did you, but it was always nice to have someone familiar to go back to and for you, that familiar face was Jisung, and for him, that person was you. 

Your majors were completely different and so were your classes, but you still spent time with him studying, ranting about professors, and passing out in each other’s rooms after staying up to finish assignments. 

“Hey, Jisung,” you whispered, trying to not startle him awake, “it’s almost midnight. You should probably head back to your place before it gets too late.” He was slumped over your desk, fingers lifelessly placed atop the keyboard of his laptop, already drifting into a deeper state of sleep. “Jisung.” You tried again, only to have him groan in response. Shaking your head, you draped a throw blanket over his figure before returning to your workload. 

It had gone on like this for weeks, months, nearly a year. One night he’d sleep over at your place and the next you’d be at his. Both of you had been accustomed to this routine now and you thought nothing of it, however, the more time you spent with him, the more you found things to like about him, and that’s what you were afraid of in the beginning–falling for him.

four 

You were never the type to fall head over heels for anyone, all throughout elementary, middle, and high school, you only had occasional crushes but nothing significant. Yet,

there was something about him that you couldn’t shake off. Maybe it was the way he always made stupid jokes that you couldn’t help but laugh at, or perhaps it was the way he played his guitar and share the new songs he wrote with you first before anyone else got to hear them. It was the smile that reached his eyes and the way he knew you so well, like the back of his hand. It was everything. 

You didn’t expect anything more out of the platonic relationship, but you couldn’t just get rid of the feelings on demand, so you had to let them settle and hope that they’d go away eventually, of course that didn’t work. 

five

Just because you saw Jisung differently, didn’t mean he would have the same outlook on you. 

“What do you think would make a good first date?” Jisung had asked casually over the counter. You were currently on shift at the local boba shop and Jisung often tagged along; typically he just sat there and did his homework as he waited, but on days where store traffic was low, he would ease your boredom by talking aimlessly. This particular caught you off guard though.

“Um, I’m not sure. Why do you ask?” You said, trying to sound casual, while restocking the ingredients.

“Well, I finally managed to receive a ‘yes’ after I asked someone out earlier today.” He said, smiling to himself in satisfaction. You were shocked, but at the same time, not at all. During the twelve months or so that you’ve known him, relationships weren’t a common topic of discussion. Yes, it did come up a few times but college and just life in general was already too time consuming so you didn’t bother with relationships, and neither did he.

“Wow, I’m impressed Jisung. I didn’t think anyone would fall for a clown like you.” You teased him, hoping your disappointment wasn’t showing. You knew that it was a platonic relationship and had set no expectations, yet you still felt a wave of sadness wash over.

“Oh, haha. Seriously though, I only prepared on how to ask them out, but I didn’t think past that because I wasn’t sure I’d even make it this far.”

“In that case, why don’t you consider what the person likes and try to set up something that you both would enjoy? Personally, I don’t think you could go wrong with arcade, pizza, and boba though. I could even hook you up with a discount on the boba.” You said jokingly in an attempt to lift your mood up. 

“What would I do without you? You better keep your word about that discount though. Oh shit, I gotta head back and finish my essay, see ya y/n. Also, text me when you get back to your place!” He shouted the last part as he was in the midst of exiting and the door jingled as it shut behind him. 

six

So his date had gone well and now his status went from ‘single’ to ‘taken’ while you were still struggling to manage your unrequited feelings. You had accepted the situation for what it was but that didn’t make it any easier. 

Naturally as he began to split his time between his new relationship and you, the time you spent with him dwindled down. Weekly study sessions became bi-weekly, which turned into monthly events. You didn’t hold this against him though, you were glad he found someone to connect with. 

“Hey, sorry I’m late… again.” Jisung said sheepishly as he entered your room, with a backpack slung over his shoulders, messy hair, and pink marks peeking out from under his t-shirt. You were flustered at the sight, knowing that he had just come back from being with his significant other, doing who knows what. 

“Uh, it’s okay. Just–let’s just get to studying.” You preoccupied yourself with your various notes and textbooks and tried you best not to be distracted. Suddenly, somewhere along the line, tension began to build. Maybe you were just imagining it but something had shifted between you and Jisung these days, and it gave you a sense of hopelessness because there was nothing you could do about it.

seven

More time had passed and your friendship was still afloat, but it definitely wasn’t the same as before. It seems like everything has its peak and you two have surpassed that; what goes up must come down, so it was all downhill from there. 

As his relationship became more unstable and doubts, he slowly began to make his way back to you. You should’ve been happy, even elated at this fact, but you weren’t. 

“I don’t know what happened. One minute we were fine and the next we were arguing. It’s like I am dating a different person now.” He expressed to you, once again at the boba shop you were still working at. It had actually been awhile since he came.

“Mmhhm.” You nodded wordlessly as you continued to spray down the tables with disinfectants.

“The argument was so petty, I should’ve known better than to engage in it.” The rant continued on and on and you had mindlessly agreed with everything he said, until he noticed you weren’t even paying attention.

“Y/n, are you even listening to me?” 

“Yup.”

“Okay, then will you give me your entire life savings?”

“Yes.”

“Y/n!” He shouted, getting up from his seat to stand directly in front of you on the other side of the counter. His loud voice startled you and you looked up, only to face a boy who was seething in anger. “Why are you blatantly ignoring me? I’m trying to rant to you and you’re not even helping.”

That was the last straw. 

“Listen, don’t come in here asking me to be your guidance counselor after cancelling our plans on dozens of occasions. Also, how could you really expect me to give you my time when you can’t even spare me a minute on any other day. You’ve been a real jerk lately and you haven’t even noticed it! I can’t believe I ever liked someone like you!” The indirect confession left your mouth before you could stop yourself, and he stood there absolutely dumbfounded. 

eight 

 That night, you immediately wanted to hide in the back of the store and hope whatever happened never happened, but you were tired of miscommunication.

“You like me?” Between the two of you, he was the one who had the courage to break the silence.

“Liked. I liked you. Past tense.”

“Do you still like me? Present tense.” 

“No, I don’t–or maybe. I don’t know right now.” You had mentally convinced yourself that you were over him, but trying to admit it out loud proved otherwise. 

“Y/n, I–” He started but you cut him off before he could finish.

“Maybe you should just go home now. I need some time to think.” He had hesitated for a moment, but eventually, he respected your wishes. 

nine

It had been over a week, nearing two weeks, since you’ve talked to him. You already had so much on your plate with finals coming around and constantly having to work, so this was not something you wanted to deal with now, or ever actually. But closure was necessary, for you and for him, so you decided that once finals were over, you’d set things straight.

Grabbing the phone off your nightstand, scrolled through your contacts to find his name.

(11:57 PM ) 

[ you ]  hey, we should talk after finals r over

You sent the text, hoping he’d want closure as well, but minutes passed there was no response. Just when you were about to sleep, your phone vibrated.

(12:05 AM)

[ jisung ] okay, see u after finals then. gn 

ten 

You had just gotten out of your last class of the day when he came into view. Frankly, you hadn’t expected to meet up with him until later on in the day, but that was your own mistake for not specifying when or where to meet in the text. Although this had slightly caught you off guard, you couldn’t put this off forever so you made your way towards him.

It was a relatively cold day; he stood there bundled up in his hoodie and a beanie atop which tamed his hair from the strong winds. 

“Hey.” You said as you stood face to face with him.

“Hey, it’s been awhile.” He responded, eyes softening when he saw you. 

* * * 

Together, you ended up walking back to his place to talk. Nothing much was said during the trip back, besides the occasional polite small talk like “how have you been?” and “how were finals?” 

When he opened his door, you entered wearily; although you had visited his place numerous times in the past, the last time you actually came by was months ago so it felt odd to be back to place so familiar, yet foreign again. 

You were grateful for the fact that it was so warm in his apartment because the weather outside had left your body feeling numb. 

“Here, I know you get cold easily.” Jisung handed you an extra sweater he pulled from his closet and you thanked him before sliding it over your shoulders. 

The both of you just stood in his living room, no one knew what to say or how to start the conversation, but you were here now so it was time to say everything you’ve felt. With a deep breath, you began. 

“I thought I could let go of my feelings for you, but I couldn’t.” You said, focusing on the floor as you couldn’t look him in the eyes. “And I’m sorry if this makes you feel uncomfortable or jeopardizes whatever is left of our friendship, but I can’t keep lying to myself anymore. If you don’t like me, then I’ll have to accept it and move on but I just had to let you kn-” 

Your spiel came to an abrupt stop when he drew you into his arms. Not knowing how to react, you were frozen from confusion and shock.

“Y/n, do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you?” He held you at arms length and gently titled your chin up so you could meet his gaze. “If I had known you liked me, I would’ve never looked at anyone else.”

His words were forming incoherent sentences in your head. Was this his confession? Did he feel the same way? 

He must’ve sensed your puzzlement because he smiled at you and said, “Yes dummy, I like you too.” 

Your immediate response was to smile, but then something dawned on you.

“What about your current relationship?”

“I’m no longer in a relationship. We have been broken up for nearly a month now.” 

“So what does that mean for us?” You say, almost too optimistically. And his response was to pull you in close, so close to the point where you could feel his breath fanning across your cheeks and your noses were barely touching, before closing the gap between your lips and his.

a/n: honestly, this piece is kind of all over the place since it’s my first one but hopefully more practice will make my writing better! also, this is not proofread so my apologies for any grammatical/punctuation errors. 

also here it my masterlist in case you want to read my other works!

[bisxualbucky]

Test Help

This post is for my high school/college beloveds with upcoming finals (it's gonna get looong so i'm putting it under the cut <3).

Info incuded: managing test anxiety, test preparation advice, plus specific tips for multiple choice tests, standardized tests, essay tests, math tests, and reading tests.

Some background on me so you know I'm not just pulling this out of my butt: I have an education degree, as well as 5+ years tutoring/teaching experience (including 2 years tutoring college-level English/Writing and Study/Organizational Skills).

Managing Test Anxiety

One thing to keep in mind: Teachers generally want you to succeed! They are testing to find out not just what you know, but how well they taught specific content/skills.

Usually teachers will do their best to help you prepare, give you necessary materials, and answer questions beforehand.

Communicating with teachers can seem intimidating, but as a teacher myself, I can assure you that (most) teachers want to help and try to be approachable.

Understand that not all stress/anxiety is bad. Stress is the body's natural response to dangerous situations. Under stress, the body experiences heightened senses and increased motivation. Having a positive mindset about stress can improve your performance; while viewing stress as negative can hurt your performance. (Side note: I am talking here about manageable stress. If you have concerns about severe anxiety/stress, please seek professional help!!)

The better you prepare, the less anxious you will feel about the test. See preparation tips below!

Recreate testing conditions and do a practice run. Set a time limit, get rid of all distractions, and give yourself a practice test. Doing this will take a lot of the pressure off of the actual test.

On the day of the test, do something to distract yourself. Read a favorite book, do some brain puzzles (sudoku, or brain challenge apps are great for this!), or something active! If you suffer from physical symptoms of test anxiety, like sweating, difficulty breathing, nausea, etc., physical exercise can be very helpful. Releasing the tension in your body ahead of time can often lessen those physical symptoms.

Practice positive affirmations before and during the test. When you feel overwhelmed, "fake it 'til you make it" with confidence. Tell yourself "I know the answers, I have prepared well for this, I will succeed." And remind yourself: grades do not determine your worth as a person. One test, even if you fail miserably, will not ruin your entire life! Everything will be okay. A statement that I love to share with my students is: “[tests are] one examination of a small body of knowledge that you have learned over a set period of time.” (x)

Write down your concerns ahead of time. This is a great exercise if you have a lot of anxious thoughts leading up to a test. Take a few minutes right before the test to put it all down on paper. Expressing these concerns on paper can help you clear your mind from those negative thoughts.

Practice tunnel vision. Do your best to focus only on yourself. If other students get up and turn in their test early, that's okay! Some people test quicker than others, that doesn't mean you are slow or doing poorly. Continue taking your time and performing your best. Imagine yourself alone in the room and try to block out everyone else.

Pace yourself. Know how much time you will have, and create "benchmarks" to look for. Don't obsess over the clock, but keep track of 1/4, 1/2, and 3/4 time benchmarks. Once you're 1/4 of the way through your test, make sure you are on track. If you aren't, adjust your speed accordingly.

Don't obsess over any one question. If you get stuck, skip it and move on, or just guess. Use the time you would've spent on that question to answer questions you know the answers to.

Physical things to try during the test:

Deliberately clench and unclench your fists and other muscles every so often. This can help you force your body to relax, and release nervous tension.

Practice breathing exercises. Find one or two that you like, and implement them during the test.

Test Preparation

Start studying a week before the test. This one is tough, but it really, really pays off. The earlier you start, the more prepared you will be. 5-7 days out: Find out what you need to know (use study guides, class notes, and/or communicate with your teacher to find out what the test will cover. Create a study plan, and make your own study guide (Quizlet is my favorite free resource for this, but use whatever tools work for you!). 3-5 days out: Follow your study plan, use your study guide to review the material, do one or two practice tests (Quizlet has this option! You can customize your practice test (choose between Multiple Choice, True/False, Fill in the Blank questions, or do a mix of different kinds of questions!) and only test yourself on specific information in your study guide.

Study in chunks! A rule of thumb for your attention span is this: you can only effectively take in information for your age in minutes. So if you're 20, study in 20 minute blocks. You can have an hour-long study session, but give yourself a few breaks! Stretch, do a few jumping jacks, walk around, text a friend, etc. Your brain will thank you, and it will help break up the monotony of intense studying.

Review everything one last time the day before the test, then get a good night's sleep and don't study the day of!!! Even if you studied well the week before, trying to cram last minute will stress you out more than necessary, and can confuse you! All the info should be in your long-term memory at this point, and cramming will cause your brain to hold it all in short-term storage, which will not be very effective during the test.

Show up to the test early and prepared. The last thing you want is to be running late or feeling rushed before the test. This applies to online testing as well. Set up your computer, have a drink or snack handy if it will be a long one, and eliminate distractions ahead of time.

Multiple Choice Tests

Read carefully. This may seem obvious, but take your time, and read each question carefully. If you skim through it, you might miss keywords that specify what the question is asking. Keywords to look for include: best, greatest, never, always, common, not, except, sometimes, more, generally, most, usually.

Before reading the options, try to answer the question in your head. Even if you come up with a vague answer, it will give you a starting point for what to look for in the possible answers.

Look for grammatical clues. For example, does the question require a plural answer? Is the fill-in-the-blank preceded by "a" or "an"? Clues like these can help you narrow down the options.

When you settle on an answer, read the question and answer together to make sure it makes sense. Does your selection actually answer the question?

Guessing Strategies:

Use process of elimination. If possible, mark on your test and cross out any answers you know are incorrect. This will improve your odds of guessing the right answer.

Guess the option that is generalizing, rather than an absolute statement. Answers with "usually, generally," etc. are more likely to be correct than answers with "always, never, all, must," etc.

Guess the option that is longest or has the most detail included. Look for answers with specific dates, names, or other details, rather than the shorter/simpler options.

If all else fails, go with your gut! I think we have all experienced this. You have no clue what the answer is, but you "feel" like you should guess a specific option, and it turns out to be right! While this isn't a foolproof method, there is some science to it. Our brains can sometimes remember how we feel about a person, without knowing their name. So even if you have no idea why you're leaning towards a certain answer, your brain might just "know" that it's right.

Standardized Tests*

*disclaimer: these are geared specifically toward the ACT and SAT, but most tips can still be applied to other standardized tests.

Find out what to expect ahead of time. Research the test, find out how many sections there are, the time allowed for each section, total time of the test, timing and placement of any breaks, and how many questions per section.

Buy practice books and use them! There are some free resources online, but if you are able to afford it, practice books will be very helpful. These give you an opportunity to take practice tests, and give you specific tips for each section. Check out thriftbooks.com for cheap, used options.

Pace yourself. Figure out roughly how much time you'll have for each question/section. Check in with the clock every 5-10 minutes, but try not to obsess. If you finish early, go over and check your work, or go back to specific questions that you weren't sure about.

Only guess if it will help you. Find out the scoring system. Sometimes you will be penalized for the wrong answer, while other times only the right answer is counted toward your score. If the former is true, don't guess unless you have at least a 50/50 shot; if you're completely unsure, leave it blank. If the latter scoring system is used, guessing can only help you no matter your odds, so answer every question.

Don't argue with the test. These tests are objective, and there is only one right answer. Your test will be graded by a machine, not a person. Don't try to argue a case in your head for every possible answer. Instead, look for the one correct option.

Additional resources:

Video: Common mistakes students make on the SAT (but also good tips in general)

Examples of SAT essay prompts, with sample essays and scores

Examples of ACT essay prompts, with sample essays and scores

Essay Tests

Ask your teacher for feedback. Work with your English/Writing teacher. Ask them for specific advice if you struggle with writing essays. What are your strengths that you can capitalize on? How could you improve your weaknesses?

Read the prompt carefully. Try putting it in your own words as a concise question. This will guide the focus of your essay. Does the prompt ask about specific details in a reading section? Mark up the text as you encounter those details. If it doesn't tell you what to look for, create your own list of evidence/details to mark.

Use about 5% of your time to create a plan. Follow this format: short intro, three body paragraphs (one main idea per paragraph), short conclusion.

Don't say the same thing over and over. Be as concise as you can while fully answering the prompt.

But--if you have met the minimum length requirement, and still have more good information to include, don't stop! Keep going and say everything you have to say.

Save time to proofread and edit at the end. This can save you a lot of points, and help you catch any weaknesses in your arguments.

Things to keep in mind as you proofread: Did you fully answer the question? What are possible weaknesses in your arguments? Are there different sides or interpretations? Include those, and use analysis and evaluation to show strengths and weaknesses. Explain why your argument is better/more correct.

Your introduction and conclusion should be interesting, but short. Keep them to the point, and avoid blatantly restating everything that's already in your body paragraphs. In your conclusion especially, try to add some new information, or give an interesting example that proves your argument. This will help your essay stand out and be less boring.

More resources:

In depth writing advice.

15 online tools to improve your writing skills.

Math Tests

Not a tip, but this is a video I like to show my students before I give them advice on taking math tests. I think it's great for a laugh. I relate to the "student" in the video, because I always felt lost in math class. Regardless of your level of skill, here are some tips to help you do your best on math tests!

Up to 50% of students experience test anxiety specifically during math tests! See the above tips for managing test anxiety if you are in that group of students.

Ask questions in class if you don't understand something. Because math is linear and concept-based, not understanding material in class has serious consequences. Speaking up about being confused can be intimidating, but remember that it's your teacher's job to explain the material in a way you can understand. They can't help you if they don't know you're confused! And reminder, most teachers want to help. If asking questions during class is a no-go for you, try working with your teacher or a tutor outside of class time to catch up.

Start with the easiest problems. This helps you build confidence as well as use your time effectively. If you hit a problem that you're completely lost on, skip it and try to come back later.

Pay attention to point values so that you can use your time wisely. Don't spend half your time agonizing over a question that's only worth a small percentage of your total score. Spend most of your energy on high-point problems.

Try to answer every question, and show all your work. Math teachers often give partial credit even if you don't complete a problem, or if you get the wrong answer.

Estimate answers when possible so you can know if you're in the right ballpark once you've finished the problem.

Common math errors and how to prevent them:

Conceptual errors. These happen when you just don't know how to solve the problem. Solve these by working with your teacher/tutor to identify concepts you haven't grasped, and make sure you are understanding current class material.

Careless errors. These happen when you know how to solve the problem, you just make a mistake! You use the wrong sign, do the wrong operation, or leave out units in your final answer. Solve these by checking your work and reading the questions carefully.

Study errors. These happen when you don't prepare for the test beforehand. You had all the resources you needed to do well, but you didn't utilize them! Solve this by creating and using a study guide, doing practice problems ahead of time, and making sure you know what material you need to study. Use your textbook or class notes to find "objectives." These tell you exactly what you should know after that lesson/reading that chapter. Make sure you've accomplished those objectives, and you'll be good to go.

Application errors. These are common in word problems. With this mistake, you use the wrong formula or equation and end up with a "right" answer, just not the answer the question was asking for. If you struggle with this, work with your teacher or a tutor especially on word problems. Find out how to identify the right formula to use, and solve for what the question is asking.

Reading Tests

If you struggle with reading comprehension, the best way to get better is practice. The more you read, the better you will get at it. Your speed will improve, as well as your ability to take in what you are reading. Try to find books that you know will be interesting to you to motivate yourself! Or try out a variety of genres to find one or two that you like. If you want a challenge, check out this look of (one person's) recommended 25 books to read before college.

There are several strategies to try out on reading tests. My favorite is to read the questions, mark up the passage (underline keywords, names, any other info you know to look for based on the questions), then read the passage carefully and answer the questions as you go. Another option is to skim the passage first, then read the questions, then read the passage more carefully and answer the questions. A third is to just read the passage carefully, and then answer all the questions at the end. Try these out (I would recommend using practice tests) and find which option works best for you.

Look for keywords in the questions, and keep an eye out for those words and their synonyms as you read the passage.

If you have trouble focusing while you read the long passages, blocking out all but one or two lines at a time with your hand (or blank paper), or use your finger to guide your reading.

Pacing is one of the biggest challenges on reading tests. Look over the test once your time starts, and find out how much time you will have per section. Don't let yourself get hung up on any one question. Guess (unless it hurts your score) and move on. (Interesting fact: moving your lips while you read slows you down! So try not to do that.)

Mark up the test as you read. Underline, box in, make stars whenever you come across important information/details. Numbering the paragraphs can also be helpful if this is not already done for you.

Don't try to memorize the passage. Just try to gather the main idea.

Ask yourself questions as you read. Examples: How does this relate to the main idea? How does this compare with what the author said earlier? What does ____ have to do with the passage's argument? Who is _____? And pretty much any "Why...?" questions.

Don't worry if the passage is on an unfamiliar topic. In general, the answers to the questions will be in the passage itself, so it's okay if you don't have much background knowledge on the topic.

Identify the genre. There will be different types of questions depending on the type of passage. Prose/Fiction passage questions will focus on: Why did the person in the story do or feel something? For these you will want to pay attention to tone/mood of the passage. For Factual/Historical passages, questions will focus more on: What happened, when did it happen, who was involved? Pay extra attention to events, dates, names, etc.

[my-writings-and-musings]

Latest part of my commission series from an awesome person, now on part three of the Brave Police hanging with the Lost Light!

Kazuto Azuma had known nothing but one long, continuing headache from the moment he'd allowed the Brave Police to be commissioned. Between their eventual acclimation of sentience to the constant additions to their numbers, they'd turned what was supposed to be a public relations move into a nightmare of paperwork and legal ramifications, mostly to be dealt with by him.

And all for what, so they could have feelings? Emotions that did nothing to help while they were on the job, and only resulted in insubordination and disaster for his end? He doubted anyone could live a day in his shoes and see them as anything but a gigantic inconvenience, and an expensive one at that!

Thus, it seemed fitting that he hadn't time to celebrate their apparent loss in space before receiving a message that they were somehow fine, and worse, had been rescued by Cybertronians.

Reading the transcript again, word for word, the vice commissioner had to resist the urge to crumple it into garbage. Of all the fates they could have met, of all the ways he could have finally been rid of them, they had been picked up by the biggest robotic nuisance in the galaxy? Even if they had spent little time in Japan, Cybertronians had made their mark well known on earth, and the litany of restrictions against them spoke to the nature of their destructive presence. Despite being machines, they had no inclination nor any kind of desire to heed the will of humans, and thus every government they dealt with was left with a huge and expensive mess. Knowing that the already rowdy Brave Police were in such company was… disturbing. Who was to say what horrible habits they could pick up while cruising back to Earth at such an apparent lackadaisical speed? Just the rudeness it took to return with "relaxed urgency" as the message had put it was enough to make his blood boil, and he had no reason to believe the few days it would take for them to arrive might leave them even more unmanageable by the end.

At the very least, before it came to that, he had a rare opportunity in a tiny window of time. Neither the Tomonaga brat nor Saejima knew any of this yet, and he was in no rush to let them know of the development. Surely it wouldn't be too bad if they received the news a little late, continuing to believe the bots were MIA in the depths of space, while he made a little call.

Adjusting his suit to appear less ruffled, he left his office behind and ventured into the depths of the building, where the communication center was nestled amongst a swarm of high tech enhancements and long range experimental equipment. It was here the first message had been received, and it was here he would send back a reply. Staff, already informed of the plan, set to work as soon as he arrived. The report had mentioned that there was some unknown and invisible "tether" of sorts connecting to their end, likely a way for long distance communication to happen instantaneously even when only one side had the technology to make it happen, and had likely been left in place for the express purpose of getting a reply back. Azuma intended to use it for just such a thing.

A great monitor for communicating visually faced him in the pulpit where he'd chosen to stand, and he made it a point to ensure he was presentable. Robots or not, it was important he established he was a prominent figure that required respect, assuming the Brave Police hadn't had the last of that knocked out of them by their troublesome rescuers…

"It it ready?" he asked after checking his watch, knowing that he only had as long as it took for Saejima or Yuuta to arrive and receive their initial briefing. It had taken all of his influence to ensure they weren't informed immediately, so he had to make the delay count.

"Yes, Mr. Azuma." an engineer replied hastily, nodding to his co-workers with a neutral expression of assent. Several great switches were flipped and the building hummed with tremendous energy, the invisible tether for communication igniting to allow an instantaneous connection across the vastness of space.

-----

Sitting idly at the bridge, Rodimus allowed himself to more or less sink into the captain's chair in boredom, wishing desperately that he could be at the bar having fun with their guests like everyone else. But, of course, plotting a reroute to Earth didn't happen on it's own. For reasons he couldn't begin to understand, the Brave Police had indeed been insistent about returning home with relative speed. It was only because of the message they'd been able to send that he'd been able to get them to take it slow at all… Ah well, at least they did seem to be happy about going home. Earth did have its charms-

An unexpected beep from an incoming message made him flail nearly to the point of crashing, but thankfully he managed to catch himself and flip right side up, plopping down into a somewhat respectable position in his chair just as the computer brought through the signal.

A face so grumpy it would have made Magnus appear sociable appeared on screen, and Rodimus recognized the speaker as human just before he began speaking the same language used by the Brave Police. "This is Kazuto Azuma, Vice-Commissioner of the Brave Police Force in Tokyo, Japan. Who am I speaking with?"

"Uh, Rodimus, Captain of the Lost Light." he replied automatically, having heard friendlier opening statements from enemies about to open fire. There was also no memory of this person being mentioned by the Braves, but he had figured their organization was a big one, so he tried to take the helpful route. "What can I do for you?"

"Are the Brave Police in your custody?" Azuma asked pointedly, and Rodimus knew with just a few words he wasn't going to like this particular human. Just managing to hold off a frown, he replied with a carefully chosen sentence, folding his hands together to keep them from forming fists. 

"They're our guests, yeah." he said, hearing approaching footsteps from the side door. Judging by the pace and weight, they belonged to Magnus, who could always be expected to check in when a message came in. Thankfully the mech also had the sense to be subtle about it, so Rodimus made no move to acknowledge the big bot when he stepped quietly into the room off camera. Having a calm bastion of reason was going to be critical in keeping this from becoming an incident. 

"Per your communication, you are not making utmost haste to return to Earth, is that correct?" Azuma asked, the question sounding more like an accusation to Rodimus given the aggressive way it was delivered. It proved to be one when he wasn't even allowed a chance to reply before he was being chewed out. "I demand an immediate increase in your speed, they must be returned to us as fast as your technology allows!"

Dentae clenching, he tried to hide how thoroughly enraged the tone made him, especially with the particular choice of words. Did this guy really think he had any kind of authority here? Was he so callous to the Brave Police that he regarded them as nothing but cargo to be shipped overnight? With Magnus tensing by his side, Rodimus just managed to reply without visibly clenching his jaw. "Is there some kind of emergency you need them for? Because otherwise, I don't think you have the authority to make that kind of order."

"That is none of your business, Cybertronian." Azuma retorted, practically sneering at the immature bot who was refusing to do what he was told. Assuming that the Braves would pick up anything from such hosts, he was certain it would be uncooperative behavior like this, and at this rate that seemed more and more unavoidable… He'd probably have to try and convince the Commission to reprogram the entire group.

"It's Rodimus, human." Rodimus sneered right back, gradually letting his scant efforts to look professional fade out into open contempt. Every word seemed to confirm his worst fears about earth and the Brave Police, and he was beginning to doubt the wisdom of just dropping them off back home. With people like Azuma about, it seemed equivalent to leaving a group of cybersheep surrounded by hungry turbofoxes, and he was not about to let those bots come to harm. Sitting back more formally in his chair, Rodimus tried to cut an intimidating figure. "This is my ship, so that means if you expect it to jump, I need to know why."

"This is pointless." Azuma clipped, sputtering as he fought to keep his anger in check to avoid looking too flustered. Looking about what little of the ship he could see, he tried to find any trace of the bots he was looking for. At the moment he'd settle for anything more cooperative than this fire patterned Cybertronian. "Where are you keeping the Brave Police? I must speak with them."

"Okay, because you're having a hard time grasping this, we aren't keeping them anywhere. They're not cargo, they're our guests." Rodimus replied, standing up from his chair as the energon in his veins started to run hot. If a human could be so condescending now, what did those bots have to endure on a day to day basis? Protective instincts told him to never give a human the opportunity to hurt them again, leaving him tempted to kill the communication as Azuma sputtered through an increasingly red face. 

"That-"

"Secondly, you aren't going to just hop on my channel and start barking orders." Rodimus interrupted, not intending to give the man a second to recuperate. He wanted the tiny organic to realize he had no power here, and that the Brave Police would not have to endure any further bullying on his watch. 

Azuma, never one to put the pieces together expediently if he didn't like the picture, continued to press every metaphorical button possible to anger the captain. "This is absurd! I don't know how your laws, if you have them, presume to function but by the standards of earth you're in possession of stolen property!"

Rodimus felt his vents hitch, and thankfully Magnus was already mobilizing just before he could finish the thought someone might eventually regret.

"Now that's where I'm gonna need you to stop-"

"I can assist with this matter." Ultra Magnus said plainly, stepping into the video and laying a hand on Rodimus's shoulder. The gesture appeared amicable, but was more than a little forceful, pushing the captain back into a seating position. Reading the intent loud and clear, the smaller mech still pouted as he conceded and sat back down. Choosing the smart path never felt as good, especially because Azuma looked pleased by the turn of events as Magnus took over. "Greetings, Mr. Azuma, I am Ultra Magnus. Perhaps the best way to proceed is to allow the Brave Police to speak for themselves? I have already asked that they come to the Bridge."

"Acceptable." Azuma replied simply, appearing less ruffled but no more amicable. At the very least he was silent until a group of bots audibly approached at full speed, and after just a minute of tense silence their wait ended and the bots of the hour entered the room.

Rodimus couldn't help tensing at how the human regarded the group with barely concealed contempt.

"Vice-Commissioner, we came as soon as we heard you were in contact!" Deckerd said the moment he stepped into the Bridge, snapping to a salute that his companions mirrored with varying amounts of success. It was a greeting so proper and well mannered one would have thought they were interacting with a popular superior, and the effort they'd put in made Rodimus frown with dissatisfaction. Azuma didn't even bother with a wave as they continued. "As stated in our message, we are all intact and accounted for, and will be arriving at earth in due course!"

There was an awkward silence and a dissatisfied glare from the human before he went right into criticism. "Why are you not returning at full speed?"

Deckerd wavered in his salute, and those around him did the same. There was a moment where the bot looked about almost helpless for a reply, before carefully stringing his words together, helm lowered the whole time like a child caught in the wrong. "We… we do not want to pressure our hosts, Mr. Azuma. They have been most accommodating-"

"Ah, so you've been content to stall up there, lazing around while we need you back on Earth?!" Azuma snapped, interrupting the police bot so aggressively he flinched. Rodimus clenched his servos into fists, knowing that getting involved would lead to a huge mess but caring less with every passing moment. Seeing the bright and happy bots pressed into a corner was making him absolutely enraged, to the point the air about him wavered from the heat. Only a firm hand on his shoulder from an equally simmering Magnus kept him in check. 

"Their technology is quite advanced, but it would still be strained by an immediate trip to Earth." McCrane offered helpfully, stepping in as he always did when things were tense. A grateful smile in his direction from Deckerd was so subtle and quick it may have been a trick of the light. 

"We would not wish to cause our rescuers any kind of harm or stress." Duke confirmed, stepping to the front with a level of calm control not yet seen by anyone on the ship. The transformation from shy and quiet to bold and in control impressed the Cybertronians present immensely, but had no impact on the fuming Azuma, who didn't take well to being told no in very certain terms. 

"Unacceptable!" he barked, making Drill Boy flinch and step closer to the others for security. Though they appeared quite accustomed to the man's badgering, the stress was no less considerable, and they all shared the same tense mannerisms of a cornered animal. Rodimus could feel himself reaching his boiling point, and knew it was now a matter of when rather than if. There'd be no holding him back once that was reached, and thankfully Magnus appeared to be in similar straights. One could almost see the anger breaking through his usually stoic frown. 

"Are you really trying to convince me there is no way for you to arrive sooner? That you're just going to laze about in space because there are no other options?!" Azuma said, grilling the Brave Police so readily it was obvious he had considerable experience with the task. It hit Rodimus in that moment; this was merely how they were treated with an audience, what was this man like in private? What terrible things had he said or done to these bots when no one was there to protect them? The thought flipped a powerful switch inside him, and before he knew it he was rising from his chair, having been given free reign to do so by an equally protective Magnus.

"Vice-Commissioner-"

"Alright, I don't think we're communicating effectively here." Rodimus said loudly, stepping in front of the Brave Police to form a physical barrier with his larger frame. Deckerd appeared worried by the action, but the captain didn't flinch, putting his hands on his hips as he faced the monitor with a plastered on smile. "Look buddy, maybe your human technology is buggy so you're not hearing us clearly…"

Azuma fumed, visibly growing hot under his collar as the bot he had no power over flounced about before him. "You-"

"So allow me to make it loud and clear! They'll be there in a few days at the earliest, got it?" Rodimus replied, cupping a hand beside his mouth so he could bark the words back as loudly and obnoxiously as physically possible. 

"I do not believe you understand the situation!" Azuma sputtered, and Rodimus was tempted to reply with something far more crass than what he eventually settled on.

"Try me!"

"Perhaps it is unclear, due to personal reasons fogging your judgement, but the Brave Police are the property of the Japanese government! You risk a great incident by delaying their return!" the Vice-Commissioner said, unintentionally striking the deepest possible nerve within every bot present. Rodimus felt something snap inside of him at the way the word property was uttered, and he was so revolted the human was able to take advantage of his horrified silence to continue.  "They may look like you, but they are Earth made, not Cybertronian! Their physical appearance should tell you that much."

Magnus stiffened at his side, the big mech's equivalent to what would have been a shocked gasp by most other bots. Through sheer incompetence, Azuma had managed to put together an insult so grave no Cybertronian could let it stand, though the Brave Police themselves appeared resigned to the treatment. Only a murmur from Drill Boy came in response. 

"Is he calling us ugly?" the dejected little bot said just loud enough to be heard from his fellows, and a simultaneously comforting and silencing hand was laid on his shoulder by Shadow Maru.

"Okay, see… I thought we were getting along okay here, but I think things are getting out of hand…" Rodimus said in a halfway bitter laugh, pinching the bridge of his nasal ridge as the full torrent of anger he wanted to unleash stewed inside of him. Though there were quite a few foul words in the mix, he cared very little for propriety, especially when none had been directed their way since the conversation had begun. "Because I can't help telling you what a massive and egotistical-

"Rodimus!" Deckerd whispered in warning, his frightened expression only managing to fuel the fire. After all, why would these bots be afraid, except if terrible things could happen if they disobeyed? He was going to go nuclear on their behalf, just to make it clear there was nothing to fear while they were with him.

"Vice-Commissioner!"

Every single being involved in the conversation froze when a voice cut through from the other end of the call, echoing through the long distance tether as someone approached Azuma from an out of frame location. Rodimus lost all of his fire and only stared in total confusion as the once haughty human blanched at the sight of whomever had called for him, and the expression of worry only intensified as the voice cut it again.

"Vice-Commissioner, what is the meaning of this?!" the unknown speaker said, their tone gruff but somehow personable and animated as their laid into the other man from offscreen. A look in the direction of the Brave Police revealed only a shared smile of relief amongst them.

"C-Commissioner!" Azuma sputtered, stepping away from the podium to meet with whomever had arrived. The Lost Light was treated to a somewhat distorted view of the out of focus man they'd just been arguing with as he tried and failed to make his case. A sharp rebuttal was issued before a single word could pass his lips.

"You received word that the Brave Police are alive and well, and we were not informed immediately?!" a man said as he appeared suddenly in the view, advancing upon Azuma with his greater height and build as the smaller Vice-Commissioner backed up at every word. To the surprise of a greatly entertained Rodimus, a small human appeared as well, undoubtedly a child. The little boy glared up at Azuma with all the rage Rodimus had been feeling moments prior and then some.

"You jerk, how could you lie to us!?"

Azuma ignored the child altogether to retort to his apparent boss, pointing at the screen where Rodimus was still front and center with his current expression of total bafflement. As if it would clear his transgressions, he announced his argument for everything with as much desperation as could be packed into so few words. "Saejima, they're with Cybertronians!"

Worlds apart, the two groups fell into total and oppressive silence. Rodimus met the eyes of the man called Saejima, and immediately got the sense he was dealing with someone who actually had a backbone and a conscience just by the way he apologized with his expression alone. Clearing his throat, the man gave his subordinate a flat look and spoke with undeniable authority.

"We shall discuss this later." 

Like any bully, the defeated Azuma slunk off, leaving his superior to clear his throat and take center stage on the pulpit. The confused child remained at his side when he finally addressed the Autobots.

"My apologies." he said calmly, giving Rodimus the comfort he needed to step in line with the Brave Police so they could be seen far more clearly. The man smiled as he caught sight of the bots. "Is everyone safe and accounted for-"

Without any warning, the child lit up as he saw the Brave Police, his wide eyes locking on Deckerd as he ran up to the monitor as if it were a barrier. Tears began to flow unabated as he cried out in a voice choked with emotion. "Deckerd?! Deckerd, are you there?!"

In another surprise for Rodimus, the always restrained police car pushed right past him and mirrored the boy's actions, his optics lighting up as he replied with equal jubilation.

"Yuuta!" he cried happily, his tone alone making it clear he adored the little human bawling his eyes out a billion miles away. Rodimus and Magnus exchanged shared looks of total surprise and confusion. Neither had ever seen a human and a bot so incredibly close, and the two weren't even done.

Sniffling so hard he could barely talk, Yuuta tried in vain to wipe away tears, looking to each of the Brave Police as tears continued streaming down his face. "Deckerd! Build Team! Everyone!" Each and every bot came behind Deckerd to joyfully greet the human Rodimus recalled was their fabled "boss", and judging by their smiles none felt anything but relief to see him again. The crying adolescent made it clear why they all loved Earth with a single heartfelt phrase. "You're all okay!"

"We're more than okay, these guys rule!" Drill Boy interjected, clamoring over the bigger bots to be seen.

"They've welcomed us into their home, and they're bringing us home while showing us the sights on the way back!" Power Joe said, gushing as if describing a vacation.

"Boss, please tell Ayako I am safe! I know she'll only believe it from you!" Dumpson said, spurring McCrane to make a similar request.

"Please tell Seia the same!"

"Make sure nobody touches my bike until I get back, that includes you!" Gunmax said playfully, obviously just messing with the little human. Yuuta nodded and smiled through his tears, overwhelmed with happy relief that Rodimus had to admit was beyond touching to witness.

"Stay safe, miniboss." Shadow Maru said simply, and at his side, Duke cleared his vents before speaking softly.

"Make sure Regina is okay, she won't admit that she's worried." he said, and Yuuta nodded in acknowledgment and a kind of deep understanding.

"As you can see, Commissioner, we are all doing quite well." Deckerd said once everyone had spoken their peace, smiling as he was shushed in amongst the group. Saejima smiled in kind, and Rodimus found something inherently trustworthy in the expression.

"That is a relief." he said calmly, sighing ad a great weight of worry disappeared from his relaxing shoulders. "I must apologize on behalf of my subordinate once again, Captain. Please excuse his behavior, as he does not speak for us. We are beyond grateful for your actions."

"Thank you for rescuing my friends." Yuuta added, finally getting his tears under control long enough to speak clearly. Rodimus found his spark flickering at all the gratitude he felt hit him from a galaxy away.

"Uh, no problem. We'll get them home safely." he said, a little unsure of himself at the total whiplash the conversation had taken. How was it that a planet capable of producing an Azuma could also have people like this? Then again, the same could be said of Cybertron several times over, couldn't it?

"Mr. Commissioner!" the offscreen voice of an engineer said with urgency. "I apologize for the inconvenience, but this communication is taxing our equipment heavily! I'm afraid we have to end the call."

"Understood!" Saejima said, speaking fast in the wake of the news. "Until we speak next, just let me say that you have our highest gratitude!"

As the older man jumped into a full salute, Yuuta spoke with the speed only a child could manage, bouncing between his various concerns as the video began to fade. "Call again soon! I miss you guys! Stay safe but have fun!"

The Brave Police gushed out their farewells, waving and promising to do so with such excitement that Rodimus found himself unintentionally joining in with a tiny wave of his own before the screen went dark. He was left speechless when it did, but the bots at his side turned to each other and began to talk amongst themselves with unimaginable excitement. A million different things were said at once, most of which were praise for their tiny boss. The Captain of the Lost Light could only look on in awe at their happy circle of friends, one that just minutes before had been reduced to anxious silence at a being from the same planet.

It occurred to him in that moment why they truly wanted to go home, and he found himself smiling at the thought. Just as there were those on this ship who wanted to keep them safe, so we're there individuals on Earth to do the same. They were really loved wherever they went… 

A flash of amusement tickled his spark as he thought about all those friends reacting once they heard about this call. Their protective instincts would undoubtedly be the same as his, especially for dear Tailgate, who'd more or less claimed the group as his adoptive younger brothers… along with the entire crew. It seemed they had a young human to add to that rank now.

[ladyeliot]

The September Foundation Grant

Request: @iawaythrown Avengers x Teen reader. The reader is a brilliant engineer, that makes (grade A+) battle armor & weapons. The Vulture and the reader works together by selling these illegal armor & weapons. (The Vulture even gives the reader profit because the reader lives alone) The reader learns at school (The R is the quiet/loner kid) about Vulture getting arrested and they soon decide to leave New York and disappear. They grab all their money and leave but is followed/arrested by Tony and Peter at the reader house. They learn that the Vulture snitched on him. Ending could be up to you.

Pairing: Vulture / Iron Man / Spider-man x Teen!Reader

Warnings: Illegal work.

Word count: 1829

A/N:  Sorry it took so long! / Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

Anything could happen in New York City. A place that never slept, that was always awake at all hours, where criminals and children went everywhere hand in hand. Everything was hidden, but also in plain sight, if you knew where to look. Its streets were a labyrinth, but they always led to a way out, everything had an end. Its neighbourhoods were small communities distributed by culture or social status, but that did not prevent them from relating to each other. A teenager raised in Queens might have different limitations than one raised in the Upper East Side, but it all depends on the person. What I mean is, you never know what your life is going to be like in New York City.

Your mind was in constant operation, even if you wanted it to, it never stopped, it never rested, in a millisecond the thought passed through it 'when was the last time I slept'. You were in a hangar near the Harlem docks, this lucrative activity occupied a large part of your free time after high school, taking up your weekends as well. You could call it 'extracurricular activity' or also 'gainful employment', or maybe a combination of both, after all you were improving your engineering skills and earning money for it.

You had been enrolled in that new business for more than five months, your expectations for the future had changed, now you weren't so sure if going to university was what you really wanted. You were not driven by the easy money, what you were doing was much more than that, it was money, knowledge and all the adrenaline possible to do something legally binding. All the talent that you thought would be wasted and that you had never been valued was now being used to do something else, to be someone in the world, even if it was in the hidden world.

You designed, created and crafted technologically advanced combat armour and weaponry, you built things you hardly thought you would be able to make. All you needed was the time and the facilities that Adrian Toomes had offered you. He discovered you, he had set his sights on you and trusted you, something that many other people had not done before. In your past years you dreamed of getting a position at MIT, but now it was no longer among your priorities, at least for the time being.

Adrian's discovery came about in the most natural way possible. You were attending Midtown School of Science and Technology, and one day during a chemistry class the teacher had the brilliant idea of paired assignments, so you were paired with Liz Toomes. Liz is a really intelligent young woman, the problem in question was the wide difference between your characters, your quiet countenance and your passivity for social relations caused discomfort among your classmates, but leaving that aside, you decided to go to her house to do the work. It was there that you met her father, Adrian, who found your project notebook when you dropped it on your way to Liz's room. He was clever, slipping in a note with his personal phone number expressing his interest in your projects. At first you were completely shy of the idea, but eventually you agreed, otherwise you wouldn't be in that situation.

The first project you did was an improvement to his exo-suit, he had been working on it for years, but for reasons you didn't know he didn't want to tell you who had helped him make it, he just told you that you had everything you needed at your disposal and that he wanted to see what you could be able to do, and so he did.

Since that day the small business you had in your hands had evolved, Toomes was in charge of the public-facing transactions, and you were hidden away carrying the full weight of engineering. But that didn't mean that when you went back out on the streets you became a normal teenager again.

On a Monday like any other Monday, New York City was glowing in the sunlight. On the drive to school we went over in a steady stream what we had studied for the maths exam you had in the fourth period, although it was really something you had passed a long time ago. You kept yourself hidden under a pair of headphones, listening for anything that would prevent you from interacting with people. Your day-to-day actions when you walked through that door were mechanical. You walked thirty-three steps down the main corridor, turned right, twenty-seven steps to your locker, entered code 5432, opened it and took your books, dropped off your lunch, closed it again and headed for your class, trying not to bump into anyone who crossed your path. That, day after day.

But that day, that second between songs, when your ears came back to the real world you heard a word "Vulture". Your senses quickly focused on the conversation that group of girls were having, you stopped the music and without looking at them you sharpened your hearing.

"My cousin just sent me the video," one of them said, showing her mobile phone to the others. "He was arrested tonight, on the Harlem waterfront. Isn't Spider-man cool?"

"Wow!" exclaims one.

"I can't believe the Vulture is Liz's dad," adds another girl. "By the way does anyone know anything about her?"

That conversation caused a pang inside you. You quickly, but as calmly as possible, closed your locker and headed in the opposite direction of the entire student body, heading back outside. You knew what this meant, your mind had explored various scenarios about the possible events that could happen if the FBI or anyone else discovered you. You knew what you had to do, how to do it and where to go, you had created a plan in your head. You didn't trust Adrian to take all the blame and you would come out of the situation unscathed, you were a minor and could always appeal to a corrupt situation, but that wasn't your style either.

Step by step you were fulfilling your plan, the first thing was to erase any traces that implicated you in those events, you had to go home and get rid of everything you had in your possession that implicated you, both physically and virtually, then it would be better for you to disappear for some time, you had plenty of money to do so and you knew that your family would not care too much where you were.

You went into the house, you had hours ahead of you until one of your parents returned. You went to your room and began to tidy up every gadget or item on your bed that connected you to the crime. It took you very little time compared to how long it took you to erase your fingerprints from the virtual world, it was obvious that you kept your figure hidden under a pseudonym, but every weapon or armour that the FBI had confiscated had your fingerprint on it, a fingerprint that could lead them to you.

The hours passed, you knew that sooner or later your parents were going to walk through the door, time was running out for you to catch a bus out of that city. You opted to pack up your things, leave that note and continue erasing data during the long trip to Arizona, but it was too late. A loud noise from the hallway alerted you that your time had come to an end.

"Ms. Y/L/N, you know what they say about sometimes you have to run before you walk?" Iron Man appeared before your eyes. "Too slow."

The armour that stood before you cut off your main passage to the exit, though you knew in your gut that there was little you could do against it without outside help. Slowly you reached inside your backpack and pulled out one of your unfinished projects, a laser that fired a powerful beam at the armour. That mere distraction allowed you to turn around and head inside your bedroom with the intention of climbing out of your window and down the fire escape, however as you were about to do so a body burst through the window, launching a slimy mass that stuck you to the wall of your room.  In front of you Iron Man and Spider-man, both staring at you, and you feeling the most vulnerable being at that moment.

"Wow!" Spider-Man picked up the laser from the floor. "This is cool! What kind of energy does it work with?"

"Hey kid! Put that down," his ally informed him. "Okay, do you know why we're here?" he asked waiting for an answer that never came. "Not very talkative, I understand, I was going to explain it to you anyway, do you know Adrian Toomes? I guess so, at least he knows you, he gave your name." your face hardened. "Yeah, well, I wouldn't be that surprised."

You remained impassive, listening to his every word and trying to form a plan in your head that would help you escape the situation.

"Listen, I have no intention of selling you out to the police," suddenly the Iron Man suit vanished, revealing the figure of Tony Stark before your eyes. "I admire you, I really do, well I don't mean I admire that you joined a group of criminals and created technologically enhanced weapons and sold them, but I admire your skills.

"Isn't that what you've done?" you finally interjected, responding to her retorts.

"Oh! She speaks!" he pointed at you, looking at Spider-man. "Good point. But to the point, you decide, you either come with us and decide to join the good side, or we leave you here for your parents to find you, explain everything that's happened and then to the police. You decide. The clock is ticking."

Your mind was reactivated again, it was clear that there were two options and only one of them was within your prospects. It might take you a while to forgive yourself for what you were going to do next, but it was your only way out. You nodded slowly and clenched your jaw tightly as you surrendered to those in front of you.

"Good choice," Tony said with a nod as Spider-man released you from those webs that had invaded your body.

From down the hall you heard the front door open and two people walked in, engaged in conversation, your parents. Your eyes widened exponentially.

"Just in time," Tony said. "See you later, kid. And you and I," he looked at you, "are going to explain to your parents about the September Foundation Grant."

Requests/Taglist Open (DM)

MAIN MASTERLIST

[retrogradedreaming]

heyyyyyy if you wanna write more sk8 prompt / headcanon things,,, may i request (imma give you options because i am ✨indecisive✨and don't know what you'd want to write lol)

okay so shadow giving the group friendship bracelets (idk how you feel about writing for shadow hence the other options because i panicked and this was the first thing i thought of lol)

or langa just sitting down and talking to carla because i feel like he would (also kind of a weird one lol)

or uhhh oH you like matchablossom ! joe feeling self-conscious about acne scars (or having acne as a teen ???) and cherry telling him that he's beautiful (in whatever way cherry would iuygfyuhi)

sorry for three options lol this is also partially a way to procrastinate doing my homework ✌🏻so thank you for providing me a means of distraction anYWAYS HAVE A GOOD DAY iuhgcfghuijokijhgv

Sorry this took a while!! I went with the first prompt for a challenge and it ended up WAY longer than I thought. I hope you like it! And thanks for sending these! I love the other ideas, too, so I might come back to them.

---

If there was anything Shadow knew, it was how to curate an image. At work, he created arrangements and bouquets to say exactly what the customer wanted. When he skated, he was the clown punk of the S community. Until recently, he’d never let those identities overlap. Now that they had, it felt almost like forming a third persona—except this wasn’t one he had to work so hard to maintain.

He’d started making the bracelets offhandedly at work on a slow afternoon at the flower shop, braiding and weaving colorful thread from the supply drawer. They normally used it to dress up orders, but there was so much that they wouldn’t miss a few feet. He didn’t realize that he was making them for his new group of friends until he’d finished the second one, and by then it seemed a waste not to finish the job. Now that he had friends who knew and actually liked both sides of him, he felt like they deserved...something. Something to show them what it meant to him, that it mattered.

And yet, once he’d finished them all, the idea of giving them to everyone made his chest tighten as he thought that maybe they’d all judge him after all. As Shadow, it was easier to pretend not to care, but he couldn’t pretend it wouldn’t mean something—something he didn’t want it to mean—if they did.

Still, the next night he showed up at S, five bracelets laden with charms and beads clacking together in his pocket. He swore he could hear them, even with the crowd around him. His palms sweat beneath his gloves, and he was only grateful that no one else could see how nervous he was behind his makeup. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this nervous, even for a beef. This should be easy. His friends wouldn’t just reject him over some bracelets. And if they took them home and threw them away, well...at least he wouldn’t be there to see it, so what did he care?

“Hey, you good, Shadow?”

Shadow jumped, and it was only when he stopped to look for the source of the voice that he noticed that he’d walked right by the same people he’d been looking for. Reki leaned forward, one foot on his board, looking intently at Shadow and obviously expecting an answer.

“Of course I’m good,” Shadow barked, but Reki didn’t seem convinced. He raised a brow and shrugged, shoving one hand in his pocket and absently raising one of his hoodie strings to put it between his teeth.

“If you say so,” Reki said, settling back against Langa’s shoulder. “You seem kinda weird tonight, though.”

“What do you mean weird?” Shadow shouted, voice low and gravelly. “I’m supposed to be weird! It’s not my fault you don’t know what it means to get into character.”

“He’s right, though,” Miya chimed in. “It’s outside your normal weirdness, and it’s kind of creeping me out.”

“I didn’t even do anything!” Shadow exclaimed, and his heart sank. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of, and part of him was already shoving his plan to the back of his mind, ready to leave the bracelets in his pocket and toss them himself once he got home. He could do it, and no one would know but him.

“It’s true,” Cherry mused from where he stood in Joe’s shadow. “You don’t usually look so...bothered when you’re here.”

“Listen—” Shadow began, whipping his hand from his pocket, only to hear a soft clacking as two of the bracelets hit the ground—the one he’d intended for Reki, bright red and decorated with beads of different sizes and a bright orange alstroemeria flower charm, and the other for Langa, soft blue thread woven simply with a white gerbera.

“What’s that?” Miya asked before Shadow could scoop them up and hide them again. He almost did anyway, almost tried to pass them off as some trick meant for a beef he wasn’t even skating tonight. In the end, he resigned himself to risking every single friendship he’d built over the past several months, and sighed as he held out the bracelets to Reki and Langa.

“I made them,” he said, and his voice lost some of the edge he reserved for his S persona. “Sorry I didn’t wrap them or anything. I didn’t wanna do anything too fancy, y’know? Anyway, if you hate it, at least wait until I’m not around to get rid of ‘em.”

Reki took his without hesitation, Langa picking his own up out of Shadow’s palm like he might break it if he weren’t careful. Reki twisted the beads between his fingers, rubbing them over the different sizes like they were a miniature skating course as a grin spread across his face. Langa immediately tried putting his on, fumbling until Reki paused long enough to help him tie it around his wrist.

“It’s soft,” Langa said, running his fingertips over the delicate braiding, and that told Shadow all he needed to know. Langa was particular about textures, and he always stuck with the same clothing brands because he knew how the fabric felt. Shadow knew to take it as a compliment when Langa left the bracelet on.

A weight felt like it had lifted from Shadow’s shoulders, and he let himself relax. He took the last three bracelets from his pocket, offering the next to Miya. The vibrant purple thread stood out next to the others, and it was the only one he’d added an extra charm to—a silver cat paw—along with the freesia he’d chosen for the youngest member of their group.

“I didn’t know a slime could make something so tasteful,” Miya remarked as he let Shadow tie it around his wrist.

“Watch who you’re calling a slime,” Shadow growled, though there was almost no bite behind the words. “I can always take that back.”

“After all that just to take it out of your pocket?” Miya scoffed, flicking the paw with a finger. “You wouldn’t.”

It was true, Shadow thought, as he turned to give the last two to Cherry and Joe. He wouldn’t dare take them back when his friends actually seemed to like them, and even more than that seemed grateful to receive them. It was what he’d hoped for, but he’d also learned by now to hope for the best and expect the worst so he didn’t get too disappointed if things didn’t work out. After all, so few things in his life had happened as he expected, for better or worse, and now, as he handed over a thin pink and brown woven bracelet and another green and woven like thick rope, he wanted to savor this thing that had.

“Hey, it’s not a cherry blossom,” Joe pointed out as he peered sideways at Cherry’s bracelet.

“Yeah, I thought it would be too obvious,” Shadow said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“The zinnia is appropriate,” Cherry said, eyes roving over Shadow’s handiwork as if he were trying to find fault. And yet, when he took his eyes away from it, he gave Shadow a smile that Shadow recognized as the same one he practiced for most others at S—except this one reached his eyes. “A symbol of acclaim and enduring friendship, correct? Certainly more refined than jealousy.”

“What do you mean?” Joe demanded when Cherry gestured to the bracelet in his hands.

“A yellow rose stands for jealousy,” Cherry said matter-of-factly.

“It means friendship, too,” Shadow cut in before their squabbling could turn into a full blown argument. What he didn’t say was that he knew yellow roses also symbolized jealousy. He worked at a flower shop, after all, and had put together enough subtle spite bouquets for people forced into occasions they didn’t want to attend that he of course knew all the various meanings of different flowers. Roses were some of the most versatile, and he’d hoped no one would pick up on the alternate meaning—the one that said he envied Joe’s strength as much as he valued his friendship.

“Put it on for me,” Cherry said, holding the bracelet out to Joe and lifting the hem of his pants to reveal his ankle.

“Sure, princess,” Joe said, taking the bracelet and stooping to the ground.

“Where’s yours?” Langa asked, eyes migrating to Shadow’s wrists, clad only in his spiked gloves. Shadow followed his gaze, turning his hands over absently, as if he didn’t already know he’d never made himself a bracelet.

“I didn’t make myself one,” he said. “It’s kinda weird to make a friendship bracelet for yourself.”

“I don’t think so,” Langa mused. “You’re our friend, so you shouldn’t be the only one without a bracelet.”

“Hey, yeah,” Reki said, grasping Shadow’s hand and inspecting his wrist like if he looked hard enough, a bracelet would materialize.

Shadow pulled his hand away. “It’s not a big deal. I made those for you guys because you’re the only people who know this me and the other me. I just wanted to do something to show that I...well…”

“That you care,” Miya supplied, and Shadow was glad that his mask covered the heat that rose to his face.

“Whatever,” he muttered, only to catch Reki and Joe both grinning out of the corner of his eye.

“It’s still not the same if you don’t have one,” Reki said, tapping at the beads on his own bracelet. He thought for a moment, and just as Shadow opened his mouth to say it was fine, that he’d make himself one eventually if it was that big a deal, Reki’s face lit up. Before Shadow could ask about it, the group was already dissolving to skate, each person wearing their respective bracelets.

The next time they gathered at S, Reki gave Shadow a gift of his own—a bracelet woven in orange thread bearing a yellow chrysanthemum.

[buoyantsaturn]

arrival to eeby deeby (1/1)

thank u @gayleafpool for the title

summary: Rachel gave Nico a push toward Will. “Make him shut up.” 

Will frowned, because Nico definitely wasn’t making any noise, so he didn’t see what the problem was. 

Then, it happened.

word count: 1790

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Will was laying in a sunny patch of grass outside the infirmary. It was one of those rare moments when he didn’t have any patients and actually got to relax for once while all of his siblings were off at one of their activities. 

He was debating heading back inside to find the community iPod that had been left behind a few years ago that all the children of Apollo had decided to share, when something suddenly blocked his sunlight. Will opened his eyes to find Rachel and Nico standing over him, both looking grumpier than they had when Will last saw them a few hours ago. 

Will propped himself up on his elbows and asked, “What’s up?” 

Rachel gave Nico a push toward Will. “Make him shut up.” 

Will frowned, because Nico definitely wasn’t making any noise, so he didn’t see what the problem was. 

Then, it happened.

Nico squeaked. 

His shoulders jumped with the sound, and his face burned red. 

“Oh my gods,” Will said, pushing himself up further until he was sitting in the grass. “That was adorable.”

“It’s not,” Nico and Rachel argued at the same time. 

“It’s torture!” Nico complained, and hiccuped again.

“He’s driving me crazy!” Rachel added. “I let him hang out because I wanted some quiet company while I painted, but he won’t stop hiccuping!” 

Will picked himself up off the ground and brushed off his shorts. “How long has this been going on for?” 

Nico shrugged, or maybe his shoulders just shook again from the force of another hiccup. 

“At least an hour,” Rachel answered for him. “I just couldn’t stand it anymore, and I mean, this is a medical issue, isn’t it? Can you fix this?” 

“Um.” Nico squeaked pitifully, and his arms tightened across his chest. “Yeah, I’m sure I can figure something out,” Will told her. 

Rachel nodded her head once. “Great. I’m gonna try to go finish the painting I was working on, but I’ll meet up with you guys sometime later, okay? After Squeaky over here stops squeaking.” 

“Don’t call me Squeaky!” Nico shouted, and then released the loudest, highest-pitched unrestrained hiccup that caused Nico to snap his jaw shut and slap a hand over his mouth. As his face grew to an even brighter shade of red, Will had to force himself not to laugh.

“Alright, I’ll take care of it,” Will assured them both as he held a hand out for Nico to take. “See you, Rachel.” 

Will led Nico up the steps to the Big House and into the separate infirmary door, taking him over to one of the empty cots. As Nico sat down, Will pulled over a stool and sat in front of him. “So, what were you doing when the hiccups started?” Will asked.

Nico shrugged, seeming unwilling to open his mouth lest another massive hiccup escape.

“You’re gonna have to talk sooner or later,” Will told him, but Nico simply shook his head in response. He hiccuped quietly, and glared down at his lap. “Okay, so, you know how Star Wars takes place a long time ago in a galaxy far away? But then Star Trek takes place in the future, so--”

Nico groaned, cutting him off. “Gods, Will, not again.” 

Will grinned. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“I don’t want to talk because the big loud ones are starting to hurt--” Nico’s jaw snapped shut again, and he winced with his next hiccup.

“Do you want to write, instead?” Will suggested, and Nico thought about it for a second before shaking his head. That was probably for the best, since neither of them could read or write very well due to their dyslexia. Will hummed. “You could try signing, but I’m a little rusty, so you’d have to go slow.” 

Nico’s chin dipped down as he squeaked again, and Will grinned. “Was that a yes, or a hiccup?” 

Nico glared. 

“Alright, I’m sorry,” Will said. “Okay, so, what were you doing when the hiccups started?” 

Nico shrugged. He held up one hand, his palm facing toward him, and raised two fingers on his other hand, pointing at his palm from fingertip to wrist. 

Will frowned as he thought. “Reading?” Nico nodded. “You weren’t eating or drinking?”

Nico shook his head, then his hands were moving rapidly, switching from fingerspelling to signing. Rachel was painting. I was reading.

“I thought she said you were keeping her company,” Will remembered. “How were you keeping her company if you were both ignoring each other?” 

Nico rolled his eyes in response, which Will took to mean, you wouldn’t get it. 

“Okay, what have you tried to get rid of your hiccups?” Will asked.

Nico mimed drinking from a glass, then took a deep breath and puffed out his cheeks. Drinking water and holding his breath, Will guessed, which were the first cures on his own mental list. He poked at Nico’s cheek like he was popping a bubble, and Nico’s cheeks deflated. “Okay, I might have to ask around for some other ideas, then, because I only have so many. Have you tried, um...not thinking about it?” 

Nico stared at him blankly.

“Yeah, okay, stupid idea,” Will replied. He got to his feet and Nico followed him with his eyes. “Alright, I think I heard once that you should lay upside down to get rid of hiccups, so… Try that.” 

Nico frowned in confusion and started to lay on the cot with his feet by the pillow and his head at the foot of the bed.

“No, sorry, like this,” Will said, and sat down on the next cot over. He hooked his knees around the edge of the bed and laid across it with his head hanging over the other side. After a few seconds, Nico mirrored his position, and Will snorted. “Your hair looks funny.” He righted himself and observed Nico for a few moments, during which Nico hiccuped three times.

Nico glared at him as if to say, this isn’t working.

“Just hang on for a few more minutes, you little vampire bat. I’m gonna see if that ancient computer in the Big House will load Google.” 

Will left Nico laying there to run into the Big House, and after a short eternity, he managed to load a webpage with supposed hiccup cures. He jotted down a quick list of the most plausible ideas before returning to the infirmary, where Nico was sitting up on the cot.

“Why’d you get up?” Will asked. “I know it wasn’t working, but none of these are gonna work immediately.”

Nico uncrossed his arms and held his hands over his stomach, his index fingers pointing at each other. Hurt. That was a sign Will was definitely familiar with. 

“Oh. Sorry,” Will said, joining him on the cot. “Hopefully one of these will work, then. I ignored anything that mentioned scaring, because neither of us need an accidental panic attack or stabbing today.”

Nico nodded in agreement. 

“Okay, let’s get started.” 

After an hour, they’d exhausted Will’s list. Nico had tried breathing into a paper bag, but got lightheaded, so Will had him stop. He gargled with water, which resulted in Nico hiccuping and inhaling a bit of water, causing him to choke. He ate a spoonful of sugar, and then had to down a full glass of water to get the painful sweetness out of his mouth. If the sugar had cured the hiccups, then the water brought them right back. 

Nico was beyond frustrated, and Will was starting to side with Rachel on the cute vs. annoying hiccup debate. At one point, Will had left the infirmary with a huff, leaving Nico to think he’d finally gotten sick of helping, but he’d returned with a jar of peanut butter and a spoon, practically force-feeding Nico the sticky substance. 

“If this doesn’t work, we might be trying experimental surgery,” Will told him as he angrily crossed the last few attempts off on his list. 

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Nico replied, having given up on not speaking somewhere around the time that Will had suggested he pull on his tongue. He licked his spoon clean of peanut butter, and the two boys waited with bated breath for a few silent moments until…

Hic!

Nico fell back against his pillow with a groan, and Will buried his face in his hands. 

“Go get the scalpel,” Nico told him in full seriousness.

Will nudged Nico to make room, and laid down beside him on the cot. “I’m not cutting you open. There’s gotta be something we haven’t tried.” 

“Death?” Nico suggested. “Haven’t tried dying yet.”

“I’ll put that at the bottom of the list.” 

“Maybe I can bribe Thanatos into taking me before my time. It would be humane. A mercy killing.” 

He hiccuped right next to Will’s ear, causing the healer to flinch. 

Wait, what did he say? A bribe?

Will got off the bed and crossed the room to Kayla’s desk. 

“I’m not eating any more peanut butter,” Nico called after him. 

Will dunked his hand into the infirmary’s swear jar, fishing beneath the American and Canadian currency for one of the drachmas at the bottom of the jar. He brought it back to Nico and offered the money to him. 

“What am I supposed to do with that?” Nico asked.

“Take it,” Will told him. “I’m buying your hiccups from you.” 

“You’re what?” 

“If it doesn’t work, you can put this toward your mercy killing fund.” Will picked up one of Nico’s hands and placed the coin in his palm. “There. I bought your hiccups.” 

Nico blinked. He took a breath. They waited in silence.

“Okay, what the fuck?” 

“It actually worked?” Will asked, laughing in disbelief. “That worked?”

Nico waved his arms between them. “What the fuck!”

Will pulled him in for a kiss, his hands on Nico’s cheeks and his smile brighter than the sun. “I’m letting those slide because there’s no kids around, and I’m worried that if you put that coin back in the swear jar your hiccups will come back, but watch your language, darling.” 

Nico shoved the drachma at Will’s chest. “Take it back.” 

“What? No,” Will replied. 

“This is freaking me out, take it back!” 

“Do you want your hiccups to come back?”

“Well, no, but--” 

“Then keep your money!” Will closed his hands around Nico’s to keep the coin between his fingers. “I bought your hiccups fair and square. No take-backs!” 

Nico was watching Will with wide eyes. “What the fuck is happening?” 

Will rolled his eyes and pulled Nico to his feet. “Alright, I think it’s time for a change of scenery. Let’s go find Rachel and see if she finished her painting yet.”

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