#and now that they’re banking on miles and MILES IS IN HIS BAG

[cherrysnax]

I love Peter Parker right? kill him. Kill him to death. let him be dead fr there is no point in continuing his story if they’re just gonna disrespect his character like this over and over again

[tlou-reid]

obx grass ✰ jj maybank

warnings ✰ mentions of drinking, marijuana use

summary ✰ jj surprises you with more than just weed

“like never ever ever?” jj looked at you with a slightly confused face. it wasn’t that you hadn’t wanted to try or wouldn’t even try, it just wasn’t something that had happened yet.

“no, jj,” you clarify for the third for fourth time, “i’ve never done it.” you were kind of getting aggravated, unsure of why he kept asking. he was your best friend, but damn could he be annoying sometimes.

“but we smoke all the time.” the ‘we’ in question was the pogues. it was true, there was usually some weed involved in all of their hangouts, but you didn’t usually attend the group hangouts.

“okay? how often am i with them all together?” now you were getting really annoyed. his inquiry into your lack of marijuana use had definitely gone too far and was taking too much time. there was a party tonight and you were getting ready, propped up at your makeshift vanity of a mirror resting on your desk while he interrogated you. “that’s true, i guess. you usually run off with some touron.” jj laughed to himself, comfortable on your bed, tossing around a stuffed animal.

you stopped applying your makeup to glare at him, causing him to laugh more. he wasn’t wrong per say, but a lot of the time you used the touron excuse to get away from the party, not to actually be with one. parties aren’t really your things, and honestly neither are jj’s friends. you don’t hate the pogues, and the kooks in the island definitely see you as a pogue. however, you didn’t really hang out with all of them. you knew john b pretty well, as jj had grown up with him. you were actually quite close with sarah, you two texted a lot and you were her shoulder to cry on when she needed it. after the whole kiara and pope thing you took pope’s side and ended up hanging out with him more. this has created tension with kie, so you don’t really talk to her.

that’s not the only reason there’s tension between you and kiara. it’s very obvious she likes jj, which has always bothered you. you’d never admit it to anyone, but you were very much physically and emotionally attracted to the blonde boy. your family teases you, uses the ‘L’ word, but you won’t admit to yourself that they’re right. so, you avoid kiara. there’s no reason for any unnecessary competition. if he wants her, he can have her, even if it would break your heart.

“well maybe we change that tonight, get some good ‘ole outer banks grass into your system for the first time,” jj smiled as you stood up to grab your bag so you two could head out. “definitely not. my first time getting high will not occur within 5 miles of any kooks, let alone in their backyard.”

“that’s fair,” jj nodded. he grabbed your hand, pulling you to the door. “but we can still get fucked up.” you both laughed. the use of ‘we’ made your heart flutter. if you weren’t going to smoke, neither was jj.

the party was nice, you guys had a lot of fun. you danced, got super wasted and passed out on the couch of john b’s place afterwards. the kooks were surprisingly well-behaved, which made the night significantly more enjoyable than it would’ve been otherwise.

a week or so passes by before you see jj again. he was working a job now. some place on island needed people to clean boats during the day. jj always skipped school anyway so he picked it up. you guys still texted and such, but didn’t get the chance to meet in person.

the sun was starting to set when you received his text: ‘haven’t seen you in a while’. you replied with a simple: ‘sorry! been busy’. it wasn’t really your fault, but you wanted him to know it wasn’t like you were avoiding him. he answered quickly: ‘it’s all good. i’ll pick you up tonight at like 7. i got a surprise for you’.

his text made you smile like an idiot. he rarely ever has anything for you, so this was exciting. it made it hard to focus on your homework as you brainstormed your options.

a knock on your door startles you. you paused your show to open the door and were greeted with jj’s smiling face. “hi” he said. “hi, j”. you wanted to ask about the surprise so bad, but decided not to rush it.

“come on,” he gestured you away from the door. you followed, climbing on the back of his bike. he didn’t have anything in his hands, so you assumed he was taking you to the surprise. you were so excited to see what it was, you didn’t even put down the bottle of water you had been sipping it on. it was a little awkward as you had to hold onto him and make sure you didn’t drop it. luckily, it was a short ride down to the beach. there was a log that you guys would come to sometimes, just to talk about whatever was going on in your lives.

“do you know wanna know what your surprise is?” he says with a smirk. you eagerly nodded, not caring how childish you looked, sat on the log staring up at him. he reached into his pocket, pulling out a joint, placing it in his palm and holding it out to you.

“there’s no kooks for miles,” jj starts, “and i think it’d be good for you.” your smile had dropped when he pulled it out. your heart started to race. “jj,” you said with a sigh, “i don’t know.”

“come on princess, just try it. it won’t kill ya. if you don’t like it we’ll stop.” he was trying to get you to relax, you knew that. your nerves weren’t hidden at all. “i’m just nervous. what if i get all paranoid or whatever?”

“i’ll fight off your delusions, don’t worry,” he joked. when you glared at him, he begun, “no but seriously, i’ll take care of you. it’s not like we’re doing ecstasy, it’s just weed.” you stared at him a little longer before given a hesitant nod. “sick,” he said as he lit the joint and sat down next to you. “we’ll start easy.”

he took a few hits himself first. you could see the way the drug made him relax. the way his shoulders dropped and his face relaxed after a few hits. he turned towards you, “come ‘ere”. he took a hit and you leaned towards, thinking he was gonna pass you the joint. instead, he brings the hand that isn’t holding the joint to the back of your neck, pulling your face towards his.

you can’t help the gasp that comes out of your mouth. you can’t lie, you thought he was gonna kiss you. that thought quickly dissipated as he blew the smoke from his last hit towards your face. the gasp you had let out meant you inhaled a ton of it very quickly. this sent you into a coughing fit.

jj didn’t know what to do. he was just trying to get you started, not send you into an asthma attack. he just watched as you coughed an entire lung up. as your coughs began to slow down, he reached for the water bottle you accidentally brought with you, unscrewing the cap, and passing it to. you chugged the rest of it.

“i’m sorry,” he says as soon as you finish. “i was trying to do the thing in the movies, where they just share the smoke. so it wouldn’t be so scary for you. i should’ve told you first.” he sounded like a little kid as he tried to explain his thought process. if he wasn’t so adorable, you’d be pissed at him.

“it’s fine, j. i just thought,” you cut yourself off, not wanting to tell him what you thought. his eyes seemed wider now, waiting for you to finish your thought. “i just thought,” you start again, “that, um, never mind. i don’t know what i thought.” now you were really nervous. fuck the weed, what if he realized what you thought? what if he knew you wanted to kiss him?

“do you want to try again?” he said, changing the subject. the gears in his head were still turning, trying to figure out what went so wrong. “i’ll just try from the joint,” you said, reaching your hand out to it. “okay, be careful. just start small,” jj instructed.

he watched as you brought the joint to your mouth. he didn’t expect his thoughts to get so dirty as he watched you. as you inhaled, all he could think about was what other things you could wrap your lips around. this brought his eyes down to your lips. “shit,” he whispered with a small smile.

you finished your turn, passing the joint back to him. “shit what?” you asked after letting out another cough or two.

“you thought i was gonna kiss you.” he declared.

you face flushed, and your expression drop. how the fuck did he know that? jj’s not dumb, but you didn’t expect him to figure that out. “what are you talking about?” you sheepishly asked.

“wanna know how i know?” a big grin spread across his face as he locked eyes with you. your eyes were wide, trying to see if he was just guessing or actually figured it out. you nodded.

“because i really wanna kiss you right now.”

[eyeofnewtblog]

Things that happen in life:

So, I’m feeling the need to explain something, and I’ve decided that this will make at least one person chuckle, so here goes.

If getting lost we’re a super power, I could join the Justice League.

When I was first learning to drive, it was An Experience because up until that point I absolutely never paid attention to where we were actually going in a car. I spent about two years constantly calling my dad to say “I’m at point A, how do I get to point B?” And my dad grew up in a very small ranch/farm community. So he gives Country Directions.

Which basically means he tells you how many miles to go in a cardinal direction, visual landmarks, and some of his directions are based on past knowledge. One time I asked him to give me directions to the bank from our house and I kid you not his exact words were “get headed south on Valley avenue and keep heading south until you get to where the Dairy Queen used to be. Turn left there. Go along for about a mile, maybe mile and a half, and the sign for the bank will be on your right.”

Now. As an adult, I recognize that this is not how City Folk give directions. And honestly there’s a benefit to both ways (city directions are “go towards Landmark, get on Easily Recognized Road, then take a left on Special Street and another left on This Other Street, and then look for Landmark and My Car) but the reality is that both typically get blended as you try to communicate and some people are very exact and others are just “meh, you get here when you get here” and all of that is completely fine. That works.

Unless you’re dealing with me, used to country directions, moving to The Big City.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m absolutely happy with my decision to move, but it was definitely a big culture shock. And I did it without a car or smart phone; I still had my little blue slider with the full keyboard dude. Which did not come with any map pinpoints, google earth stuff (at least not that I knew how to operate) or anything of much use beyond sending texts and making phone calls.

But I had moved to a city where I had family, and was quickly making friends. So, I had a list of people that I would cycle through, to call for directions. The list was about ten people long, at its hay day, and there was a point where I was pretty proud of myself for only needing directions three times a day.

Then my parents came to visit, and my whole scheme came to light. It never occurred to me that my grandparents, aunt, and cousins all had dinner or lunch in small groups of three or four. It never occurred to me that they were trading notes on how OFTEN I got lost. Here I was, counting myself lucky that I never had to call the same person twice in one day, not knowing that they’re meeting up and comparing notes.

And my sweet, worry wort grandma tells my dad, who thought he raised an intelligent, independent woman: She gets lost a LOT, honey.

And my dad turns the Eyes Of What The Hell Is Going On to me. But I don’t get the chance to answer because my aunt chimes in (because parents are town, Everyone Is Expected for the Family Dinner, and up until I got The Eyes I had no idea I was about to be thrown under the bus)

“Oh my GAWD, I used to think you just didn’t raise her with good directions, but she just straight up couldn’t find her way out of a wet paper bag!”

And my own father said in front of me, “I am VERY well aware.”

Then we went inside and had dinner, which involved quite a lot of me trying to explain how exactly I had gotten lost to begin with, it was very embarrassing, and it comes up quite frequently still, ten years later.

But on the other hand, I really do deserve the teasing, and I wouldn’t trade my family for anything in the world.

[lvllns]

if u are still doing them, perhaps 21 and/or 43? :-0

Gavin picks up the edges of their aura moments before the door to their apartment swings open and they say, “Remind me to never agree to go for a run with Damien and Huxley ever again.”

He laughs and slips out of their bedroom to lean against the wall. “I did try to warn you, Freelancer.” They grumble as they drop their bag onto the floor. “You insisted you could keep up with them.”

A groan, long and soft, before they look up, look his direction, and he smirks as their aura flickers. Their eyes skim down his body. Across his bare chest, over his arms, and down, down to where a pair of grey sweats hang dangerously low on his hips. Attraction flares bright for a moment before being muted by exhaustion and adoration. It simmers, something banked for later, and he watches them stumble deeper into their apartment.

“I can keep up with them, I did keep up with them,” they say, collapsing onto the couch. “For the first few miles.”

Gavin winces sympathetically. “They’ve been…pushing themselves lately.”

Freelancer falls onto the sofa, face pressing into the cushion. They say something he can’t parse out, the words spoken right into the fabric pushing into their mouth.

“Love, I can’t understand a single thing you’re saying.”

Dramatically, they roll onto their back, arms stretching above their head. “They ran so much Gav. So much.” Their eyes flutter shut and they exhale slowly through their mouth. “Like, I can run but I’m more of a sprinter.”

He pushes off the wall. Steps into the living room and nudges their shoulder. “Up.” Glowering at him, they sit up just enough for him to sit down. Gavin tugs them back down, adjusting them both until they’re resting comfortably in his lap. “Better?”

They nod, nose brushing against his stomach, and curl their right arm around his back, fingers tracing a small section of his spine. “You’re always so warm,” they mumble, breath tickling his skin.

He threads his fingers through their hair. “One of the many perks of being an incubus.” Gavin presses his thumb into the base of their neck, right above their spine, digging in a little until they exhale. Slow and heavy. “Here, on your stomach.”

Freelancer whines. “You just made me move,” they say even as they sit up with a grimace.

“Did you even stretch after?” he asks.

They glare at him as they lie back down, feet in his lap now. “Of course I did, do you really think Damien would let me leave without properly cooling down?”

Gavin makes a considering sound as he stands up. “Shirt off.”

“You’re not even going to grant me the pleasure of acknowledging how ridiculous that question was?”

“Oh, I’m going to grant you pleasure, my love, don’t you worry about that.” They look at him over their shoulder, eyes going dark, and he grins. “Shirt off, face down.”

They move slowly. Wincing as they lift their arms to get undressed to the waist. The shirt gets dropped to the floor, and Gavin snorts as he moves. Straddling their thighs with his own, sitting down and resting his hands over their shoulder blades. Freelancer shudders beneath him. Muscles twitching and flexing beneath their skin. He drags his fingers along their tattoos. Featherlight. A gentle exploration of a body he knows almost better than his own. From the tattoos, he moves to trace their freckles. Connecting various dots in mindless shapes and patterns.

It’s a process with them, he’s learned. He can’t go straight into working their muscles, they’ll be tense and waiting for it to be over so they can rush off to do whatever has popped into their head. No, Gavin has learned to break them down in stages until they come undone in his hands.

In more ways than one.

He waits and watches until their shoulders relax. Until the tension drips from them like candle wax, thick and heavy and pooling on the floor as their body goes lax from the loss. Only then does he press his thumbs into their muscles. Not deep, not yet. Just enough to crack the ice. He runs his hands along their spine, alternating between surface level touches and pressing in. Freelancer moans, the sound ripped from them, and their head drops further into the couch cushion.

“There we go,” he whispers. “Let go, I’ve got you.”

And they do.

They exhale, long and slow, and they melt into his touch. Gavin seeks out the knots, the physical ones anyway, and pushes and pulls and manipulates the muscles until there’s nothing left but smooth skin beneath his hands. Their shoulders are the worst, they always are. It’s where they carry all their tension. Where they hold the weight of all of their problems, and everyone else’s problems that they pick up as they go through their day.

“Atlas and the world,” Gavin murmurs, touch sweeping up from their lower spine to their neck.

“Hm?” they ask, a little sleepy and a lot slurred.

He leans down. Presses a kiss to the space between their shoulder blades. “Nothing, just thinking out loud.”

They murmur something, a string of nonsense most likely, but Gavin feels the warmth suffuse their chest. The comfort and love. He kisses the nape of their neck, quick and light, and then tucks his face into the crook of their throat. Bracing his forearms on either side of them, he lays down, chest to back, and sighs.

Freelancer makes a sound he doesn’t clearly hear, but he feels it rattle through their chest. “You always feel so fuckin’ good.”

Gavin drags his nose along their jaw. “Not too much?”

“Never are,” they whisper. Their jaw cracks when they yawn, and they hum. “I’m gonna sleep now.”

He laughs. “Just like this? With me pressing you into the couch?”

“Yep.” Their left hand reaches around. Flops a bit until they can pat his side, fingers cool along his ribs. “‘S comfy. Feels safe.”

“Oh,” he says quietly. His heart is, quite suddenly, at the back of his throat. “That’s…well. Rest, Freelancer, and if you want me to move just say the word.”

They flash him a thumbs up before tucking their arm back under their head. Gavin stays where he is. Trailing touches along the slope of their shoulders as their breathing goes deep and even.

“Sleep well, my love.”

[kinetic-elaboration]

November 19: Miller/Bryan, Defect

Miller/Bryan, Canon-divergent sometime in S3 I guess, ~700 words

Eh. This didn’t flow smoothly for sure, which doesn’t make me feel confident for getting back into writing, but maybe this practice will ultimately help. Just a little writing exercise thing.

*

Divisions grow, until eventually they’re exes living in two different settlements, each surrounded by its own walls. For a long time, the two groups do not speak to each other. An icy silence, a frigid stretch of winter. Bad blood. You'd never think that up in space they were all neighbors. Crammed together and bordered by nothing but blackness, an abyss, whole childhoods saturated in lessons about their humanity as a light for the future, and all that, they had to survive together or not at all. Now they put miles between them, stretches of forest, arcs of rolling hills. Frozen, calcified silence.

In Miller's view, the Farm settlement has stuck itself in the past. They're in Ice Nation still. They've never left. They're buried in snow. He can't entirely blame them because he's seen his friends killed, too; he's fought in wars, too; he has his scars and his bad nights, too. He's never actually forgiven anyone in his life. But damn has he gotten tired of carrying around burdens that only bend his own back. He doesn't understand choosing your own sickening rage over alliance, and peace, and growth.

Last time he tried to explain this, Bryan said he was too trusting—spit it out like an insult—and he wondered if they'd ever known each other at all.

Trusting. The last people to save his life then turned around and tried to kill him. The boyfriend he welcomed home from the dead packed his bags in the middle of the night, left at dawn with his people, absolutely stone-faced when he said it, as if Miller hadn't been his people since they were fourteen years old. Too trusting. It's pure fucking selfishness, his own form of survival, and Bryan, he thinks, should understand that.

Summer eases in after a long, wet, and chilly spring, and they start meeting by the river near the old Dropship site. It's a good cover. He feels like a spy, talking low over the rush of water as it nearly overflows the banks, still swelled with that year's snow, listening for sounds sneaking in underneath it or above. Bryan tells him that Farm had a hard winter, and Pike is losing his grip. The whole situation— Well. There's no satisfaction to it. Miller listens with a grim expression as Bryan talks and talks.

"It helps to have friends," he says once, vaguely, his fingers playing with Bryan's fingers as they hold hands, palms crushed into the dirt.

Bryan snorts. "Sure. Easy for you to say. We're just so used to seeing enemies on both sides."

Miller could tell him, hey, I was dropped into this hostile world all alone too. And it didn't get better. He's been thrown aside again and again, belongs nowhere some days, wears a Guard jacket that doesn't fit him, longs for that time when he had exactly what Bryan thought he wanted: a small band of allies for whom he'd kill or die, the simplicity of knowing you had who you had in your corner and you could trust every single one. This world's too big for people like them. The complexity is dizzying. He doesn't even know what he longs for anymore.

"It's not about politics," he answers instead. "It's about what you think is more important, your alliances, this shit that sounds good on paper, or your... your real human connections." He can't say friends because it sounds too lame, and because it would seem like he is talking about them, and they were never only friends.

"Sounds like the same thing to me. Who you trust."

"It's not. It’s— You can't trust everyone who spouts the stuff you want to hear." He pulls Bryan's hand up, kisses the heel of his palm still dirty with bits of soil, hard so it hurts and his lips taste like earth.

"You mean I should only trust you," Bryan says, voice perfectly level, gaze unflinching.

"I'm saying that the people I'd die for, they're the people I'd abandon everything for. That's loyalty you feel in your gut. You can’t rely on anything else out there, Bry. That’s the only thing I’ve really learned down here.”

[fullsendoffthecouch]

Chapter 1+2

I watched the man who stood about two miles away, waiting for me to come out. I didn’t. I wouldn’t give the satisfaction of getting me the same way he got my team, just standing there and waiting for them to pass.

It was a good plan, I’ll give him that much. He bunkered down in a spot where you could only see him if you were to approach from where he was facing, but a couple miles out, there was a small clearing that you could see him from without being exposed, and I had a clear shot. I aimed right at his chest before raising the rifle so the crosshairs sat just above his heart, and fired.

He looked down at where I shot him and raised his hand. A whistle sounded out and we both stood from where we hid.

“Really? You had to shoot me from there?” He walked closer and held out his hand, as if he were greeting me for the first time, and I took it, shaking it quickly before letting go and patting him on the back.

“You and I both know that you would’ve won if I didn’t think before running around a corner.” I stretched, joints audibly popping as I returned to my normal position, and I caught the mild disgust on his face.

“It's perfectly normal to do that,” I said indignantly. He shook his head. “Not that loudly, and not to that extent.”

I shrugged before glancing around at the area, the only other person being the referee. “Where’d everyone go?” 

“We took too long. They’re all at their houses right now.” He frowned as he began to remove his equipment. “Damn it. I need to text Gabe.”

“Why?” I had already removed all of the supplies and began packing the airsoft guns.

“Made a bet. If I beat you he owed me a hundred. And then you went and won.”

“You could just say you won.”

He shook his head as we left the building. “Not how I do things and you know it.” He opened the passenger side door. “A man is only as good as his word.”

“You sound like my dad.” I shook my head as I began to start the car. “I can cook something for you at my house, if you don’t want to go home right away.”

“Nah, I don’t want to owe you anything.”

“Doesn’t matter, do you want me to make you something or not.”

He slumped into his seat as he finally began to relax. “Fine. Nothing fancy though.”

I nodded as we pulled out of the lot, beginning the long drive to my home.

———

I set the bag down on the floor as my friend threw himself on my couch, sprawled out in a way that took up the whole thing, and I went to the kitchen, pulling out a large pan and a few brown potatoes.

“You still have the Alexa?”

I had just started to peel the potatoes when he’d asked that and nearly cut myself with the peeler. “Yeah, why?”

“Alexa,” he said as he ignored my question, “what’s my name.”

“I’m talking to Mark. This is David’s account.”

Mark frowned. “Hey, how does this thing know my name?”

I set aside the one I had fully peeled and started on the second one. “It has a voice ID thing that you can activate. I did it last time you were here, remember?” I started on the last one, and he stared into space as he thought. “I don’t remember that.”

I shrugged. “You were baked when we got here and all you really did was snack. Now,” I said as I pulled out a cutting board, “will you let me cook, because I can’t talk to you and make decent food at the same time.”

He nodded before looking down at the couch as if he was looking for something. I just turned my attention back to the food, and after dicing the potatoes into chunks, I began cooking.

Step one: Turn on the stove and heat the pan. If you put the canola oil in first it could end up burning and making a mess. As I waited, I turned to Mark, who was now watching the news.

“Why’d you ask Alexa what my name was?”

“I wanted to see if you made it something weird,” he said honestly. He frowned at the TV. “There’s a robber now. Shooting up banks all over the city. You have insurance, right?”

I nodded. “I don’t have to be worried as far as I’m concerned,” I said before turning back to the pan and pouring a bit of oil in.

Step two: Add the potatoes and season accordingly. I opened the pantry that sat above the stove, jumping back as bottles of seasonings and dried herbs fell out, making an annoying sound along with a mess. 

Mark leaned to look in the kitchen, going back to his original position when he saw the mess.

…

I’ll clean it up in a bit.

Looking over the scattered bottles, I grabbed paprika and garlic powder before taking the salt from the cabinet. I poured the potatoes into the pan, hearing the satisfying crackle they made before applying the seasonings, giving a healthy coat to the potatoes that I had just poured in, and let them sit before stirring them around until all of them were a nice golden brown, with them all being well coated.

Final step: Cheese. Specifically, shredded Colby Jack. I turned off the stove and put a handful of cheese all over it, after which I put a lid over so it would melt the cheese with the steam.

Two minutes passed by and I took a spatula and put them out onto a plate, grabbed a water from the fridge, and put them down on the table before “lightly” shaking Mark, who had fallen asleep.

“Stop, please.”

I stopped. “Food’s done.”

He seemed to…compact himself somehow, body becoming flatter and a bit shorter than it was when he sat normally. He stretched out like a cat in the sun before getting up to go to the table, grinning at the food. “Thanks man.”

I nodded. “Hey I have to go to the store, you have the key to the house, make sure you finally take your stuff out of the guest room. It takes long enough to clean my room when I’m fixing up the house.”

“Okay dad,” he said. He took a bite and smiled a bit. “You’re getting better at this.”

I was already out the door, grinning as I heard the comment.

———

I was maybe halfway to the store when I realized something, and I scrambled to check my wallet as I reached a stoplight.

“Hey Siri,” I said as I began to drive, “where’s the nearest bank.” My phone, attached to a holder thing on the windshield, immediately pulled up some directions, and I tapped the one that was only three miles out.

Why did I need to go to the bank? The store I was going to was, in reality, a farmers market of sorts. I would go there some days to sell when I had made something I thought was good enough. Sometimes it worked out, sometimes it didn’t.

I’m getting off track.

The point is, all of the vendors I needed to see only took cash, and the most I had was $6.27 left from the airsoft place. Enough for a snack, but nowhere near what I needed for the food I would have to buy.

I pulled into the lot and headed into where they had the ATM since they didn’t have a drive-through or anything, and was greeted by the odd, semi-quiet atmosphere that these places had.

I walked to the machine and took out about $200 for the market, but as I turned to leave, a loud bang resounded through the room, near me, actually.

“Hands in the air!” I slowly turned to see a guy, around 5’ 10” wearing a mask and sunglasses, with a gun in his hand.  He held it close, where it wouldn’t just be hard to grab, it would be stupidly easy to shoot someone if they came at you from anywhere but behind you. I was behind him, and, rather dumbly, I charged him from my position.

Unfortunately, I was more or less stomping at him rapidly, and as I prepared to tackle him, he whipped around and shot me, point blank, in the chest.

Was I dead right away? No, but it was over pretty quickly. The last thing I remember is my body lying on top of him, some guy taking his gun, and someone calling the cops.

Then I was dead.

———

Or so I thought.

Everything went blacker than the soul of a megachurch televangelist before I opened my eyes again, and when I did, I took a deep breath in, feeling water rush into my lungs. I then realized I was under water, and I kicked my legs, arms flailing as I attempted, and failed, to surface. The only feeling that I had as I drowned was confusion, because I swear I just got shot in the chest.

It took me way too long to realize I was coming back to life like the guys from isekai stories, and I was nowhere near as lucky as them with the sheer amount of deaths I went through.

Drowned underwater. Estimated time before death: Ten seconds.

Got mauled to death by a pack of feral dogs. Estimate: One minute.

Hit in the head by a large rock, thrown by what appeared to be a troll. Estimate: Five minutes.

Eaten alive by sirens. Estimate: One minute and ten seconds.

Drowned again due to a water-horse thing. Estimate: Two minutes.

Shot through the head by a jet of water. Estimate: 5 seconds.

Incinerated by what appeared to be Satan. Estimate: 10 minutes.

Stepped on by a giant. Estimate: 12 seconds.

It was, to put it simply, hell, and I began to wonder if it would ever end. It did, just not how I had hoped.

After the giant, when I woke up again, I was free falling from high enough that I was above the clouds, and I believed I was back home, at least until I collided with a dragon. I didn’t die though! No, I rolled off its back, slowing my fall but not stopping it, and when I fell of the tail, it was about a twenty foot drop into the treetops, where I hit a branch and-

Oh. There goes my spine.

Still falling, and sustaining multiple injuries, all I could really think was that I wasn’t dead, somehow. As I crashed through the lowest tree and hit the ground, I tried to move. Fruitlessly, of course, but it was worth a shot.

Maybe I could take a little nap… Yeah, I deserved it after everything I had gone through so far. Plus, if I die, I might end up somewhere safe.

——————

THIS CHAPTER IS TRANSLATED FROM MY WORLDS LANGUAGE INTO OURS. THIS WILL NOT REMAIN CONSTANT, AND WILL ONLY BE FOR IMPORTANT SCENES IF DONE FROM A PERSPECTIVE OTHER THAN THE MAIN CHARACTERS

———

One hour before David enters the world.

POV: Aran Goldfield (Elf)

“Fucking bugs!” I shouted as I stabbed another in the head. There were spiders everywhere around the town, just because it was starting to get warmer, and I was the sap they managed to rope into the removal process. Just because I wanted a quest!

Sure, I wasn’t legally an adventurer, but they’d looked past that before, for that tall guy with the black hair, and he was weaker than me! I should get a chance at the sort of crap he did and I’d do it better too! Better yet, work so his accomplishments are insignificant and then shove his blessings right up his-

“Oi,” a voice behind me rumbled, “stop thinking about Garret an’ pick up the pace. Mister Rannan gave us two hours to finish up and he won’t pay us if you go too far over the limit.”

Damn it. “I wasn’t thinking about him, Graman.” I turned to the orc and he smiled.

“Yes you were. You got that look in your face, the squintin’ eyes an’ all that.” He picked up the spider I just killed and tossed it into a bag, still grinning. “Hey, what do you think he wants with all these spiders?”

“My guess?” I responded as I shanked another one. “He just doesn’t want to deal with the bugs for too long, unless you can think of any other uses for them.” 

Graman smiled again. “Number of things, actually. The carcass could be used for food, fertilizer, or dried and skinned to make a sort of container with the body, the venom glands could be used in alchemy or pharmaceuticals to make poisons or antidotes, and the…web glands, I think? Those could be used for fabric. Lot of things.”

I sighed. “Right. Keep forgetting you’re a healer and a weaver and whatever other jobs you’ve taken.” I looked around, searching for more spiders and listening for the chittering sound they make, but nothing came. “Think that’s all of them,” I muttered as I sheathed the knife.

“Let's turn these in then!” Graman said as he shook the bag, a rattling sound coming from it.

———

It was a long walk back to the guild hall, and the people staring at us didn’t make it any better. The staring probably had something to do with the green blood on us, but that didn’t matter.

“Did we do something?” Graman muttered, and I looked at his face, which was difficult due to him being a few heads taller than I was. He wore his confusion openly, looking at the hall with the discomfort of someone who was told they had to sleep next to a bed wetter. “Look,” he said, pointing in the direction we were heading, and I saw what he meant.

Usually, after a quest is finished, there’s a clerk or something at a podium by the door. Unless you have business inside or you need to meet someone, you usually turn the stuff in at the front and collect the payout later. This time, instead of a clerk, Hale Rannan, the guild master and the one who hired us, stood at the door, frowning. When he spotted us, he shifted to a neutral expression and beckoned us to follow him.

We entered the building right after him, ignoring the ruckus of celebrating adventurers as we walked far behind him, barely noticing him entering his office.

I caught the door before it closed and Graman followed closely as we walked in.

The guildmaster sat down and gestured to the chairs in front of him. “Go on and have a seat. Least I can offer after you took the…spiders. Oh, speaking of which, did you bring a few of the bodies like I had requested?”

Graman chuckled as he shook the bag again. “Try all of them,” he grunted as he held it open, the bodies visible and as creepy as they were when they were alive, and Hale smiled.

“Wonderful! We’ve needed a number of things lately, like antivenom, cloth, jugs, whatever. Thank you for gathering all of these,” he said as he took the bag and placed it on the side. Graman looked somewhat satisfied as the things the guildmaster listed were more or less what he guessed.

“What’d you need, sir? I imagine there was a reason you called us,” I said as I adjusted my seating position.

“Right.” He sighed, as if this was a frustrating process. “I apologize, but I have one more odd job for you before the day ends.” He reached to his left, grabbing at something that had been moved, and he frowned at his hand. “Would you give me a moment to find the report, please?”

He got up without waiting for a response, and when he left the room, I turned to my friend. “What do you think he needs?”

Graman shrugged. “He’s eccentric. Could be anything from monster control to checking out rumors about a necromancer.” We heard the door handle move and that was when Hale re-entered the room.

“Sorry, there were…”

———

“Get it down from there, or bring a broom!

“AH, IT'S IN MY HAIR!”

“Brother, don’t move.”

“Ah, fuck! My nose!”

“It’s down there, I see it!”

———

“…problems, finding the form. Pests and all that.” He coughed like he was trying to clear his throat. “Now! It would be better if you would read the form yourself. It would undeniably be faster than explaining it myself.”

I nodded, remembering how long winded his speech became if he was invested in a topic.

Graman had started reading the moment that we were given the paper. “The lot behind the Goldfield’s place?” I looked up in surprise, because the “Goldfield’s Place” was my family’s home, and we all still lived there with how massive the house actually was.

Hale nodded, before turning to me. “Your parents, while you were handling the spiders, heard a crashing sound from out back, and no one wanted to go out there to check. We believe it could’ve been a monster or adventurer, but you have three goals relating to what you find. Corpse retrieval, regardless of what it is, elimination if it’s a monster or is being swarmed by some, and what I deem least likely, rescue if it happens to be a highly injured person. If you encounter any slime type, make sure to-.” He stopped. “Apologies for my rambling. Will you take the job?”

“What are we getting paid?” Graman grunted. 

“Six coins and two bits each. Both silver.”

I looked to my left and the orc nodded. “We’ll take it.”

“Excellent! Ah, but…please wait until tomorrow to inform me of your findings. We shall be very busy with handling some issues for the rest of the day.”

With that, we nodded and walked out of the office. “Weird,” muttered Graman. He frowned as we stepped outside. “You don’t think it’s anything serious like what Garret had to deal with? The Lich?”

…

“Let’s hope not.”

———

POV: Hale Rannan (Human)

I slumped in my chair as the pair left the office with the report, rubbing my eyes.

“So much work today, and not a moment of respite.” I arose from my chair, stretching my legs before walking to the door and shoving it open, startling an adventurer, who relaxed as he saw my expression.

“Tough day, sir?” His face seemed to match mine, the same world-weary eyes and the smile of a man who wanted nothing more than a simple rest, and his features and armor brought a few fragmented memories to the front of my mind.

I lightly smiled at him. “Yes, but there’s not much I can do about it. As the guildmaster for this branch here, I have an obligation to the people of this town, whether they are adventurers, old legends, or simply just normal.” I sighed deeply and looked the man in the eyes.

“Pardon me for saying so, but you look familiar. Did you live here at one point?”

The man chuckled. “Right, I guess you wouldn’t remember me considering it’s been about ten years. I’m Garret Albrook.” He held out his hand and I shook it, finding that it was a bit easier without the leather glove he wore. “It’s nice to meet you again.”

I laughed. “I’m afraid my memory has degraded over the years, so I apologize that I don’t remember you. I’ll, uh, remember you soon, hopefully. Oh, what business do you have here? I might be able to help a bit before I head home for the day.”

He shook his head. “No, I can wait until tomorrow. I’ll see you then, I guess.”

With that, he stepped out of the guild hall, walking towards the inn.

Garret. Where have I…

A memory, fully formed, floated up to the surface. One of a young man with dark hair who wielded a monstrous amount of power, but was too tired and placid to use most of it. He was recruited by the church one day, and I had to approve of his mission, along with his parents.

“Ah.”

…

That was more work, and I could handle it tomorrow.

[matchdinghy36]

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[bokettochild]

request: sometimes time likes to be alone underwater. with his iron boots and zora helmet, it's easy to just take a stroll at the bottom of a deep enough lake, away from the rest of the world. he did not expect, however, to find legend relaxing inside a small hole in the stone. Mer Legend.

Oh boy! I was vibing with this one for a while, I just wanted to make it perfect!

I'm pretty happy with what I made too, but man is it long!

(I hope this makes you happy, anon!)

When he and Malon have kids, he hopes they don't have this many.

Nayru knows he loves his boys, but they can get a bit much sometimes. They can get loud and overwhelming, and as a man who’s used to traveling primarily alone, with maybe a fairy trailing behind him or his trusted mount, it’s a bit overwhelming. He’s not used to being around people so much, Malon and Talon are his only consistent company and even then, the work they share means that often times it’s only him and his thoughts as he mucks, mends and tends things around the ranch.

Sometimes, when the boys get especially rowdy and playful, it’s just nice to get a moment of quiet to himself. Between Sky and Twilight he knows that nothing overly chaotic will go down, and he trusts the boys to keep each other in check.

So, when they come to the Pup’s Hyrule, their battle in this world over and most of their number restless as they wait for the next portal to arrive and whisk them away, Time allows his boys their space, and with a quick exchange with the only two he can trust to not burn something down (at least while the younger ones can still see them) he heads off into the forest to get a little space to himself.

Of course, he can’t really go far, not if he needs to hurry back, but he doesn’t really need to. His destination is Lake Hylia, which is only a short distance from their camp, maybe ten or fifteen minutes, and, when he gets there, he allows himself to actually breathe for once.

Wild, Warriors and Wind had been locked in a game of cards when last he left, the champion soundly beating the other two both at cribbage while Wars bemoans his poor luck, and Twilight and Sky were discussing wood carving with Hyrule, with the occasional comment from the smithy, who is only too happy to throw in something related every so often as he looks up from his book. That leaves himself and Legend, and he’s long since learned that the vet was one to disappear for his own space when possible.

He’s not overly worried. Legend has items and experience that far outmatch most of their group, and if he runs into trouble Time has little doubt that he’ll be able to get himself out of it to at least gather reinforcements, if not handle the issue by himself.

A deep breath of relief escapes him as the eldest of the heroes pulls a few items from his own bag. The boots are a familiar if not welcome weight as he slips out of his armor and dons the tunic and cap of the Zora, his breath bubbling softly as he steps into the lake before him with a contented sigh.

The cool water floods over the top of him, tugging at his hair and bubbling in his lungs, but it’s doesn’t burn the way that it should. He breathes easily beneath the rippling surface of Lake Hylia, the Zora tunic granting him freedom beneath the waves.

There is little sound beneath, only the muffled noise from above the surface, the flow of the water and-

Time’s ears prick forwards as a single blue eye turns to search the space around him.

Someone is singing.

It’s a haunting sort of melody, one that draws you in and makes you dazed, and Time finds himself stumbling over his own feet as he searches for the source. It is not a Cursed song, nor anything powerful from what he can recall, in fact, it’s almost familiar. It sounds similar to something he hears hummed about their camp at night while the boys take watch. He’d never been able to place which of the young heroes hummed the lilting melody, but he’s let it carry him off to sleep many a time before. Only this song, the one that twines about his head and whispers in his ears and makes his feet trek closer and closer to its source, this song is different, it’s haunted and Broken, and it is sung in a Voice.

Not a voice like most of those above the surface have, but a Voice like a fairy or spirit might have. One that pulls at your very soul and sings in your mind, un-hampered by wind or waves, able to carry across miles to be heard by those that it Sings too.

Heavy feet trod faster.

He’s under no spell, but he is a Link, and by now he has learned that all of their kind are blessed or cursed with courage and curiosity both, and to be without the latter is simply unthinkable for the young-at-heart hero. Something –the forest imp in him maybe- tells him to find the Voice, find the Singer.

He’s only made it part of the way across the lake, hasn’t even left the shoreline properly, when the song stops. Unease creeps over him as he looks around, alert and ready for trouble, only to see nothing but the peaceful stillness of the lake bottom around him.

There! His mind supplies as something pink flits in the corner of his vision, and he’s whipping around to come face to face with-

Long tangled hair drifts in the waves as glistening scales reflect the light pouring down through the waves. Too deep, too dark eyes stare at him in shock for a brief moment, and then-

The creature, the thing, is gone in an instant. Whipping away as it’s glimmer fades into the waves around him, speed no doubt granted by the brilliant tail of the thing sending it rocketing out of his grasp before he even has a chance to speak.

He tried to follow it. He does! But quite soon the adult part of his mind is reminding him how dangerous the thing could be, and that he still has his boys to return to back on the surface. It’s been exactly thirty-two minutes and thirteen seconds since he left them at their camp, and by now they usually would have sent someone to check and make sure that whatever member of their party had strayed off was alright.

Removing his boots is all it takes to float to the surface, despite the fact that he still holds the things in his hands, and it’s with no small amount of relief that he realizes that the bank of the lake is free of other heroes.

Time gathers his things together, wringing out his hair and clothes before returning to his normal gear and heading back to the camp.

Smiles and chuckles greet him as the young heroes tease.

“Go for a swim, Old Man?” Legend quirks a brow, staring up from his place by the fire.

Time doesn’t answer him, but he does shake his head violently enough to spray the younger heroes with water, earning shouts and shrieks from them as they try and shield themselves from the wet. “Seriously, Time?” Warriors moans, wiping lake water from his face. “What are you, a dog?”

Time smirks at the captain and, to everyone's surprise (which produces no small amount of delight for him), he barks.

“What sorts of people have you met in your adventures?” Sky asks a couple of days later, head cocked to the side as he watches his brothers. “You all talk about so many races, but I don’t think I've heard of most of them.”

“Well,” Wild smiles, there’s a glint in his gaze that isn’t quite mischief, but it’s a warning to be wary anyway, because they all know what a crack-pot their cook can be at times. “There’s Hylians, of course, and Sheikah, Yiga, Gerudo, Rito, Gorons, Zora and koroks! You’ve probably already met the Sheikah, since you mentioned knowing an Impa during your journey, and the Yiga are an offshoot of that group.”

Twilight blinks and stares, Warriors furrowing his brow as he two older heroes stare at the younger, but Wild seem entirely unaffected.

“Gerudo are a desert people. They’re really tall, and extremely strong! Most of their race have long red hair and slightly darker skin than the people around Hyrule. They are a society of all woman, with only one man being born to them every hundred years. They worship the goddess Din for the most part, and live out of an opulent city set in the desert where they specialize in the crafting of weapons and jewelry, and the farming of exotic plants.” The champion then proceeds to run down traits and knowledge about the other races, matter-of-factly, as if the details he is sharing are things that everyone from the surface knows.

“Wow.” Sky laughs as Wild finishes. “I had no idea.”

“There’s also the minish.” Four adds. “And the Wind Tribe, who are sky people, of course.”

Sky looks curious, but Four says nothing more, instead gesturing to the other heroes to share their thoughts, which they do.

“Terminans.” Time offers. “Very similar to Hylians.”

“Ordonians.” Twilight adds with a fond smile. No explanation is needed.

The others all nod along, but Legend rolls his eyes. “Humans, like, non-Hylian humans, Shifters,” The vet stares upwards with a light scowl as he ticks the races off of his fingers. “Technically they’re humans too, but Wild counted the Sheikah and Gerudo, so there’s also the Lorulians, Labrynninians, Holodrumese folks, Hytopians, Drablanders, Subrosians, Catalians-” Legend frowns. “I could swear there are more but I can’t really recall.”

Time, for whatever reason, he can’t really say why, cocks his head. “Any water people other than Zora?”

The vet snaps his fingers. “Mer-folk! Thank you, Time. I guess fae and animal folk count on that note.”

There’s a scoff and Warriors is leaning forwards with a smirk. “Fairies and animals, sure, but mer? Seriously, Legend? Have you even met a mer before?”

“Many times.” The veteran drawls, cocking a brow in the captain’s direction. “On multiple adventures. What about you, cap? Jealous you couldn’t snag one for your guild of brides?”

Warriors blusters about indignantly, earning laughter from the others as Legend smirks, but the man recovers quickly enough. “I do not have a guild of brides! That is- that is utterly disgusting!”

“Could have fooled me.” Legend teases, sipping some water from a flask.

“Give him a break.” Twilight snickers, shoving the vet playfully.

The unfortunate thing about Twilight’s shoves though is that the ranch hand doesn’t seem to know his own strength, and Legend is small enough that the light push is enough to send him scrabbling to not hit the ground. More laughter rings about their camp, but this time at the vet's expense, as Legend topples over into the dirt, spilling his drink and failing his arms as he goes.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” Legend huffs, pulling himself back up and dusts off his clothes, scowling at the water spilled on him. “Great.”

“Oh, come on, you came back soaked to the skin earlier, what’s a bit of water going to hurt you, huh, vet?” Warriors ribs, smirking.

Legend shoots him a half-hearted glare.

“Legend,” Time starts slowly. “How would you describe the mer?”

The vet pauses, gaze resting maybe a moment too long as his hands as he brushes off the hem of his tunic. He’s already done so and there’s really no reason for him to do it again, but he does anyway. “What you’d expect.” He shrugs haltingly. “Hylian on top, fish beneath. Tail, long hair, that sort of thing.”

The old man hums. Legends ears twitch, nose shivering slightly as violet eyes flit over their group. “Care to expand on your sky people story, Four?”

“I’m good.” The smithy replies lazily.

Time would pass it off as a strange one-time thing, he would, but there are... other factors at play.

They’ve traveled to Four’s time, fighting off monsters and solving puzzles the same as they’ve always done. The boys are taking some downtime, playing hide and seek, and just like the last time, Time takes himself down to the river they’ve made camp ear and dons his Zora gear.

He isn’t expecting to see the creature, the mer, again, much less hear them singing -after all, this is a Hyrule far before his Pup’s- but there the creature is. It- or they- frolic in the water, chasing fish and singing softly. The tune is lighter than the last one he heard, a different song entirely, but there is no denying that it is the same mer.

Gold flecked, petal pink scales shimmer beneath the twisted lights that invade the water, hair of the same colors flowing in the current as long fingers, tipped with pointed claws, reach out to swipe at the fish swimming wildly away. They don’t catch anything, but Time hears it giggle anyways, the tune of its voice bubbling in merriment as it rolls like and otter and turns to explore some other part of the river bed.

The cursed curiosity of a hero niggles in Time’s mind. How is the same mer from before in this timeline, ages before Twilight would even be born? And why do they play and explore as if they’ve never seen this river bed before in their life?

Long claws pull through sand, and although their hair blocks their face from his view, he can still hear the warble of delight as the creature removes something sparkling and bright from the river bed. The mer floats in place, turning the item over in their hands curiously before whisking it out of sight and returning to their search.

A mer that likes treasure, huh? Why is he unsurprised?

His own soft laugh startles them, and for a half of a moment, golden ringed, violet eyes, wide and bright and full of shock, meet his own.

The mer is gone before he can make a move.

He asks Legend about it the next day. As they travel along the path towards the nearest town, Time falls back to ask the vet more about mer.

“Do mer like treasure?”

Legend starts, eyes wide as they meet his own, and something in the back of his mind is nagging him that the look in the vet’s eyes is somehow familiar. “What?”

“Do mer like treasure?” He repeats himself.

Legend stares at him, blinking slowly as they continue along the path, but eventually the vet shakes his head and answers. “Depends on the mer. They’re people too, Time, they can have varying interests and hobbies. There is no standard for mer. None.”

“Don’t they all swim at least?”

Legend’s gaze is flat. “There are disabled Hylians aren’t there? Not all Hylians can walk, and not Mer can swim. Some just choose not to because they don’t like it!”

Time frowns. How does the vet know so much about mer culture? “How do you know this?”

The vet shrugs, eyes darting away. “I’ve been a lot of places and met a lot of people. Mer are no exception.”

“I thought you hated swimming and the water?” Wind breaks in, falling back to join the two of them with an odd look on his face. He looks like a puppy and it’s killing Time not to ruffle the kid’s hair.

“Didn’t always.” Legend returns, smiling wryly down at the sailor. “But enough of that. The real question here is if you’ve ever met one, sailor.”

“A mer?” Wind furrows his brow, looking away with a soft sigh. “The water in my world isn’t safe for the people who lived in it. There’s hardly even any fish in most places. The Zora in my time had to adapt to the air instead in order to survive.”

Awkward silence falls over them, the vet looking guilty for a half a moment before he settles a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “The goddesses aren’t always fair, Maliit, it’s not your fault.

Time hums his agreement, heart aching for yet another young hero and a world that suffered for Time’s failure to have properly saved it.

He sees the mer again. Not just when he’s in the water himself, but when he’s keeping watch during the night or on occasion when he goes fishing with Twilight. The Pup says nothing about seeing gold and pink beneath the water, but Time finds himself watching it all the same.

It darts beneath the dock they’re fishing on one time, and when Twilight’s line gets a tug, the rancher pulls it up only to find the one of his boots dangling from the other end.

Time can’t help it, he laughs.

So, this mer is a prankster, huh?

He takes to seeking them out, trying to catch their attention or try to talk to them, but nothing works. The minute that gold and violet eyes meet his own, petal pink scales flick deftly in the waves and the mer is swimming away.

But Time isn’t dumb.

He knows that the same mer cannot reasonably exist across all of time, not with all the changes that come to the world with each hero. He knows that this being is somehow following them, and h’s got a rather good idea exactly how it’s happening.

It’s a long shot, but he knows for a fact that Legend is always gone from camp before he sees the creature, and enough times startling the vet when asking about mer has taught him that the expressions between the two are the same. All he knows on the mer’s face is shock, but the vet’s eyes glimmer the same shade of violet, even if they are different in size and shape, and the petal pink hair that the vet comes out of the forest with one evening after their group was separated is uncannily similar to the shade of the mer.

They’ve made camp again, and rather than climbing into the water when he catches a moment alone, Time settles on the shore, not in the mood to be in the water but in need of its calming song. The air has been tense the past few days, and Time welcomes a brief moment to relax, forcing himself not to think of the gaping wound in his Pup’s side or the ragged breath that wheezes between the rancher’s lips.

Twilight will be fine, he reminds himself. Hyrule and Warriors had worked together to tend the wound and while it would definitely leave a scar, the danger of losing their beloved friend and brother (and maybe son?) is not so high anymore.

He welcomes a free breath, away from the hurt gazes of his boys as they try and process that their beloved canine friend and the rancher are one and the same. A chance to think without having to stop those who were out of the know from bombarding those who were in it with questions.

He’s glad to be free of the questions himself.

Legend seems to be too, if the glint of pink beneath the waves is to be believed.

He doesn’t approach this time, doesn’t try entering the water to speak. He’s tired and he wants his spae, and he imagines Legend would like his own too. So, instead, he sits on the bank, feet trailing in the water and ocarina on his lips as he plays softly.

The tune is a sweet one, one he’d written himself that lilts and dips softly, very nearly perfect for a dance, but far more suited to a night by a fire or watching the sunset. And sunset it is, fading light stretching out across the water, glinting of the surface and reflecting off of gold and pink-

He stops, eye wide as he turns towards the flash in his vision.

Gold and violet stare back at him, framed in curling pink as Legend freeze half-way through pulling on his tunic again.

Gold fades just as the scales dissapear and leave the vet siting on the shore, tunic still bunched around his shoudlers and violet eyes wide with fear as he regards his leader.

“I won’t tell.” Time forces, turning away his gaze and returning his focus to the instrument in his hand. He doesn’t play, but he doesn’t look up either.

“It’s an item.” Legend forces, strained. His voice is still tainted with whatever power had shifted him between forms, and it’s sweeter and more melodious than normal. “I found it on my third adventure. Got cursed.”

“Like the rancher?” Time hums softly, not having to look up to know that Legend is shifting nervously, foot tapping madly at the ground beneath him.

“Yeah.” Legend huffs.

“Okay.” And he does look up them, calm and as open as he can make himself seem as he meets the vet’s gaze.

“Just okay?” One brow cocks as Legend crosses his arms.

“Just okay. It’s your secret, Legend. I can’t change what I’ve seen, but I won’t tell the others either.”

Legend nods, wary bit willing to accept the words, if only for now. “If you say so.”

They’re on their way back to camp, Legend carrying an armload of fish and Time carrying both of their bags when the vet stops and glares at him. “I don’t want to hear any jokes, alright? I get enough of those from Twilight and Sky.”

“They know?” The old man tilts his head in question.

Legend flushes, ducking his head and setting off again at a speed some might label a scurry. “No. Hurry up, these fish are gonna rot!”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Waves lap around his head and it’s all Time can do to break the surface, coughing and hacking as he struggles to remain above the water.

The portal had come at the worst time ever, and no one had been ready to be dropped into the center of the ocean.

Lightning crackles overhead as waves swirl and crash about him. The ocean rages and Time is again reminded how small Hylian’s are in the face of Mother Earth herself.

“Boys!” The shout rasps from his throat as he spins to look about, praying to every deity he knows that he’ll find the rest of them safe and sound, or at the very least together. Never mind that Twilight still can’t walk, much less swim. Never mind the smithy’s shattered arm and Wild’s fear of the water. He can’t panic about those right now, he has to find them!

“Over here!” Sky’s voice answers him. The Chosen Hero clings to the shivering form of the smithy, both are soaked and trembling, but they’re managing to stay above the waves.

“My Hyrule!” Wind calls out as Time strikes out towards them, and the sailor continues once he’s close enough to see that at least five of his boys are safe. “We’re near land,” Wind nods in a random direction and Time wonders briefly how the sailor even knows that. “It could be a challenge in these waves, but we can make it. Have you seen the others?”

Hyrule looks up at him hopefully, the water-logged traveler fighting madly to stay above the water but succeeding despite the waves. Time reminds himself to help the boy learn to swim more effectively later, and more importantly how to properly tread water, but for now he focuses on answering Wind. “You're the firsts. We’ll have to hope the others are alright, getting y’all to safety is my first concern.

“But Wild!” Hyrule splutters, choking on some water as Time swims over to give the traveler someone to cling to. Freezing fingers latch ahold of his armor as teeth chatter, the waves are neither kind nor warm and with their health as it is he’s certain someone is going to end up with a cold when this is all over. “And Twilight! A-and Legend and Wars! They’re out there somewhere!”

“We have to hope Legend and Warriors can elp the other two. We can’t do them any good if we’re fighting to stay above ourselves.” He tries to same calm, but his own mind and heart scream with the same message that Hyrule’s voice does, and its all he can do to push it down.

Thunder rolls overhead and waves beneath as they push off towards the shore, each of the older heroes aiding a younger one as Wind guides them all towrads the supposed island.

Time hs never been so relieved to see sand in his life, and as Hyrule pulls himself up the bach and Wind helps Sky to settle Four, Time can only pray that he’ll find his way back again. “I’m going to look for the otehrs. Wind, stay and help Sky.” The sailor looks as if he wants to hesitate, but he knows better than anyone how a small body can be lost to the waves much easier than an adult. “Make a fire, warm up as best you can. Keep an eyes out. I’ll come back if- when I find the others.”

He stops only to shed his armor and don his Zora gear, but a single dive beneath the water is enough to tell him that it’s for naught. Wind wasn’t joking about his water being toxic, and a single breath of the stuff leaves Time heaving as soon as he breaks the surface.

His chances of finding the boys have lowered considerably.

Nayru above, don’t let anyone have sunk beneath!

Time swims for all he is worth, pushing past weariness as he battles each and every wave. And he’s just beginning to lose hope when he catches sight of something silver reflecting in the water as lighting flashes above.

“Time!”

Blue whips around to meet its twins as Warriors comes to swim beside him. “Have you found any of the others?”

“Wind, Sky, Hyrule and Four.” he breathes back. “You?”

The captian looks rueful but nods to his side. “Legend.”

Time can’t help but start as Legend’s eyes peek above the surface. Golden and violet are glassy in the pale ace of the vet, but they’re there and that means that Legend is alive.

“I’ve officially met my first mer.” Warriors sighs, but there’s worry in the captains voice and face both.

“Split up.” Legend’s voice rasps, and there none of the melodic song that Time is used to hearing from this form of the vet.

Legend is pale, far too pale.

“What’s-”

“Wind’s world.” Warriors tells him. “Water here is toxic.”

The water is toxic. The water, which mer have to breath to stay alive, is toxic.

Time’s gaze shoots to the vet but there’s only a flick of gold and pink as he disappears beneath the waves. Warriors groans.  “He keeps doing that! I swear, I have no way of knowing if he’s even still there, but he still insists on disappearing like the little shit he is.”

Usually, Time would scold his brother for such a tone, but he knows that Warriors is just sacred. He’s terrified, and it leaks into his voice and his actions, and the only way that the soldier knows how to hide the fear is by biting back with venom, not dissimilar to the vet’s own actions.

They swim together, searching and calling out for the two missing heroes. Hope is beginning to fade and Time can feel a gnawing fear eating away at his heart as he thinks of the gaping wound in his Pup’s side and the likelihood that Twilight would even be able to swim with it.

His pup’s chances aren’t high.

“Look!” Warriors shouts over the storm, jerking him from his thoughts as his eyes follow the captain’s pointing hand.

Pink bobs on the surface, backed by bedraggled and soaked black fur as Legend hauls Twilight’s limp form through the water.

“Pup!”

He’s taking the lad from Legend as soon as they’re in reach, and Legend seems to sag in relief as the weight is removed from his shoulder. “Was with Wild. Bring him to-” The vet wheezes and ducks beneath the water for a moment, coming up with a pained expression on his face. “Bring to shore. I’ll get Wild.” He gives them no time to respond, tail flicking as he disappears beneath the waves again.

Time and Warriors exchange a glance and head back to shore, supporting the weight of the rancher between them.

Wind and Sky have managed to get a virtual bonfire going on the shore, and the sailor has laid what blankets and bed-rolls he’s found of their equipment in front of it, allowing their dampened things to ry as he and the other three heroes bundle together for warmth.

It’s with a cheer that they al; greet Time and Warriors as the two emerge from the ocean, and Time can’t help but smile a bit in relief at seeing them all safe again. Only a little longer and Legend will be back with Wild, and then he can rest easy knowing they’re all out of the storm.

Rain still patters against already soaked skin and cloth, but with the fire flickering before them Time can’t bring himself to care over much.

Hyrule’s fingers shiver as they slide over the wound in Twilight’s side, cleansing it from the poisonous water that has soaked into the bandages, and while Twilight grits his teeth and winces, he’s at least conscious enough to do so, and that alone brings some peace to the others.

Warriors informs the others of the whereabouts of their two missing brothers, and Time helps to settle Twilight on one of the warming bedrolls. It made still be wet, but it’s better than getting sand in the pup’s wound.

They wait in tense silence, bundled together to share heat as nervous gazes watch the shore. Wind hasn’t stopped muttering under his breath and Four isn’t doing much better with his half formed sentences and steady murmurs.

It’s only when Wild’s golden hair can be seen on the shore that they all release a breath of air.

Cornflower blue is wide and glazed, likely from shock, but it doesn’t stop the champion from reaching back into the waves to pull out his companion.

Legend is a mess.

The veteran gasps and splutters for breath once he’s free, skin a sickly shade of white and eyes just as glazes as Wild's own as the two clings to each other, and when the two stand together Legend is leaning heavily against the shaking champion, and it’s only through sheer luck that Time and Sky get there in time to catch them before the duo collapses back into the waves.

Wild curls against Time’s chest, fingers shaking and eyes blank as the man carries him back to the fire. Legend doesn’t even stir, lying limp in Sky’s hold as the Skyloftian bustles back to join the other heroes.

Nothing is said about the glistening tail that fades into legs once Legend is warmed and dried, and even if anyone had dared the stern gaze of the first of their number would have been enough to silence them.

Violet blinks hazy and distant beneath the warmed fabric of Sky’s sailcloth, but they are all safe. They are all safe and they are alive.

“Thanks to Legend.” Wild whispers when he comes back, head resting against Times collar bone. “Without him I would have never got Twi back to shore.”

“Three cheers for the vet.” Wars forces a smile, and while the cheers are heartfelt and thankful, they do nothing to lighten the mood.

Legend doesn’t even seem to hear them.

[bisexual-bitch-blogs]

Can I request Zhongli Cumming mora 🥰🥰🥰🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪

😩OMG YASSS No problem sis! This reminds me of a BL manwha where a guy ejectulates pearls😳😳Also I had to look up how big is a mora. Uhh so let's assume like mayb they're smaller than pennies. Cause it kinda sounds painful ngl😬

"Origin of Mora"

NSFW? Sub Zhongli X Fem Dom Reader

I really started doing math while writing this 😶

POV You and your fiancee, Zhongli are finally doing the deed

Inccludes: Pegging

🤑-------------------------------🤑

It's been 5 sweet years of dating the ex-geo archon. From handholding, cuddling, kisses, dates and other sweet fluff. There was no sexual deeds.

You didn't mind taking the relationship slow but it's kind of hard to think everything is rainbows and unicorns when Zhongli has a fat ass that could rival Bokuto from Haikyuu.................................. Wait who? Uhhh

Now what your going with this is............... you want to fuck him. Break him. Make the intelligent man go stupid. Make him carry your babies if possible. Slap that thicc cake. Take him from behind. Make him scream your name. Finally having se-

Asking the formal ravenette was out of the question. He was like....a pure maiden, talking about the history of shampoo with interest. You weren't sure if he had an ounce of horniness in him. It was killing you inside, slowly.

One day, you took Zhongli and his living wallet, Childe to a bar to drink. With enough alcohol, the ravenette slumped against you, drunk, babbles of how people in Liyue skipped a step making traditional rice wine. He was quite childish and overprotective. He bit Childe's hand when the ginger tried to give you a bag of mora to pay for the drinks. Apologizing to the harbinger, you dragged your drunk fiancee home, getting him sober on the way.

One thing lead to another, you were making out with your boyfriend on the couch, arms wrapped around one another. You sucked on his bottom lip, licking the tips of his teeth, occasionally colliding against them with your own while trying to deepen the kiss, desperate to taste him before departing for air. His plush bottom weighed on your thigh as you groped his chest, fingers rubbing over the sensitive pink bumps.

"Nggh!"

Discarding both of yours and Zhongli's articles of clothing onto the floor, your fingers that was coated in saliva (courtesy of Zhongli's mouth) slid into the ravenette's rather loose canal, thrusting in and out, occasionally curling them.

"Mmngh! Ah..! M-More!"

You thought.

'Did he play with himself before..? Nah, can't be.'

Taking back your fingers from his greedy hole. You aligned the tip of your 13 inch silicone dick into Zhongli's entrance in one swift go, taking it all in with no problem. The ebony male moans.

"Ah~!"

You licked your lips, curious of what other pretty sounds the Geo user might make. Sliding back out, you slammed yourself into him, targeting into his prostate head on. An unrestrained moan rips through the air when you attacked a bump in Zhongli’s walls, his legs wrapped around your waist, tightening.

"Annnggh!"

You ruthlessly started pounding into him. His body violently shakes with each thrust, legs twitching at each throb. Zhongli felt each thrust filling him, spreading him wider. His red, weeping cock was rubbing between our stomachs. Feeling a tight coil inside him about to burst. He panicked, his hands gripping your arms.

"Mnngh! Ah! Aah! Nnghh! Wha--! Wai-!"

It was too late when his cock ejectulated familiar white strings of fluid onto both his and your chest like canvas. But what also came out was shocking. Mora. This man just cummed out mora. Money. Currency.

Stopping whatever your doing. You looked at the small coins littered on his chest and ones that fell, rolling onto the floor then you turned to your fiancee who was looking away, showing his red ears. You questioned out loud.

"Is this...Is this how mora is produced?"

Zhongli nodded, slowly, refusing to look at your face.

Meanwhile, your brain was running a mile a minute.

So like people didn't make mora using ores handed by Morax?? And if all the mora is made by the Geo Archon by cumming. Then isnt everyone touching his sperm or cum in a way? Does Venti know??? Wait how many mora is there in Teyvat? Hold up. You have like 800,000 mora in your wallet. And that came from him too- Isn't your lover like over 6,000 years old? How much mora does he produce? Does it vary? Oh my.

How wrong you are thinking he's a pure maiden. When in reality. Zhongli is a horny little bitch.

You looked around counting quickly. There seemed about more than 100 mora. So 800,000 divided by 100 equals 8,000 if he released every maybe You dont know. 2 times a year? With an additional 200k if you go to wherever Childe told you to go for extra cash. 8,000 plus 2,000 equals 10,000 and Zhongli spent 55,000,000 the other day. Divide it by 100 equal 550,000 plus 10,000 equal 560,000. But let's also consider the huge amount of money the Northland Bank has. Oh my Archons. It's no longer a money bank. It's a sperm bank.

Honestly, you weren't sure how to react however questions will need to be answered and experiments will need to be conducted.

You resumed rocking your hips, catching the Geo user off guard, gasping. Suddenly, you grabbed his member, moving it up and down, inspecting it.

"Is your pp okay??"

The Geo Archon has never been so embarrassed in his entire life. In his existence. Of course you had to ask that during an intimate sex. It was great you were concerned and all but please ignore what just happened and get back into the feels for the lord of himself.

One thing for sure after wrecking him is that day is that you will never see Mora the same ever again.

----------------------------------------

Alright time to commit toaster bath. I missed 30 mins of college prep math class cuz of my aunt's walmart wifi and I dont understand a single thing going on anymore.

Confession. I died in genshin because I was distracted by Beiodu's ass while climbing the church🤡 Also, my friend played as Zhongli. That didnt help at all so I fell TWICE. Thus Beidou died on me........When I told my friend that. I don't think he believes me😭😭😭 he was like......

"ok..."

Tjrgjyegkgvehi PLS

[reidyoulikeabook]

Sometimes You Just Don’t Know the Answer

4 times you don’t know the answer, and the 1 time you do

This is the 2nd part to Personal Google! (You don’t have to read it to understand this, but it exists if you want to).

Ship: BAU!reader x Spencer Reid

Summary: You’d call yourself a pretty educated individual, and most people wouldn’t argue with that, given that you’re a member of the BAU at Quantico. There’s just something about your best friend Spencer Reid that gets you all tongue tied.

Warnings: Mentions of cases and case-typical violence, mentions of alcohol, Spencer and Reader being idiots again.

Word count: 3k

A/N: The feedback (in asks and the tag reblogs) for Personal Google was so lovely and encouraging and I am very grateful for it! I only made this account a few days ago and I’m already so glad I did :) I hope this is a satisfactory second part and, requests are open!

(This is the Reid I’m imagining here)

“What is up with you and Reid?” Emily’s volume is unmoderated at the best of times but right now it’s like she’s trying to alert the entirety of Virginia to your dating woes.

Dating woes might be a stretch, actually. Somehow, just her implication that something is happening between you and Spencer (even though it isn’t, unless you count two exhausted idiots falling asleep on each other and being too bashful to ever mention it again), is enough to get you feeling uncharacteristically shy.

“Nothing,” you shrug, “Well. I don’t know, honestly, nothing I guess? We haven’t spoken about that night.”

Emily’s eyes rake over you, and you can tell she’s waiting for you to continue.

“There’s nothing!” you object, “We just, it was accidental, we fell asleep because we were watching a documentary and we were tired and neither of us fell asleep on purpose.”

She laughs, dry and amused, “At this rate, you’ll be lucky to have sorted things out before you’re 50.”

You scowl, but it’s only because you know she’s right.

***

You don’t have much time to think about your situation with Spencer for a few weeks, considering the rate at which the cases come rolling in. This newest one arrives within about two days of the last one you’d just wrapped up. It’s actually kind of rude, you’ve decided, that the serial killers of America have decided to deny you two weekends in a row.

You’re briefed on the case quickly: four women have gone missing over the past 7 months from a small town in Ohio. There’s no distinct pattern that can be discerned among the victims, the oldest is 60 and white, the youngest is 23 and Asian-American. However, the first three have been found dead in the past two weeks, all within a mile of each other and all killed with the same MO: ligature strangulation.

“So we have no idea how he’s choosing them,” you say.

“No,” Hotch replies, with a sigh.

Meaning that this is probably going to take a while. Spencer senses the way you tense up a little as you absorb that fact. So he goes out of his way to sit next to you on the plane. Once the discussion about the case is done, he nudges you gently, “Did you bring a book?”

You shake your head, “I finished the one in my go-bag. Didn’t have a chance to replace it.”

“Would you like to read this with me?”

You place your hand on his wrist, gently turning it so you can see the cover, “Spencer this is written in Greek.”

“I can translate,” he says.

You move closer to him then, your head resting just against his plane seat and your chin almost jutting against his shoulder.

“Is this okay?”

He nods. The remaining 45 minutes of the flight are spent with him reading to you softly, adding in his own thoughts as he translates and sometimes going off on little tangents. By the time you land you’ve entirely forgotten about your ire with the case. You’re focused only on the characters he introduces you to, who are clearly in love even if they’re too stupid to see it, and the way his nose crinkles a little when he reaches a word with no direct English translation.

Whhat you don’t realise, is that you end up folding into him: head pressed against his chest. Somehow, neither of you notice how you naturally gravitate towards each other. Some pair of profilers.

--

Hotch sends you in different cars to the precinct, and you’re soon reminded of your frustration as you’re caught up in the hub-a-bub of the case. It’s not until you’re leaving the station, after a long and relatively fruitless briefing with the medical examiners and local PD, that you even have time to acknowledge Spencer properly again.

And even then, it’s only when Hotch says.

"You'll be sharing a room with Reid, alright?"

He’s only really asking as a formality. Nobody questions Hotch’s assignments for them. So why, then, do you feel yourself flush a little.

Why then, do you feel so embarassed replying, “Alright.”

***

There was nothing much to be nervous about with sharing a room, as it so happened. The past day and a half had been a whirlwind since the unsub had snatched a fifth victim. You’d been sleeping in shifts, making sure that some of you were awake at all times to keep working.

You were working on the geographical profile with Spencer, and had taken to driving around to look for landmarks at night, when there was nothing much else to do. There were maps but sometimes it helped just to get things embedded in your brain. And now, at 4am, you’re bursting into the conference room occupied by Spencer and Rossi, because you might just have got something.

"I have an idea,” you say, and before anybody can even respond you’re scribbling hurriedly on the whiteboard.

“Slow down kiddo,” Rossi laughs.

“Sorry I’m just,” you cut yourself off, slightly flustered and tapping your foot with frustration as you try to put the last pieces of it together, “Diana Matthews.”

“Yeah?” Spencer responds.

“She was the one who lived on Lakefield right?” Rossi asks.

Annoyingly, you can’t remember off rote. Spencer sees the pinch of frustration in your brow. He senses that you’re heading for the case file.

So, he answers, “Yeah 38 Lakefield Drive.”

Smiling gratefully at him, you breathe a sigh of relief, “There’s three different stores in the area for this local electronic repair company, Gladston Digital, in this area. Two of them aren’t accounted for on the maps because these are from last year, and one of the ones on Google is pinned to the wrong street, there are two Minister Avenues and one’s on the complete opposite side of town.”

Denoting the map with annotations as you go, you continue, “All of the victims had residences within a mile of one of the three stores. And we interviewed the area manager, Paul something, he manages all three stores. He came to speak to me and Hotch while we were scoping the area.”

“Inserting himself into the investigation,” Rossi notes, “Fits the profile. A stalker like that would want to remain an illusion of control.”

“I just need to get Garcia on the phone to see if it checks out.”

Spencer just watches, slightly in awe, as you make the phone call to Garcia. She manages to cross-reference bank statements and emails, showing that all five of the victims had taken something of theirs in for repair sometime in the year before their disappearance. And he feels something in his gut. Pride? Maybe. That’s certainly a part of it.

But there’s something else in there too. Your eyes meet his, with a flicker of recognition. He realises what it is then: marvel. Your brain works so fast, and that’s not novel to him, he knows you’re intelligent but there’s just something about how fast you manage to put it all together. You conjure something out of nothing, a link that he’d missed. And he’s reminded, again, that he has to try and keep up with you sometimes. He wonders if you know that.

Probably not, he thinks. You’re rambling down the phone and gesturing with your hands, in a way you may or may not have picked up from him, and all he can think is how you look so in your element. And beautiful.

He’s a little embarassed about how normal it feels for that last observation to pop into his head.

***

“To _____!” Prentiss cheers.

8pm has rolled around. Since your revelation 16 hours earlier, you managed to confirm your thinking, apprehend Paul Bader, and save the fifth victim. All in all, a pretty good days work. It’s not just down to you, but everyone’s singing your praises so loudly it’s making you a little embarassed.

Even Hotch sets a drink down in front of you, squeezing your shoulder, “Really good work today ____.”

Fair to say you’ve probably peaked there.

Spencer is sat to your left, sipping at a Mai Tai that you know is going to have him giggly in about an hours time.

“I wasn’t trying to keep you out before,” you tell him, “I was going to come and wake you up when I got back but you were in the conference room.”

He smiles, “I know. It was my shift to sleep.”

“Bet you’re paying for that now.”

“A little,” he chuckles, “It’s worth it.”

"I just didn’t want you to think I was hanging you out to dry. You know, to make myself look good,” you decide to press further: mostly just because the team has sung your praises and that kind of attention makes you shirk at the best of times. Let alone when you’re sat with the guy responsible for creating half the damn profile.

His eyebrows furrow. You worry for a minute about what he’s going to say, but then, “I would never think that about you. We’re a team.”

He squeezes your hand. Maybe that’s your favourite thing about Spencer, really. More than the fact he remembers to get your caffeine just how you like it, more than how gentle he is with just about everybody he encounters, more than his relentless enthusiasm for your questions about whatever pops into your mind. No, it’s his modesty. The way he doesn’t even think for a moment to be prideful or arrogant about his intelligence. He genuinely roots for you in every moment, you think.

“Are you okay?” he asks, “You seem a little..quiet.”

It wasn’t until he mentioned it that you realise you’d let your thoughts run away with you, “No. I’m good. Just thinking about how good of a teacher you are.”

“You think so?”

“Of course I think so. You’ve taught me. I didn’t know the first thing about geographical profiling when I got here two years ago. I could barely read a map,” you laugh, keeping your tone sincere, “You’re a really good teacher Spence. I feel like I learn so much from just being around you.”

“I often don’t give you much choice.”

You smile, “I wouldn’t want you to. Really. I’m always interested in everything you have to say. I think you know that. But I wanted to tell you anyway. So you’re sure.”

He’s incredibly grateful you get pulled into a conversation by Morgan, giving him a moment to process.

A lifetime of being insecure. Of feeling like nobody was interested in what he had to say but not being able to really control whether he said it anyway. All this time being insecure in himself, and you liked it. Complimented him on it, even. Considered him a teacher. He doesn’t think he could articulate, in any of the languages he speaks, the sense of peace that brings him.

-----

The Mai Tai’s do make him sleepy. Buzzed, but sleepy. After being bought rounds by Hotch, Morgan, and Spencer, you’re feeling exactly the same. It’s only 10:30pm by the time you decide to make your departure for the night. This is much to the chagrin of Emily, who lolls against Rossi’s side demanding that you stay.

“Some of us have been up since 4 this morning, breaking their backs to keep this country safe,” You tease, putting on a melodramatic air just for affect, “Besides, you’re going to regret this when you have to be up and back on the jet in the morning.”

“You will, especially since you still owe me that report,” Hotch teases, with a smile.

Emily rolls her eyes, “You two are no fun.”

She’s joking, goading you, but unfortunately for her you have a sleepy Spencer nuzzling against you which is a far more pressing matter to deal with.

“Come on Spence, let’s get you to bed,” You say, gently wiggling out from under him and offering him your hand.

He pouts at the momentary loss of contact. It’s subtle. You catch it though. He links his fingers through your own, holding your hand properly, and you try not to read into it too much. He’s tipsy. He’s tired.

Ignoring the deliberately obvious eyebrow-wiggling from Morgan, you make for the lift.

“You didn’t have to come to bed just for me,” Spencer says, “I feel bad for taking you away from the others. I’m not that drunk, I could get myself to bed.”

You shake your head, “I wanted to go to bed with you.”

His eyes snap to you, a grin playing on his lips.

“I mean, I wanted to go to bed. And we’re sharing a room. So I’m going to bed with you. As in we’re going to the place where bed is, together.”

He’s just enough tipsy to be confident enough to jest, “Sure.”

You roll your eyes, “You sound like Morgan.”

“What did Morgan say?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what Morgan always says whenever anybody goes off together.”

“That they’re having sex,” He giggles, tipsiness shining through again.

“Yes, Spence, that they’re having sex.”

“But we’re not.”

The elevator dings as you arrive at your floor, saving your brain from delving into the implications of what he’s just said. And whether that was a disappointed or netural tone.

He hasn’t let go of your hand. He walks to the door with you, still keeping your hand in his. It’s hard not to let yourself read into it now. How holding hands with him could be such a casual thing. Hard not to imagine walking through bookshops with him, one hand in yours and the other picking books off the shelf he thought you’d like. The domesticity of it sickens you.

Then he lets go to cross to the bed.

“Aren’t you gonna put your pyjama’s on?” You ask.

“I wasn’t gonna sleep yet,” he says, “I was gonna...”

He looks bashful, suddenly, self-consciously licking his lower lip, “I was gonna ask if maybe you wanted to watch something with me. You can pick. I always pick.”

“This an excuse to get me in bed with you again, Spence?” You tease, just past tipsy enough not to care that this is the first time you’ve even acknowledged that night.

"Yeah, the Pearl Harbour ruse doesn’t work twice,” he jokes.

You wish you could find the courage to tease him more. Unfortunately, the liquid courage seems to have run out, and the topic somehow feels too delicate to touch.. Instead, you change quickly into your pyjama’s. Together, you pick something to watch, settling down. You’re suddenly thankful for the single bed, the necessity to be cozied up against him as you watch. To feel his chest, every beat of his heart. You swear it’s beating fast. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

***

Just like last time, you wake up huddled against Spencer. Unlike last time, there’s no Emily banging the door down to drag you to the police station. No, it’s quiet.

You can’t see what time it is because there’s a Spencer between you and the clock. Your phone is in your back pocket but it’s hard to find any motivation whatsoever to move when you’re like this: face pressed into his chest, his head resting atop of yours so a single curl of his hair tickles your nose, his hand on your hip holding you against him.  

His eyelashes flutter, “Are you awake?”

“Yeah. I just woke up.”

He smiles, “Me too.”

“Looks like we did it again.”

“Looks like we did,” his voice is quiet.

“Do you want me to move? If I’m...I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

His free hand comes up to your chin, tipping it so you’re looking him directly in the eyes. His pupils are dilated. In the dim light it’s hard to place the look on his face exactly. But it’s soft.

"C-Can I kiss you?” the question spills quickly from his lips, like he’s afraid he’ll change his mind if he doesn’t get it out fast, “I just. I don’t know if that’s what you want too, I’ve just really-”

"Kiss me, Spence. Please kiss me.”

The smile on his face would have made you fall in love with him, if you weren’t already. And then he kisses you. Barely. Your lips are just grazing against one anothers. You tilt yourself upwards, towards him, giving him a better angle. Then he really kisses you, capturing your lips in his. It’s sweet, it’s soft, it’s...it’s everything. It’s everything, how his hands tangle themselves tentatively in your hair, how he kisses you so deeply, drinking you in.

His hand cups your cheek, then he’s pulling back, just a tiny bit, to mumble against your lips, “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

The only appropriate way you can think to verbalise your agreement, is closing the gap between your lips again. There’s an urgency to it this time. Your lips move quickly, passionately. He swipes his tongue across your lower lip and you let him in, your tongues delicately dancing together. He’s good. He’s good and you don’t even notice the morning breath or faint taste of rum, it’s just Spencer.

When you finally come apart, you’re out of breath.

“I didn’t think you’d ever do that,” you say, “I was worried I was reading this whole thing wrong.”

He frowns then, that little nose crinkle appearing again, “I thought I was too obvious.”

“So did I. Maybe it’s best if we don’t tell Hotch how bad we are at profiling each other. He might rethink his decision to take us on.”

He laughs, “Not being able to profile when somebody’s in love with you might be a cause for concern. There are several obvious phyical signs of love, including dilation of pupils when looking at the object of your affection, heart rate synchronisation.”

“How am I supposed to know if our heart rates have synchronised?”

He smiles. Pressing a finger to your lips, he dips his head in the small chasm between your two chests. In the silence, in the early morning quiet, in the absence of all distraction you can hear it. The steady thrum of your hearts, pounding away at identical paces. The sound that told you that some part of you had always known.

--------------

Tagslist: @takeyourleap-of-faith​​ @sassiest-politician​​ (let me know if you’d like to be added/removed from this list)

[hermannsthumb]

you should totally do something with ksci janitor’s vamp newt it’s so just so good

i sure will! in a vampire mood this weekend. @k-sci-janitor's vampire newt found here. warnings for quick mention of drinking, allusions to sexy stuff, and also the different kind of drinking you'd expect from a vampire fic (tho on the vague side)

-------------------

The circumstances that led Newt down the unwitting path of immortality and general un-dead-ness are, in hindsight, honestly kind of embarrassing. It'd be one thing if he could say it happened in the pursuit of, like, knowledge, like the fierce jellyfish sting scar on his wrist leftover from a research expedition when he was twenty-two or the equally fierce one on his knee received in response to his question (at the age of five) of what would happen if I jumped out of this very tall tree?, or even something unrelated to his extensive biology career, something impressive, y'know, Van Helsing style, something like tracking down some vampire king and barely escaping with his life (un-life?)—not what really happened, which was little more than a bad date. And not even the worst date that Newt's been on, if you can believe it.

Newt was young and stupid then. He still is young and stupid, technically, though the former by appearance only. (Eternally pushing thirty. If he could've picked, he would've done twenty-eight, just before his handful of grey hairs started cropping up. Newt's had almost forty-five years of staring in the mirror at those four fucking grey hairs. He gave up dyeing them around the nineties. Not worth it. Still annoying.) He liked to do what young and stupid people did, like get stupid tattoos, and have a stupid haircut, and get drunk at stupid punk shows and not stumble home until he'd had at least one regrettable hook-up with a stranger and maybe lost his wallet. (The two were often related.) That particular thing was what did him in that night. It was a different time back then, man—if a dude showed even the slightest inkling that he ran in Newt's sort of circle, if you caught his drift, Newt fucking jumped at the chance.

(The band was on their second set of the evening and Newt had already screamed himself hoarse with singing along. He'd ducked outside in a back alleyway for only a second to get some fresh air, the club suddenly too hot and smokey for him to handle, and was just about to go back inside and close out his tab for the night when he realized he wasn't alone. There was someone—he was sure—lurking in the shadows a few feet away. He could hear breathing. He could see—eyes, maybe, in the dim neon light of the bar sign overhead. "Hello?" he'd called.

"Have a light?" the person called back.

They emerged from the shadows, and Newt felt himself relax at once. It was some spooky-looking guy he remembered seeing in the club, leather jacket, boots heavier than Newt's, dark hair and eyeliner. Tall. Newt remembered him, firstly, because he thought he was hot, and secondly, because he swore he caught the guy staring at him at least three times, and to Newt, that was as good as any pick-up line. He was wagging an unlit cigarette at Newt now. He was taller than Newt thought he was back in the bar—much taller, at least a full head on Newt. His eyes were a golden-brown, almost yellow, like a cat's, and Newt found himself unable to tear his own away from them. "L—light?" Newt echoed.

The guy stuck the cigarette in his mouth and arched a perfect eyebrow. Newt didn't smoke, but he did keep a lighter on him for occasions like this. He fumbled through his pockets for it while the guy stepped closer. "I was watching you," he told Newt, while Newt raised the lighter to the cigarette, "in there."

The flame danced and glinted against his eyes. Newt swallowed. "Uh-huh?" he said.

He flicked the lighter shut, leaving them both bathed in nothing but pink neon. A hand slid up against the wall next to Newt's right shoulder. Another plucked at the left lapel of his jacket. Newt was still staring at those eyes. "What's your name?" the guy said, in a puff of cigarette smoke.

"Um." Newt's leather jacket was being pushed off his shoulders. He felt his long hair being tucked to the side of his neck. All at once something seemed in snap in Newt—some reminder of where he was, and what he came here hoping for in the first place. Some hot dude was eyeing Newt up all night long, and now he was actually coming onto Newt, and Newt was about to get laid. He grinned. "Newt," he said. "Just call me that. You were watching me, huh?"

"All night," the guy said.

Newt's jacket hit the ground with a soft thump. A knee was being pushed between his. Newt felt his cheeks heat up a little—he wasn't used to people being this forward with him, and especially not in a semi-public place like this. Usually they at least made a show of offering up their apartment first. "What, um, what for?" he said.

They were kissing. Newt was clinging to the back of his jacket. And then he was kissing Newt's neck, and then he was—

"That kinda hurts," Newt mumbled. "Um, dude, I think your—your fuckin', tongue piercing cut me, or something. It's—"

It was hard to keep his eyes open. His neck felt weird. The guy was into biting, apparently, biting really hard, and yikes, that was going to leave a super embarrassing hickey that Newt would have to explain to his students somehow on Monday, but it also felt really good, like, Newt was maybe getting off kinda good, and Newt thought, dizzily, that he should at least return the favor before he finished up and collapsed in a happy heap on the ground. So he did.

The guy pulled back with a hiss. "Ow. What—?"

Newt tasted something coppery in his mouth, and he panicked and swallowed on instinct. "Oh, shit, dude, I'm sorry," he slurred. His voice sounded like it was a million miles away. "I was trying to be—sexy. Um." There was blood on the guy's chin. He was staring at Newt in something akin to horror. Dark circles were spotting Newt's vision. "I think you cut your lip," he said, and then he passed out.

Newt was alone when he woke up. It was still dark, too. He walked the two miles home, collapsing in bed, fully-clothed, just before dawn, and he didn't wake up again until sunset. He forgot his jacket, but at least he remembered his wallet this time.)

So, anyway, Newt thinks he can be forgiven if he...embellishes stuff a little when, for the first time in his whole long life, he finally spills the details to someone. Also, no way is he admitting the truth to Hermann of all people.

"There were a bunch of murders in the area at the time," he says, while Hermann, angled on his side next to him in bed, watches him raptly. It's kind of weird pillow talk, but their pillow talk rarely isn't weird. Usually Hermann will launch into a critique of Newt's latest pet theory before Newt's even caught his breath. At least he very courteously waited for Newt get a glass of water from the bathroom first this time. "Really brutal ones. Like, throats torn out, blood drained. Really nasty shit. Everyone was saying they were some kinda bizarre wolf pack attacks, but I knew better."

"Of course you did," Hermann says, running his hand down Newt's chest, and Newt can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not. (He has a feeling he is.)

"You bet," Newt says. "It took me months of, um, super hard research. Finally I hunted him down to this—" Newt debates the coolest lair possible of a vampire, and then remembers Lost Boys, which, even though he resents it slightly for totally stealing the vampire vibes he was going for, is still a kick-ass movie. "—this weird cave, where he lived. The king of the vampires. I won, obviously, but he fought back, and he managed to infect me just before I hammered the, um, the wooden stake into his heart."

"So courageous," Hermann says. He reaches up and tucks a piece of Newt's long hair back. Hermann being totally cool with the whole vampire thing, and maybe even possibly into the whole vampire thing, is probably the last thing in the world Newt expected from him. They're no strangers to hooking up during long late nights of science, but Newt swears it's gotten more frequent. "You must've been terrified."

"Nah," Newt says, though he remembers the glint of the flame off those yellow eyes, and he shivers. Hermann notices; his eyes, not yellow, but a warm shade of brown that makes Newt feel like he's being wrapped in a blanket, soften. If Newt could still blush, he would. "I'm—um—I'm pretty brave."

Newt hadn't exactly been planning on telling Hermann about the whole thing, but (last week) he had the very unfortunate timing of beginning a late-night dinner just as an oblivious Hermann strolled back into the lab to pick up his forgotten pair of glasses. To his credit, he only freaked out a little when he saw Newt draining a blood bag like a fucking Capri-Sun, and even then (after what felt like ten years of horrible, horrible silence) all he said was "You're the one who's been stealing those from medical?"

Look. Newt hasn't drank from a human being the entirety of his un-life, and he doesn't plan on it any time soon. He's...a vegetarian. Effectively. It's sort of the reason he picked up a medical degree along the way once he got tired of breaking into blood banks. Even if it's still a little ethically dubious to steal blood like that, at least he's not swooping around on unsuspecting people like that—goth asshole who swooped in on him did. (Newt's never managed to find out who he was—he suspects he was some sort of vampire drifter in town that night just to find a victim. And Newt just had to think with his dick at the worst possible time.)

Hermann tucks another strand of Newt's hair back. Newt also did not expect how fast Hermann became cool with the whole thing, but on the other hand, giant aliens are clawing their way out of the ocean on a bi-monthly basis these days. It's hard to be skeptical about most things. ("Well, it does make logical sense," Hermann had said with an eyeroll. "When you consider some of your rather more bizarre quirks, I mean. I ought to have guessed it ages ago. I suppose that's why you have that awful haircut," and that stung, because yeah, Newt hasn't felt like changing it up since the seventies, and why should he, it kinda rules? but he just laughed it off and said, "You're one to fucking talk, dude!") "Newton," Hermann says now, gently, "what actually happened?"

Newt sighs. Hermann always knows when he's lying about shit. "I was making out with a vampire in an alleyway and then he bit me. And—um—I kinda didn't notice at first, 'cause it felt... good."

"Mm," Hermann says. The corner of his mouth twitches up. "That's more along the lines of what I expected. That, or you were hounding him for details like a proper biologist and he got tired of answering your inane questions."

"Very funny," Newt says. "Ha."

Hermann rolls away from him and stretches his arms above his head. Newt watches his throat work as he yawns, swallowing down a sudden lump in his own, and he feels a surge of something hot and—alien—in the pit of his stomach. "Over forty years," Hermann says. He picks up Newt's discarded sweatshirt from the floor and tugs it down over his head. "You must get terrifically lonely."

Newt half-shrugs. "I guess. I'm kinda used to it by now." His dad (who never brought up how Newt's aging seemed to be at a standstill when they saw each other, not once) is long-gone. Newt's tried dating, but no one's ever seemed to be into it as much as he is—and besides, it's not like he could ever do the actual til death do us part thing unless he went against every ethical bone in his body and made someone like him. When the internet became a thing, he considered making a forum or something to find more of his kind, but the thought everyone just being like the guy who accidentally turned him in the first place terrified him and he killed the page before it even left infancy. So, without any better ideas, Newt forged some paperwork and leaned pretty hard into the world of academia to fill up his sad little hole of a heart, resigned himself to casual flings with anyone who seemed interested, and it mostly worked. Mostly. And then the kaiju came along, and then so did... "You make it a little bit better," he confesses.

Hermann lays back down next to him. "I do?" he says.

Newt thinks he sees something like that hot, hungry feeling he felt in his stomach flash behind Hermann's eyes. He nods.

Hermann suddenly kisses Newt, pulling him down on top of him, and then tugs the collar of Newt's stolen sweatshirt down below his collarbone. He drags Newt's hand up to press against his throat. Newt feels the erratic beat of Hermann's pulse beneath his fingertips, his heart pounding against his ribcage (pressed up against Newt's silent one), and he almost moans. "Have you ever...?" Hermann murmurs, gazing up at Newt through his dark eyelashes.

"N—never," Newt stammers. "I told you."

"Do you want to?" Hermann says. Newt tries not to gape. "Just a bit at a time, whenever you need. You wouldn't have to steal those silly blood bags anymore. And—" He hesitates. "I admit I am curious. About the sensation."

"Um," Newt says. "I—"

He feels something sharp poking his lower lip. Fangs. His fangs. Oh, shit, he's never had that happen before. He forces himself off of Hermann before he does something stupid.

"Maybe, um, maybe later?" he squeaks, while Hermann just smiles at him.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Today in Tolkien - November 2nd

The evening of this day is when the Scouring of the Shire really gets started. Referring to the map of the Shire at the start of FOTR is very handy for this section.

The day begins rather amusingly, as the ‘prisoners’ start off from Frogmorton:

It was about eighteen miles to Bywater, and they set off at ten o’clock in the morning. They would have started earlier, only the delay so clearly annoyed the Shirriff-leader. It was a rather comic cavalcade that left the village, though the few folk that came out to stare at the ‘get-up’ of the travellers did not seem quite sure whether laughing was allowed. A dozen Shirriffs had been told off as escort to the ‘prisoners’; but Merry made them march in front, while Frodo and his friends rode behind. Merry, Pippin, and Sam sat at their ease laughing and talking and singing, while the Shirriffs stumped along trying to look stern and important. Frodo, however, was silent and looked rather sad and thoughtful.

However, when there’s a reminder of how the corruption has set in, the travellers sharpen their pace:

The last person they passed was a sturdy old gaffer clipping a hedge. “Hullo, hullo!” he jeered. “Now who’s arrested who?”

Two of the Shirriffs immediately left the party and went toward him. “Leader!” said Merry. “Order your fellows back to their places at once, if you don’t want me to deal with them!” The two hobbits at a sharp word from their leader came back sulkily. [This is a warning sign that not all the Shirriffs are solely going along with things because they feel they ‘have to’. The expansion of Shirriffs in numbers, authority, and use of force has also twisted some of towards using force if they feel they’re being ‘disrespected’; this is a dangerous impulse that grows like weeds in any organization granted the power and authority to use violence against others.]

…After that the travellers saw to it that their ponies’ pace was fast enough to push the Shirriffs along as fast as they could go. The sun came out, and in spite of the chilly weather they were soon puffing and sweating. At the Three-Farthing Stone they gave it up. They had done nearly fpurteen miles with only one rest at noon. It was now three o’clock. They were hungry and very footsore and could not stand the pace.

The travellers continue without them, giving me one of my very favourite lines from Pippin:

“You’re breaking arrest, that’s what you’re doing,” said the leader ruefully, “and I can’t be answerable.”

“We shall break a good many things yet, and not ask you to answer,” said Pippin.

Brief reminder that Pippin isn’t yet ‘of age’ in the Shire, but becomes, with Merry, one of the main leaders in the Scouring. For him, LOTR really is quite like one of the faerie-stories where human children go to a fantasy realm, have adventures, grow up, and return to their own world after (for example, the Narnia books) - the point isn’t that they go home and live the rest of their lives in frustrated remembrance of the fantasy world, it’s that their adventures give them the knowledge and understanding and experience to identify the problems and fight the battles that need to be fought in their own world.

At Bywater the hobbits see how bad things have gotten:

The travellers trotted on, and as the sun began to sink towards the White Downs far away on the western horizon they came to Bywater by its wide pool; and there they had their first really painful shock…Many of the houses that they had known were missing. Some seemed to have been burned down. The pleasant row of old hobbit-holes in the bank on the north side of the Pool were deserted, and their little gardens that used to run down bright to the water’s edge were rank with weeds. Worse, there was a whole line of the ugly new houses all along Pool Side…An avenue of trees had stood there. They were all gone. And looking with dismay up the road towards Bag End they say a tall chimney of brick in the distance. It was pouring out black smoke into the evening air.

This feels personal to me, possibly inspired by Tolkien’s experience on returning to Oxford after years away (roughly, 1915-1925) during and after WWI. My Great Britain guidebook tells me that “[Oxford’s] real industrial boom came when William Morris began producing cars here in 1913. With the success of his Bullnose Morris and Morris Minor, his Cowley factory went on to become one of the largest motor plants in the world.” That seems timing seems like industrialization during the years Tolkien was away could have wrought substantial change.

This has gotten long, so I need to sunmarize the rest of events in the evening and night quickly. Six ruffians meet the travellers at the end of Bywater near Hobbiton - and they are the first to speak of ‘Sharkey’. Pippin, Merry, and Sam drive them off in short order, and Merry declares the need and intent to “Raise the Shire!” and drive out the ruffians:

“Shire-folk have been so comfortable so long they don’t know what to do. They just want a match, though, and they’ll go up in fire. The Chief’s Men must know that. They’ll try to stamp on us and put us out quick. We’ve only got a very short time.”

Merry agrees with Sam’s idea of him going to Tom Cotton’s farm, but to organize and recruit, not just to take cover for the night. Merry blows the horn-call of Buckland, the warning of danger, on the horn of Rohan. When Sam returns from the Cottons’, the whole village of Bywater is gathered, and many still coming in from the farms around; many of the hobbits are armed, with axes, heavy hammers long knives, staves, and a few hunting-bows. Some have lit a large fire: “to enliven things, and because it was one of the things forbidden by the Chief.” Tom Cotton gives some useful information: that there are probably no more than 300 ruffians in the whole Shire; and that the Tooks have gone (literally) underground and are shooting any ruffians that come onto their land, and the ruffians have Tookland under guard so no one enters or leaves. Pippin goes off to recruit the Tooks and bring back an army.

Merry forms a plan to deal with the Hobbiton band of ruffians, about 20, who are coming to Bywater. Most of the hobbits hide themselves away. Some set up a barrier in the street, but move it when the ruffians order them to, and then follow the ruffians without being seem When the ruffians reach the fire, Tom Cotton is alone there; they confront him, and then find they are surrounded by 200 armed hobbits. The ruffian leader tries to break out of the ring and falls dead with four arrows in him; the rest surrender and are tied up. Tom Cotton gives more news to the travellers, and Sam picks up Gaffer Gamgee and brings him to the Cottons’ to prevent him being harmed.

[ragingbookdragon]

If You Ever Want To Be In Love, I'll Come Around

Barry Allen x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 2K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: Based off this ask here! I hope you enjoy!

**********************************************************************

Living in Central City, he expected a lot:

Being held up at the bank because Snart decided to rob it? Check.

Having a car window blown out because the Flash sped by? Check.

Be best friends with said Speedster? Check.

Be best friends with said Speedster and fight crime along side him? Check.

Still though, he never expected to see Barry’s bright and bubbly face at seven A.M. on a Saturday morning when he’d just rolled out of bed, not bothering to pull on a shirt or a pair of sweats, merely hobbling to the door as he tried to avoid bumping into things with his bruised side.

He pulled open the door, blinking blearily at the man who was beaming back at him, hands placed on the shoulders of a young boy who came up to their middles.

“Good morning, (Y/N),” Barry greeted. “I know it’s early.”

“Really?” (Y/N) muttered, reaching up to rub at his eyes. “What gave it away? The sun peeking in through the windows?” he lowered his hand, blinking hard once more. “Mornin’ Wally.”

The kid smiled and waved. “Good morning, Mister (Y/N).”

“Why’d you bring me Kid Flash?” he asked, looking at Barry and the scientist sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I forgot I had a conference in Coast City and Iris asked me to watch Wally today.” He smiled apologetically. “I’d take Wally, but it’s a work thing and it wouldn’t be professional to bring him in with me.”

(Y/N) nodded. “I got it.” His gaze drifted to the boy. “You like video games?”

Wally’s head tipped up and down rapidly. “I love ‘em.”

“Got a new PlayStation system in the den.” He tipped his head. “Help yourself.”

The kid was gone, whizzing by in a flash and Barry smiled, wide and toothy. “Thank you, (Y/N). I know this is last minute and you’d want to enjoy your Saturday but—”

(Y/N) reached out, resting a hand on Barry’s shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m happy to help you out.”

“Yeah?” Barry questioned and he nodded.

“Always.” They gazed at each other for a moment, and (Y/N) felt his heart stutter in his chest at the closeness. “But knowing you, you’re going to be late, so I’d get a move on.”

The Speedster looked to his watch and his eyes widened; he turned, hurrying down the hall. “I’ll make it up to you, (Y/N)! Thanks again!”

“Be safe!” he called back, closing the apartment door; turning around, he saw Wally stretched out on the couch, a controller in his hands, a bag of chips open, along with a two-liter soda cracked. “This is gonna be a long day,” he muttered, wandering back to his bedroom to shower and dress.

***

He held an easy pace beside the young teen, but he could tell the kid was itching to run a mile a second. Wally did that thing that Barry did when the anticipation was running in his veins; he’d start buzzing, until he seemed like he was going to phase out.

“You good, Wally?” he asked, and the boy looked up, nodding his head.

“Yeah. Just…going slower than usual.”

(Y/N) snorted. “Sorry I can’t run as fast as you guys. I’ve only got super soldier legs.”

Wally laughed. “You are faster than most humans, Mist—uh, (Y/N).” he’d told the kid after four times of hearing, ‘Mister (Y/N)’ to just call him ‘(Y/N)’. “Barry says you might be faster than Batman.”

“Bruce is pretty fast,” he acknowledged. “Though that’s because he’s been conditioned to run that fast.” (Y/N) glanced over. “Speaking of Batman…how’s that crush of yours going?”

The kid’s face turned red, and his eyes shot to the ground. “Uh…it’s good…we’re gonna hang out on Friday.”

(Y/N) smiled. “It’s the son, isn’t it? Dick?”

“Yeah…we met a few years ago.” Wally had a bashful smile on his face. “I like him a lot.”

“I think you two are gonna be great together. You’ve got that bond that most people don’t before they get together.”

Wally blinked curiously. “What do you mean?”

(Y/N) met his gaze. “You two are best friends. Folks who get together after being friends for years on end are usually better off than those who aren’t.” he nudged Wally in the side. “I think in a few more years, the lot of us will be watching your taillights as you head to your honeymoon.”

“(Y/N)!” Wally blurted out, cheeks turning crimson, though his smile only grew.

“I’m teasing, kid. But really, I think you and Dick are gonna be great.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” Wally looked away, his smile falling and (Y/N) caught it. “What’s up, kid?”

“You don’t…you don’t think it’s weird because we’re both boys?”

He blinked, not expecting that conversation to come up, but he recovered, shaking his head. “No matter what you identify as Wallace, whether gay or bisexual, it’s not weird or shameful.” (Y/N) came to a stop and placed his hand on the kid’s head. “You’re perfect the way you are and who you love is your business alone. And if people don’t respect that, then they’re not worth your time or concern. Okay?”

Wally’s eyes glazed over with unshed tears, and he suddenly lurched forward, wrapping his arms around the super soldier’s waist; (Y/N) smiled heartfully, wrapping his arms around the boy’s shoulders, patting his back. “You’re okay, kid. All of this is completely normal. You’re not weird or anything deviant because of this.”

The boy sniffed harshly. “Thanks (Y/N).”

He squeezed Wally’s shoulders. “Alright kid, let’s keep running, yeah?”

As they fell into another easy pace, the boy murmured, “You and Barry are best friends.”

(Y/N) shrugged. “I mean, I’m not Hal, but yeah, I think I’m one of Barry’s best friends.”

“Do you like Barry?”

He choked on his spit, skidding to a halt as he coughed harshly, hands on his knees. “What?”

Wally merely blinked. “Do you like Barry? Like I like Dick?”

(Y/N) felt flustered, which didn’t happen easily, and his mouth opened and closed, but all that came out was a croaking sound. “It’s complicated, kid.”

“How so?”

He sighed. “I don’t think Barry’s into guys, Wally. And besides, he’s with Iris. It’d be wrong to say something.”

Wally gazed at him. “Barry didn’t tell you then.”

“Tell me what?”

“He and Auntie Iris broke up a few months ago.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened. “What? Why?”

“Barry said they were at different points in their lives, and it didn’t seem right to keep a relationship going when they weren’t at the same spot.” He waved. “Or something like that. There was a lot of big words and metaphorical shit.”

“Hey!” (Y/N) shouted. “No cursing.”

Wally stuck his tongue out, then started running again, leaving him to follow. “But yeah, they broke up.”

“Why hasn’t Barry told me?” the question was more to himself than Wally, but he took it as if it were to him.

“I think Barry likes you, but he’s not sure how to approach it.”

(Y/N)’s lips pulled downwards. “Has he said anything that gives it away?”

Wally shook his head. “Not really, but any time I’m around you guys, he’s always watching you with that dorky smile on his face…like just the sight of you makes him happy to be alive.”

His cheeks felt hot, and he tried to remember every moment of being around Barry. “I feel like a fool.”

“He does talk about you a lot. How you impress him by always being a good man. Having good morals despite all your hardships.” Wally looked unimpressed. “It’s kinda gross how sappy he is.”

(Y/N) chuckled. “Alright, kid. Rein it in. You talk about Dick like that.”

Now it was Wally’s turn to flush with embarrassment. “I do not!”

“Do too,” he shot back, before shoving the kid in the side and sprinting as fast as he could. “Last one to the end of the trail has to buy ice-cream!”

“Hey! No fair! You cheated!”

“What are you talking about! You literally have super-speed!”

***

By the time Barry made it back to (Y/N)’s apartment, it was a quarter to two; he opened the door for the Speedster, pressing a finger to his lips. “I just got the kid to go to sleep.”

Barry smiled. “Where is he?”

“I let him have my bed.” He topped his head to the living room. “I set up on the couch for the night.”

“That was nice of you,” he murmured, following (Y/N) into the den. “How’d it go today?”

He laughed quietly. “I’ve discovered the one difference between the two of you is that Wally’s mouth doesn’t move as fast, and I can actually understand what he’s saying. But damned if you two don’t talk fast.” (Y/N) grinned at Barry. “We played video games and went for a run to burn off all the junk food we ate. I think we had some good fun.”

Barry smiled, taking a seat on the sheeted sofa, (Y/N) beside him; their thighs brushed together. “I’m glad you two had fun today. I really appreciate you doing this.” He started to pull out his wallet. “I picked up a hundred for you.”

He shoved the wallet away. “Gimme a break, Barry. I did this for you. Not so you could pay me.” He shrugged. “Besides, I like the kid, so it’s free anyway.”

“Thank you, (Y/N).” He nodded, resting his head back, mulling over his thoughts, and Barry knew it. “Is something wrong?”

“Wally and I talked about a couple things today…one’s easy to tell you but the other…not so much.”

“I’m all ears,” Barry promised.

(Y/N) sighed heavily and opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling. “You know Wally’s questioning himself, right?”

“About his sexuality? Yeah, I knew. Why?”

“He’s…concerned that it might be weird.” He hummed. “I think maybe someone at school or somewhere else might’ve said something homophobic and he’s not sure how to deal with it. But I told him what he’s feeling is normal and there’s nothing wrong with having a different sexuality other than heterosexual.”

“I—I didn’t know,” Barry murmured. “I knew he was questioning, but I didn’t know that…”

He seemed so hurt, so upset, so ashamed and (Y/N) didn’t look at him as he rested a hand on Barry’s thigh. “He’s probably just nervous about breaching the subject. He would’ve come to you in his own time, Barry. We know both know that—know how much he respects and trusts you to help him.”

Barry swallowed thickly, eyes concentrated on (Y/N)’s warm hand. “Yeah…I guess you’re right.” He patted the Speedster’s thigh before pulling away, resting his hands back in his lap. “What about the second thing?”

“What?” he said.

“You said you had another thing to talk about.” Barry seemed curious. “What is it?”

(Y/N) inhaled deeply, not wanting to look away from the white ceiling, but he willed himself to do so, meeting Barry’s bright blue eyes. “We’ve been friends for a long time, Barry. A few good years now.” He swallowed thickly, searching the man’s gaze for a moment, and admitted, “I…love you, Barry.”

The Speedster’s eyes went wide, jaw dropping in shock, but it didn’t stop him from speaking.

“Wally said you and Iris broke up a few months ago, but even before then, I’d never try to worm my way into anything, especially your personal relationships, so I kept quiet about my feelings, but…but if there’s any way you feel the same about me…I’d love to explore that with you.”

Barry’s cheeks were turning pink in the moonlight and (Y/N) took a leap of faith, turning slightly to rest a hand on his cheek, softly bringing their lips together. The Speedster melted into the kiss, his own hands coming up to cup the soldier’s cheeks. They were so warm under each other’s palms, giggling like two teens under the bleachers at a football game, coming back to each other after each gentle kiss.

They pulled away and pressed their foreheads together, both breathless with giddy smiles on their faces, small peals of laughter falling from their mouths and (Y/N) dumbly giggled, “Do you wanna go on a date with me sometime?”

Barry nodded, body starting to vibrate as it did when he was excited. “I’d like that a lot.” He thumbed (Y/N)’s lips, smiling as the super soldier’s eyes slipped shut, pressing his lips to the pad of Barry’s finger. “And (Y/N)?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too.”

[ms-demeanor]

Seriously, patrol officers carrying rifles is indefensible.

Like, even if you don’t want to eradicate, defund, or disarm the police there is no fucking excuse for a city police officer to have firearms that are used either for distance killing or suppressive fire.

I *suppose* you can make the argument that in police standoffs there’s a reasonable use for snipers but does anyone have any actual examples of police in a standoff using sinper fire to kill a hostage taker in a way that didn’t kill a bunch of hostages? Like? How often does that happen?

Often enough to justify millions of dollars to equip police officers with rifles of any variety?

No. Fuck that.

I mean, look, a lot of people look at the North Hollywood Shootout and go “oh god, we have to better arm the police to respond to situations like this” and I’m looking at it and going “Armed bankrobbers didn’t shoot people until police arrived on the scene and began firing at them and their bag of money full of dyepacks from an insured bank” and somehow I don’t think the 800ish rounds the cops fired in that shootout would have been LESS dangerous to civilians if they were rifle rounds instead of .38 handgun rounds.

But the LAPD got 600 M16s because of that and AR-15s are now part of their standard carry.

Check out this article and video about the LAPD qualifying course in 2012. What’s the longest distance on that course?

Twelve fucking yards.

That’s how good cops have to be. Fire twelve yards with a handgun once a year, MAYBE, and there’s more emphasis on speed and reloading than accuracy.

Everyone I know who’s ever worked at a range where cops shoot says the same thing: they’re terrible fucking shooters.

These people shouldn’t be armed *AT ALL* but there is zero reason that a beat cop needs a gun that has an effective range of a third of a fucking mile. A beat cop shouldn’t be aiming his gun at a person a third of a mile away, a beat cop shouldn’t be aiming his gun at a person a hundred yards away, a beat cop shouldn’t be aiming his gun at a person fifteen yards away because a beat cop only has to train effectively to shoot someone twelve yards away and can barely be trusted to do that within the department requirements.

Any of the shit you see like the UPS driver who got shot or Michael Brown or the standoff at the Trader Joe’s - every average joe cop who’s got his gun out over the hood of his cruiser and pointed at something forty feet away might as well have his dick in his hands because he’s qualified to shoot exactly the distance of three fucking parking spaces and not a fucking foot more.

God. 

My stance on the whole thing is, of course, abolish the police because I think the whole fucking system is broken beyond repair and needs to be reconsidered from the ground up.

But if you’re not there can you AT LEAST agree that people who are only required to learn to shoot the width of an average suburban garage maybe shouldn’t be trying to shoot the length of a fucking football field?

[purplesauris]

A World In Monochrome

My brain is firing on like, almost all cylinders to pump out all of the sweet sweet ideas I obsess over. This one stemmed from playing the game and realizing that Cat causes total loss of color from Geralt’s sight until the potion wears off 

Enjoy it on AO3 here!

Geralt hated fiends. Well, he can’t say that with any honesty- for as brutal and base as they appeared, there was an elegance to them. They left people alone for the most part, content to wander their forests, caves or swamps, and only attacked if necessary. They were huge yet moved with incredible speed, and if necessary, their third eye opened, stunning and allowing them a chance to escape. To be compared to a fiend among friends was almost a compliment. 

What he hated most about them was how often they took him into caves; the dank, musty smell of old corpses and fiend dung clung to him for days after he’d finished the hunt, and he couldn’t carry a torch with him to light the cave. Not that he hadn’t tried when he was young and just set out on the Path. After too many times plunging into darkness without anything to light, Geralt prepared himself more carefully. Relict oil for his blade, Thunderbolt and Swallow on his belt, and Cat, choked down at the last minute to give himself all the time he needed. 

He hasn’t fought anything cave dwelling in a while, and isn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary when he takes his latest contract. Jaskier had wanted to bargain for a higher price, since this was Skellige and the fare back to Velen was expensive, but Geralt couldn’t. Mutation’s took all Witcher’s feelings people claimed, but his heart had gone out to Ohden, worried over his son, and he gave Jaskier a glance to keep him quiet. Jaskier hadn’t pushed, just hummed thoughtfully and thanked the man for his account of where to start. 

That was another thing that Geralt hadn’t expected. When Geralt told Jaskier he was headed to Skellige for the summer he fully expected Jaskier to disappear wherever he goes for the winter. Instead, he was met by Jaskier waiting on the docks, bag slung over his shoulder and lute clutched against his front. He’d only complained of seasickness in the first two days, and spent the rest of their trek across the sea singing bawdy sea shanties and learning new ones from the crew to delight whatever crowd he could find in Skellige. Geralt had spent his time making potions and sharpening his blade, sat atop a barrel to keep a sharp eye on the bard under his care. He tried to look casual, but half the crew gave him a wide berth and the others stared in open hostility. The only thing keeping them somewhat friendly was Jaskier and that magnetic charisma he seemed to exude. 

“Stay here.” Jaskier perked up at the sound of Geralt’s voice, then rolled his eyes. 

“Geralt, how am I supposed to tell of your exploits if I never get to go?”

“How are you going to if you follow me and die?” Geralt’s throat tightens at the thought, and his voice sounds particularly grating when he talks through it. “You’re staying here.”

“At least let me see you track. I’ve never seen that even!”

“No.” Jaskier gave him a look, blue eyes glancing up just so through his lashes, and Geralt’s heart gives a wild leap at that. He sighs wearily, rolling out his shoulders. “Fine.”

“Yes!”

“But-” Geralt silences him, eyes narrowing a bit. He hears Jaskier breathe in sharply, but finds him staring with that same eager intensity. “If I let you come, you have to promise you’ll run if I tell you.”

Jaskier grins, eyes sparkling, and bows low at the waist. “As you command, White Wolf.” 

Geralt finds someone to care for Roach while they’re away, and only has to narrow his eyes to ensure she’ll be taken care of and their stuff won’t be plundered. Skelligers are hardy, but even they know not to mess with a witcher, let alone Geralt. Geralt heads southeast, toward where Ohden had gestured to, and it isn’t long until he finds footprints. They’re from a male, that much he can tell, and that puts him on the right track. 

They hike in relative silence for a while, Geralt occasionally pointing out a footprint that Jaskier would be able to see and explaining when Jaskier seems lost on how Geralt is leading them. The dirt road becomes pebbly a couple of miles later, and it’s then that Geralt spots the crumbling castle ahead of them and smells blood. 

“Quiet.” Geralt hisses, Jaskier trying his best to stay as quiet as he can. Geralt’s silver sword slides free from his sheathe with nary a whisper, and he rolls his wrist, careful not to hit the bard behind him. He can hear breathing, heavy and bovine, and he creeps forward, Jaskier at his back. Geralt slips through a gap in a broken wall, nostrils flaring as the scent of decay and musk hits him. He holds out a hand, telling Jaskier to stop, and moves a bit further into the clearing of what used to be a courtyard. The ground near the south wall is saturated in blood, and flies buzz around it, grating to his ears. 

He straightens up a bit, casting a glance around; whatever caused the gore doesn’t seem to be here, and this is the best lead he’s gotten so far. Gravel crunches behind him and he whips around, Jaskier freezing as the sight of Geralt, pupils mere slits and nostrils flared. “Nothing then?”

“I told you to wait.” 

“Right, except I couldn’t see anything and I-” Jaskier’s eyes are pinned on the background behind him, and the hairs on the back of Geralt’s neck raise. His medallion hums angrily against his chest, and the sharp, eye watering scent of a fiend hits him hard. 

“GO!” Is all he can say before throwing up Quen, grunting as the barrier around him crystallizes and shatters, having effectively warded off the fiend’s first charge. He won’t have time for a second, and all he can hope is that Jaskier heeded his command as he dives out of the way of a second charge. It’s a narrow window at best, and Geralt rolls to his knees, throwing a plume of fire in front of him. He almost chokes on the scent of burnt fur, the fiend roaring and hopping back a couple of steps. Geralt downs a dose of thunderbolt while he has a chance, throwing the glass away. He can come back and hope it isn’t broken later.

He falls into the fighting as easily as breathing, spinning on his toes and grunting at the twinge that goes through his knee and up his thigh. So it’s going to be like that. He can ignore it for now, and a dose of Blizzard has his blood singing and muscles working double time as he whirls and dodges the blows that the fiend throws. The fiend seems slow as Geralt hacks at the black and white patterned hide, tiring with the effort of trying to hit a target that won’t stop moving. This fiend is old, Geralt can tell just by the scarred hide and brutal efficiency in which he goes after his target. 

Geralt can tell that the fiend is almost done for, blood oozing out of multiple cuts that regenerate before his eyes. He finds his opening when a well placed shot of Igni has the monster stumbling back, Geralt lunging to drive his sword through the beast’s skull. A flash of red catches Geralt’s attention, and he watches with a helpless kind of fury as the fiends third eye flares open, stopping his blow in its tracks. The fiend swings a meaty paw and sends him flying back into the wall of the abandoned keep, Geralt wheezing as the air is knocked out of him. His scabbards dig roughly into his back, sure to leave bruises later, but they might have just saved his spine. 

In the time it takes Geralt to stumble to his feet, gasping for air, the fiend has fled the field, out of the ruins. He’s off like a shot, following the scent of blood and decay and singed fur through the rest of the ruins and down the bank of the river. It’s there he finds a cave, reeking of gore and pitch black. 

“Fuck.” Of course he’s going to have to use Cat. He downs the potion as quickly as he can, not wanting to give the fiend more time to recover than is necessary. He skids down the rocky entrance as color leeches from his sight, every inch of the cave lit up in a murky haze. The fiend is crouched in the corner, tearing away at the entrails of some poor soul. This time the fiend won’t surprise him, and Geralt leaps onto the offensive, slashing a gaping wound through the beast’s left flank. It should slow the beast down enough, and Geralt is already leaping away when the beast roars and swings wildly behind itself.

Geralt dispatches it with another quick blow to the throat, silver blade digging in so deep that he lodges against bone for a moment. Geralt isn’t a fan of denting his blades, but the fiend has fought long enough, and Geralt just wants a quick end to the fight. He pants as the fiend twitches, crashing to the ground and eyes rolling sightlessly. One last blow ends the fiends suffering and severs the rest of the head- he’ll need it if he’s going to prove he killed the beast. A quick glance around the cave shows that this was definitely what was killing all of the travelers on the road, and though he can’t see it, he highly suspects that the lighter tone of the tunic he spies has to be yellow. He cuts a swatch to bring back with him, and drags the beast’s head up and out of the cave. 

                                                          -*-

Jaskier had scrambled to climb the ladder when Geralt had yelled for him to run. He’d noticed it earlier when they first came in, and figured height would be a good advantage against whatever had charged at Geralt. Watching the fight was better than anything Geralt could have described, and Jaskier takes it in with reckless abandon. The way that Geralt’s hair had flown about him as he spun, the sun glinting off his blade. The way that his shield, brilliant orange in the light had shattered after the first charge. 

He’s going to have the best ballad to write when they get back to town, and already a melody builds in his throat. He hums it while he watches, nervous to see Geralt go up against such an impossibly large foe. He trusts that the witcher knows what he’s doing, and he winces, gripping the craggy wall as Geralt crashes into it just below his hiding place. A normal man would have snapped his spine from the impact alone, but Geralt struggles to his feet and runs off, following the fiend wherever it fled to. 

Well, he can’t miss this, can he? Jaskier creeps down the ladder, stooping to pick up the vial Geralt had tossed aside earlier before plodding after where the two disappeared. He isn’t able to leap off ledges like Geralt can, so he has to pick his way down the side of the ruin and hope he doesn’t trip and fall. By the time he makes it down to the bank and follows Geralt’s footprints he can hear the dying bray and gurgle of a large animal. It comes from a cave in the hillside, and Jaskier is loath to go inside. Especially if it smells as bad as he thinks it will. 

“Right, uh, I guess I should get a bit closer…” The bard says, not moving an inch from where he’s standing, staring down into the pitch black of the cave. 

“No, you shouldn’t.” The voice has no owner for a moment, ragged and deep, and it takes Jaskier longer than he’d like to admit to recognize it. 

“Geralt? Are you alright? I’m coming in, let me just-”

“No.” Geralt’s voice is sharp enough to stop Jaskier in his tracks, and he wrings his hands together in a nervous habit. “Go back to town.”

“I can’t just leave you here, what if a-a bandit or something were to come?” There’s a rough chuckle, and Jaskier thinks he spies a lock of white hair, dyed pink at the ends by blood. “Geralt, come out? Please?”

                                                         -*-

Of course the bard had followed. Geralt had asked one thing, one thing of him, and wasn’t even granted that. He had hidden at least, because Geralt had no clue where he’d gone in the rush of the fight. He doesn’t want to step out into the sun, not while everything is too much, too bright, but the longer he stays down here the worse it’ll be to adjust. And the more likely it will be that Jaskier comes in anyway, despite the stench he knows keeps the man away for now. 

“Move.” Is all the warning the bard gets before Geralt tosses the head out of the cave, listening to the dull thud of its landing and the sharp yelp Jaskier lets out at the sight. He limps from the cave as his knee gives another sharp twinge of discomfort, hissing at the brightness of the sun filling his eyes. It blinds him- leaves everything in washed out shades of white and grey and he hates it. The wildflowers bunched around the rocky ground sway in the wind, but Geralt can’t see their true colors. He knows the stems should be green, the flowers a pale blue or white, given the local flora, but all he sees is three different shades of black and white. 

He hears a sharp intake of breath near where he tossed the head, and his body goes taut, attention snapping to the source of the noise. Jaskier stares at him, eyes wide and pupils blown wide within what Geralt knows should be blue irises. But they aren’t. They’re so pale they almost blend with the whites of his eyes, and Geralt’s heart drops into his stomach. Jaskier’s heart pounds a frantic, steady rhythm in Geralt’s ears, and his scent, usually so dominated by lavender, has taken on an edge of what Geralt can only describe as cloying spice. He isn’t sure what it means, at least for Jaskier, and he draws in another breath, trying to sniff discreetly, or as discreetly as a witcher hopped up on potions can. 

Jaskier reaches out for him then, to lend him a hand or- he doesn't know what- and Geralt flinches. He can see the hurt in Jaskier’s eyes, can smell the scent of dying roses on him, and he struggles to push words from a throat more ready to strangle him than talk. 

“Potions.” He looks at Jaskier again, eyes searching every inch of him for any sign of blood or injury, and grinds his teeth in frustration when he can’t differentiate the difference between what’s the stitching of his doublet and what’s the silky chemise underneath. They’re all the same color. 

“Oh.” Jaskier sighs out, breathy and soft, and that confuses Geralt more than his lack of color or his racing heart. “Do you need anything right now? Water, stitches?”

“Stitches?” He manages to mumble, taking a step back into the cave where it isn’t so damn bright. 

Jaskier’s lips quirk in a soft smile, and he shrugs. “I can’t see if you’re hurt. So, stitches?”

“No. White honey?” Jaskier winces, shooting Geralt a sympathetic look. 

“Back in the packs, I think. Should I go fetch it?”

The offer is tempting; Geralt’s heart is still racing and every nerve in him screams that Jaskier is an enemy and he can’t fucking see color, but he doesn’t want Jaskier to leave. Not with his humanity still crumbling within him as he tries desperately to hold himself together enough to talk. He closes his eyes, hoping that taking away one sense will help with the noise in his head, but he’s not sure anything will help right now.

“No. Gotta meditate.” 

“Well, come out of the cave then, I’m sure you’d rather not smell whatever it is that’s in there.”

“Bright.” He hears Jaskier chuckle, and the soft shuffle of fabric and leather creaking as Jaskier moves toward him. The thought makes him want to run deeper into the cave, where he can’t do anything that might scare the bard off, but something warm and reeking of lavender is being draped over his head. The light burning through his eyelids lessens immediately, and he gasps as Jaskier gently takes his hands. His grip is iron on Jaskier’s poor hands, but the bard doesn’t protest or pull away, just talks soft and low. 

“Do you trust me?”

Does he? He tries to think of all the reasons he shouldn’t trust the bard, but fails to come up with anything meaningful. “Yes.”

“How long till this wears off?”

“Couple hours, maybe more.”

“Okay. Let’s head back for the keep, it’s a bit safer I think. Can you carry the uh, head?”

Geralt nods, and Jaskier leads him over. Geralt can navigate by the scent alone, but he doesn’t want to let go of Jaskier if he can help it, and uses one hand to lug the head along by the horns. Jaskier leads him up the path he must have taken to get down, and settles him in the shade underneath a small ledge. He only lets go of Jaskier’s hand once he knows they aren’t going to move again for a while. 

“Okay, go ahead and meditate, I’ll keep watch and let you know if I see or hear something.” Jaskier goes to move a few steps away, but Geralt’s hand shoots out, gripping his wrist. 

“Stay here.” Jaskier’s heart gives a little stutter, but he laughs softly and settles down next to Geralt. It’s nice, Geralt decides, and though he doesn’t actually feel it much, he figures he has a right to complain. Blizzard has an apt name, both for making everything seem to go in slow motion, and for shooting ice through his veins.  “S’cold.”

“Fire?”

“Too noisy.” Jaskier hums for a second more before suddenly leaning against Geralt’s side. It’s near impossible to notice through the leather armor he wears, and must be wildly uncomfortable, but he can feel the heat seeping into him and his heart beats just a bit faster at their closeness. Jaskier being so close also drowns out any other scents around him, and slipping into his meditation is easier when he has one thing to focus on. It's also the closest that Jaskier has gotten to him in days, and he finds he misses the contact. He tries to shut out the noises around him, bouncing through his skull, but where Jaskier has settled them has created some kind of echo around him, and he grits his teeth. It might not be so easy after all.

Jaskier reaches for something, dragging it across the ground before the distinct sound of two metal clasps pops close by. A note is hummed, a string strummed, before Jaskier begins picking away in earnest. The song is new, one he's never heard before- or maybe he has? The melody picks at the edges of his brain, and he finds himself slipping into that trancelike state he was looking for. 

When he comes to a couple of hours later, dusk has fallen behind his lids, and he cracks an eye open experimentally. His heart and brain have calmed, and he doesn't feel nearly as cold as he did before. The potions have mostly worn off, except for the Cat, which should be gone in another half hour or so. He hopes.

For now, he'll just have to be content with the watery color bleeding slowly across his vision. Jaskier has stopped playing, lute tucked away, and has his jacket back on to ward himself from the cold. Now he scribbles in his notebook, tongue peeking out from between his lips as he concentrates on whatever he's writing.

"A new one?" His voice is rusty, and he clears his throat while Jaskier jumps, sitting up and clutching his book, cheeks red.

"You should warn a man you know, I could have done something drastic."

"Like what?" Geralt's lips quirk in a small smile, and he's glad he can somewhat recognize the teal of Jaskier's doublet again. Jaskier doesn't seem as amused, and pins him with a withering glance. "New song?"

He tries it again, hoping that showing interest will soften Jaskier's apparent anger. Jaskier regards him with suspicion for a moment more before sighing, nodding while also shrugging.

"I have a lovely new ballad coming, yes, but I was… drawing." Geralt hums low in his throat, nudging his companion and dipping his head toward the journal still clutched to Jaskier's chest. A silent question of can I see it? Jaskier hesitates, holding on a bit tighter before he sighs, holding it out for Geralt to take. "Don't laugh. Poetry was more my strong suit."

Geralt says nothing as he pulls off his gauntlets- they're covered in dried blood, and he doesn't want to ruin the page. Upon taking the journal and seeing what Jaskier has drawn, he almost wishes he had. It's a sketch of him, he can tell by the line of his jaw and the straightness of his nose, but he hates what else he sees. His eyes have been filled in with black, a spiderweb of inky veins creeping over his face and down his neck. His hands shake as he stares at himself immortalized in a state he never wanted Jaskier to see. He was too hopped up on potions to care at the time, but looking now, he feels his heart constrict. How could Jaskier touch him, sit beside him while he looked like this?

"Do you like it?"

"No." Shit, that's not what he meant to say. He glances up, can smell and see the hurt on Jaskier's face, and his throat tightens, strangling his words.

"Give it then, so you don't have to see it." Jaskier takes the book back quickly, closing it with a snap and standing up.  He grabs his lute case, slinging it across his back and pacing a few steps away. Ready to go back to town. Geralt struggles to his feet, his damn knee cracking painfully as he rises from his kneeling position. He has to take a second for it to settle before he can bear any weight.

"Jaskier-"

"Let's go, Geralt. I'm tired of being outside." He finds that hard to believe, seeing as they've only been out half the day, but Geralt doesn't know what to say and Jaskier doesn't want to hear it. Geralt follows him in stony silence, hoisting the fiends head away from the ground and wincing at the congealed blood that saturates the ground under it. It reeks. He's not sure how Jaskier could tolerate the smell, let alone sit by it for hours.

Geralt collects his reward from the grieving father and hands over the scrap of what he can now see is mostly yellow fabric. The man laments his son's fate, and Geralt can't do more than stand there and promise he was avenged. The man waves them off, wanting to be alone, and Jaskier heads off with a brisk comment about finding an inn for the night. Geralt goes to check on Roach and gather their things, wanting to give the bard time to cool off. He's brushing Roach down, sneaking her a couple sugar cubes when Jaskier comes to fetch him, leaning with his arms crossed against the doorframe. Geralt follows without complaint, refusing to let Jaskier carry his own pack despite the hand held out for it. 

The room in the inn is sparsely decorated, and there's only one bed, but a steaming tub of water waits for him, and his heart gives a strange leap. Jaskier’s doublet is off, tossed carelessly on a chair with his boots sitting nearby, and Geralt has to force himself not to stare at the dip of Jaskier’s chemise. "Bathe."

The command is rough, but Geralt complies easily, stripping himself out of his armor and the soggy clothes beneath before sinking into the water. Heat prickles uncomfortably at his skin, but he lets out a small groan and sinks a bit deeper. Jaskier perches wordlessly behind him, tugging the tie from his hair and working any blood out with whatever soap he'd managed to get from the innkeeper. It smells a bit stronger than Geralt would like, but he doesn't say anything. Maybe now he can try again, while he's relatively safe.

"It was nice." Well, that's a start at least. Jaskier's hands pause in his hair, nails digging in a bit too hard, but Geralt groans and leans up into the touch. Jaskier scratches along his scalp, nails digging in, and Geralt relishes the sensation. His vision is almost back to full color, and he stares at Jaskier's doublet, discarded on the chair. "The drawing."

Jaskier scoffs. "You don't have to lie."

"M'not. Just don't like seeing it. The monster." Geralt adds on the end, not wanting to fuck things up twice. Just saying what he feels makes his skin crawl, but Jaskier gives a soft oh, continuing to scratch at Geralt's scalp. 

"So you weren't insulting me then?" Geralt shakes his head, going still when Jaskier clicks his tongue. He begins scrubbing at the blood under his nails while Jaskier talks, needing something to pay attention to. "I thought you looked… Gorgeous, ethereal, effervescent- I could wax poetry about it endlessly.”

Geralt snorts, shaking his head, causing Jaskier to press his fingers in harder to keep him from moving. “Don’t. Don’t pretend.”

Jaskier scoffs this time, fingers tightening in Geralt’s hair and pulling until Geralt is straining to look back at him or risk his scalp. A hot wave of arousal washes over Geralt at the sensation, but all he does is grunt, looking back at the bard with a mixture of annoyance and hopefully- suppressed lust. Geralt notices, faintly, that his color is back completely as the two of them lock eyes, glaring at one another. 

“I’m tired of you telling me what to do and how to feel, Witcher.”

“What am I telling you to feel?” Heat creeps along Geralt’s spine, and oh he’s playing a dangerous game. Maybe those potions aren’t as worn off as he might have thought.

Jaskier looks at him, brow furrowed, and Geralt feels Jaskier’s grip in his hair loosen. He misses the sensation for an instant before Jaskier leans forward, pressing his lips to Geralt’s in an awkward, upside down kiss. It’s almost painful- Jaskier’s chin and nose dig into him at an odd angle, but his hands come up and out of the water instinctively to grip Jaskier’s hair, keeping him from moving away. Jaskier takes that as a good sign it seems, because he nips at Geralt’s lower lip before pulling back. Geralt doesn’t want to hurt him, ever, and he lets Jaskier go, breathing hard and pupils contracting to mere slits. He tracks Jaskier’s every moment, listens to the way his heart is hammering, that same cloying lavender scent oozing through the room.

Geralt leans forward as Jaskier moves around the side of the tub, a pale hand smoothing over his shoulder. He wants to know what’s going on, wants to ask Jaskier what he thinks he’s doing, but nothing escapes him other than a low growl. Jaskier laughs softly, almost mockingly, and leans forward to kiss the corner of Geralt’s mouth. The witcher moves faster than might be necessary, but just barely catches Jaskier before he leans back again. 

“Bard.” Geralt warns, voice vibrating with the steady growl that’s built up. Jaskier glances at him, eyes darting down to Geralt’s lips for an instant as a smug, self satisfied smile lights up his face. 

“Witcher.” 

“Say you want this.” Geralt’s mind moves slow, so slow that for a moment he fears he’s drunk off of the scent of Jaskier, so incredibly close yet just out of reach. He can’t think with Jaskier so close, grinning at him like he’s a cat who’s just gotten a delightfully fat mouse, and his fingers twitch on the edge of the tub. 

“I’ve never wanted anything more.” That’s all that Geralt needs, and he reaches out, snagging Jaskier by the hips and bodily hoisting him forward. Jaskier laughs as he slips against the edge of the tub, a hand splaying against Geralt’s chest. 

“You’ll ruin my clothes and the floor.” Geralt grunts, not caring, but Jaskier is undeterred. “Out.”

Oh, this is dangerous indeed. He groans, impatient, but Jaskier is already stepping away and tugging at the ties on his chemise. A moment of hesitation slices through the haze in Geralt’s mind, and he pauses in the water. Jaskier has seen him naked more times than he can count, but it’s different this time. This time, he’s allowed to look, and Geralt isn’t sure what to do with that thought. He’s waking up slowly from the raging of his heart, but Jaskier reaches out, fingers brushing under his chin and tipping his head up. He kisses Geralt slowly, luxuriating in the action and nipping gently at his lower lip. The small bit of pressure from Jaskier's teeth has Geralt gasping, and he stands up blindly, stumbling out of the tub as Jaskier continues kissing him. 

That one point of contact, their lips sliding against each other, is the anchor that Geralt clings to. His hands come up, fingers shaking before finding purchase on Jaskier’s shirt and gripping it tight enough that he can hear the fibers straining not to rip. Jaskier hums against his lips, hands sliding over Geralt’s chest and pushing him back and away from the tub. Geralt walks blindly, and every time he breathes, opens his eyes, the world is skewed with vibrant contrasts of color. Geralt’s calves hit the edge of the bed, and he tips back, dragging Jaskier with him and wheezing out a laugh as the bard lands on top of him. It feels good to have Jaskier’s weight on top of him, and he hardly lets him get far. He can feel Jaskier’s cock pressing against his hip, and he groans, glad it isn’t just him affected. Jaskier kisses him harder for that, and Geralt whines against his lips. 

“The potions.” Geralt hums, glancing up at Jaskier with half lidded eyes. His hair is a mess, lips red and cheeks redder, and the sight steals his breath. He props himself up on his arms, sighing when Jaskier settles astride his hips. “Are they still affecting you?”

“I don’t know.” He admits softly, humming when Jaskier leans to lay kisses along his jaw. He arches his neck, giving the man atop him more room to work and huffing when Jaskier drags his teeth lightly down his neck. “Why?”

“I don’t want to do anything if you aren’t in full control of yourself. Not unless we’d agreed upon it before, of course.” 

“It’s not like being drugged.”

“No, but how do I know this is because of sober thought?” Jaskier grinds down suddenly, and the friction of cloth against his bare skin has him hissing, hips snapping up of their own accord. Geralt chokes on a breath before glaring at the very smug bard atop him. 

“Don’t-” Jaskier laughs, kissing him in apology and lifting himself up a bit. Geralt is both grateful and infuriated, hands clenching into fists. He’s definitely more affected than he thought. “What did you mean, agreed upon?”

Jaskier looks at him, humming softly and shifting to sit back on Geralt’s thighs. It sends a shimmer of pain through his knee, but the sensation grounds him further, and he sits up fully. “Geralt, if I can be frank-”

“When aren’t you?” the bard pins him with a look and Geralt raises his hands, gesturing for him to continue. 

“I find you in all your witchery, black eyed glory incredibly attractive. I’m surprised you haven’t smelled it on me by now.”

“I don’t like to pry.” He can’t help himself now though, leaning a bit closer and taking a deep breath. He smells sweat, the lavender oil Jaskier uses, and most powerful, the sickly sweet, almost spicy scent of Jaskier’s arousal. “Really?”

“Really.” Jaskier shifts off his lap now, padding over to their packs and digging out clothes for Geralt. “So, get dressed before I decide to ravage you fully.”

Geralt catches the clothes as they’re tossed at him, flexing his thighs and steadying his breathing to calm himself down. He dresses slowly, skin hypersensitive and every sense trained on where Jaskier tidies up across the room. Now that the other man isn’t kissing him senseless Geralt takes a moment to think, and to admire him in full color. Jaskier catches him looking, but merely smiles and nods toward the bed. Geralt crawls under the covers at the silent request, and lays back, watching as Jaskier strips down to his small clothes and blows out the candles, leaving just the hearth for faint light and warmth. He crawls into bed and into the waiting arms of his witcher, pressing their legs together and grinning when Geralt loops an arm over his hips.

“Have I told you why I hate fiends?” Jaskier shakes his head before tucking under Geralt’s chin, cheek pressed to Geralt’s collarbone to feel the vibrations.

“Does it have to do with caves?” Geralt grunts, squeezing a bit tighter and reveling in the pleasant squeeze Jaskier gives back.

“Yes.” 

[adxmparriish]

sirens in the beat of your heart - read on ao3

writer: lizziebxnnet / godgavemelou words: 3510 rating: explicit

As Jude’s hands grab Cardan’s face, cradling him between her palms, the pounding on the door rattles her nerves. She can hear them trying to pry it open. They only have a few moments.

“Everything is going to be fine,” Jude assures him. It feels ridiculous coming from her mouth, with the alarms blaring and the door on the brink of being busted down. She knows she’s right, though. She can feel it.

OR an AU where Jude and Cardan rob a bank.

I'm tagging a few blogs I tagged for Folktober! If you enjoy please reblog and share <3 @jurdanhell @jurdannet @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @clockworkgraystairs​ 

---

As the alarm rings loudly inside the Southern Standard Bank, Jude thinks to herself, We’ve really done it this time.

There is endless shouting and random popping coming from behind her as she sprints down the hall, her shoes pounding the marble floor. Her breath is ragged, her heart is racing, and she prays to a God she doesn’t believe in that she can get to the vault in time. The long red wig she’s wearing keeps getting in her eyes and her mouth, and she brushes it back again as she makes her way to where she needs to go. Another pop and a bullet wizzes past her shoulder. The cops are narrowing in on her.

She counts the doors as she runs. One, two, three, four, until she reaches the eighth, kicking it in and slamming it behind her when she’s safely inside. Someone’s desk sits abandoned, and quickly she realizes it’s owner is knocked out cold underneath it, his hands tied behind his back. Jude lets out a relieved breath. She quickly moves, throwing all her weight into moving the desk in front of the door. It won’t hold the police long, but hopefully long enough so she can get out of here.

Right as she’s positioning the desk, fists begin to pound the hard steel of the door. They’re all shouting, their words mixing together. She does her best to ignore them, moving away from the door and into the vault that’s standing wide-open, fluorescent lights bleeding into the room.

“We’ve got company!” Jude shouts into the vault before she enters.

“The bags are full, we just need to get to the underground.”

Jude sees Cardan kneeling on the floor, zipping up two duffel bags. He hasn’t packed up all the money, nowhere close, but it’s enough to keep them going for a long time, years probably, and that’s enough. Cardan’s blonde wig sticks to his forehead with sweat, his hands shaky as he finishes his work. After all their years of robbing, it’s never gotten easier on him. Sure, they mostly steal from smaller places, just enough to get by for a few weeks. Robbing a well-known bank… well, it’s certainly new for both of them.

Jude kneels beside him, grabbing a handle of her bag, before looking him in the eyes. He’s so nervous and scared, it bleeds into all his features. Jude is scared too, every inch of her lit up with nerves, but she keeps it together. For Cardan, she can do that. They need this.

“Give me the plan,” she demands, hoping it’ll calm him down to talk to her.

“There’s a door behind the vault that leads to an underground tunnel. We are going to take it all the way to the end, where the car is waiting. Then we ditch the disguises, and drive as far south as we can.” Cardan exhales shakily.

As Jude’s hands grab Cardan’s face, cradling him between her palms, the pounding on the door rattles her nerves. She can hear them trying to pry it open. They only have a few moments.

“Everything is going to be fine,” Jude assures him. It feels ridiculous coming from her mouth, with the alarms blaring and the door on the brink of being busted down. She knows she’s right, though. She can feel it.

Cardan’s inky eyes look misty, but he nods. His hands grab his own bag, shouldering it as they stand. Jude puts her own on as well, and quickly they move to the hidden door behind the massive vault. When they’re both inside the passageway, the door separating them from the police finally crashes open. Quickly, they slam the door, Cardan pulling out a chain from his own bag. 

He hands it to Jude and her hands fumble as she wraps it around the handles, finally snapping the heavy duty lock. The snap of it rattles them both, and at once they begin to run. Jude’s hand finds Cardan’s as they sprint through the tunnels, the low yellow of the emergency lights their only companion. 

Jude has studied the map of the tunnels Vivi stole for her a thousand times. She knows they don’t have long to go. The curves are winding and narrow, but only a mile or so away from the bank. It’s eerie as they run, the only sounds being their feet on the concrete and their ragged breathing. Cardan’s hand is sweaty, his fingers struggling to keep hold on hers as they grow tired. The bag of money on her shoulder slams against her thigh every time she takes a step.

Finally, when Jude is pretty sure she can’t run another minute, the dim light of the outside shines underneath another door at the end of the tunnel. They slow down when they reach it, Cardan putting his ear to the metal to listen. They’re quiet for a few moments before he smiles wide, the first bit of happiness Jude has seen on his face in days.

“No sirens, no nothing. I think we’re clear.”

They open the door and light blinds them, the afternoon sun blazing down brightly. Their car sits exactly where Vivi parked it, a beat up old Honda she bought with cash a few weeks ago. They move with haste, opening the trunk and finding their new clothes. They change behind the car, discarding their other clothes and their wigs. Jude wraps them in a trash bag before throwing them in the trunk and closing it. They’ll discard everything later - now, time is of the essence. Cardan climbs in the driver’s seat, Jude next to him, and they both take a deep breath.

“Remember Cardan, we want to go slow. We don’t want to look suspicious. They don’t know about this car, if we aren’t here when they get here, they won’t find us.”

“Got it,” he says, fingers shaking as he tries to start the ignition.

Jude grabs his hand, squeezing his fingers tightly. Her own hand threatens to tremble but she can’t let it take over. Not right now.

“Baby, we can do this. We are almost done, and then we don’t have to worry again. Not for a long time. Maybe not ever.”

Cardan’s eyes find her own and his breathing is shallow as he tries to stay calm.

“We can do this,” he repeats back to her. Jude grins. He doesn’t look completely sure, but regardless, his fingers finally turn the key and the car starts.

Slowly but surely, they pull out of the alley. They leave the radio off, listening closely as they edge on to the street, heading to the highway. Jude can hear sirens, but the sound is distant. They must still be back at the bank. They move at the speed limit, keeping their eyes peeled, but so far, they don’t see anything suspicious. They aren’t being followed.

The few minutes it takes to get the highway seem to drag on forever, Jude’s leg shaking as anxiety pricks at her. Cardan’s own hands tremble on the steering wheel. They don’t say a word to each other as they drive. Right before they need to turn on to the highway, they get stopped by a red light. Of course, Jude thinks.

The car is stifling, so Jude rolls her window down. Only a little longer before they truly get away. Only a couple miles of interstate before they can find some back roads and get lost, head south, completely start over. She has to fight a smile from breaking over her features. If only the damn red light could turn green.

Then, like a sledgehammer to the heart, she hears more sirens. They start to grow louder, and the light isn’t changing. They can’t run the red without looking suspicious, and Cardan looks over at her, his eyes wide and terrified. Her own breathing grows stuttered and she looks in her side mirror, trying to find the blue and red lights. How did they find them already? There weren’t any cars around them. 

“What do we do, Jude?” Cardan asks, his knuckles white as he grips the wheel.

“If they’ve found us, we have to go as fast as we can. Hit the gas and go. Don’t stop for anything.” Jude’s voice quivers, but she tries to hide it. They were so close, she really thought they were going to get away.

Like a gift from the Heavens, the light finally turns green but they can’t move, as the car in front of them hasn’t. Jude fights the urge to scream as they remain still, the sirens growing louder in her ears. They need to move, and quickly.

A few more seconds tick by and Cardan’s fist pounds on the dashboard, shaking the car. Jude jumps in her seat, her nerves shot.

“What the fuck is going on?”

Finally, at the same time, they see it. An ambulance flies through the intersection, the lights and siren blaring as they go. They watch it go by, mouths hanging open, not even noticing the car in front of them has finally gone on. Someone behind them honks their horn and finally, Cardan moves, taking their exit and merging onto the highway. 

When their tires hit the black of the asphalt, the long expanse of road that will take them south, Cardan’s lips break into a smile that overtakes his entire face. A laugh erupts from his chest, and Jude can’t help herself but to do the same, giggles overtaking her quickly as she finally realizes they made it. They fucking did it.

Tears leak from Jude’s eyes as she laughs, her cheeks beginning to hurt from it. One of Cardan’s hands finds her own, gripping it tight over the center console as they drive. 

“I can’t believe we mistook the sirens for cops and didn’t recognize them as an ambulance,” Jude says when her laughs finally calm down.

“I was a little busy shitting myself from robbing the biggest bank in the area, Jude. I had more important things on my mind than the sound of a siren.” His words hold no malice as he speaks, but Jude knows he’s telling the truth. He’s been worried for weeks about this going wrong.

“I told you we could do it,” she says. His reply is a smirk, and she takes it.

In about twenty miles, they pull off the highway, merging on to a smaller one. It’s quieter, less police presence, and it goes for hundreds of miles. They plan to take it as far as they can. Cardan finally gets the nerve to turn on the radio, and the only station he can find is playing old country music. He rolls his eyes but settles there, turning it up enough to drown out the noise of the car.

Jude’s hair whips in the wind coming from her lowered window, as does Cardan’s. When she looks at him, the afternoon glow of the sun lighting up his features, her heart aches. They’ve been through so much together. Living on the streets, stealing here and there to eat, to live. When they met in college, everything had seemed destined to be perfect. Years later, when student debt, no job offers, and no opportunity greeted them, they did what they could to survive. It hasn’t been easy, but they’ve made it and that’s what matters. She can’t imagine doing any of it without him.

Jude rotates in her seat, her head leaned against the headrest, so she can watch Cardan drive. This reminds her of their first date, both of them barely nineteen, driving to a local diner at golden hour. She smiles at the memory, at him, and he notices, glancing over at her with an eyebrow cocked.

“What’s going through that devious brain of yours?” he wonders.

“Nothing,” she replies. She glances at the clock on the dash, noticing it will be getting dark in a few hours.

“We should try to find somewhere to stay tonight. We can grab food, a room, and think about where we want to head.”

--

Stacks of twenty dollar bills and abandoned take-out boxes lay all across the floor of the motel room. Jude and Cardan sit with the stacks surrounding them, slowly counting everything they have. They move the money from one pile to another, Jude jotting down the numbers on the little notepad provided by the motel. When their last stack is accounted for, Jude does a tally and almost cries when she sees the final number.

“Well? How much is it?” Cardan asks, leaning over the look at the notepad.

Tears collect in Jude’s eyes, her voice cracking as she speaks.

“There’s almost 2 million here.”

Cardan snatches the paper, eyes grazing over the tally again, ensuring she’s correct. Jude’s heart hammers in her chest as she takes it all in. As Cardan double checks, his eyes grow wider.

Finally, Cardan glances up at her, a breathtaking smile causing her heart to skip a beat.

He laughs, wrapping his arms around her neck and they tumble to the floor, knocking over the pile of money, the stacks cascading all around them. His breath warms her neck as he laughs, and her hands find his hair, tears falling from her eyes as she does. 

“We fucking did it,” she murmurs. All of the struggles, the pain, the fights, the bad luck. It’s gone. They’ll never want for another thing again.

“We did,” Cardan replies.

He lifts his head from her neck and moves to kiss her, his lips sliding over her own. She deepens it immediately, clutching at his inky black hair and pulling it hard. He groans into her mouth as she does. Desire pools inside her, making her want more, more, more.

A stack digs into her back as they kiss and suddenly, an idea pops into her head. Reluctantly, she moves away from him. Cardan frowns.

Jude sits up, grabbing a few of the bundles and ripping off the paper strap holding them together. He watches as she scatters the money on their queen bed and suddenly his eyes light up, mischief dancing in the darkness of them.

“My sweet villain,” he says, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. Jude grins wickedly.

As the last bill floats to the sheets, she spins them and pushes Cardan down to the mattress. All around him is the money they stole, wrapping around him like a blanket and she smiles so wide, she’s afraid her face might crack.

“Haven’t you ever wanted to fuck on a pile of cash?” she asks, leaning down to remove Cardan’s t-shirt. The milky white of his skin taunts her and she runs her hands over his chest, nails making tiny red lines as she does.

“Of course,” he replies, doing his part to remove Jude’s own clothes. “Just never thought we’d have the chance.”

“We can do it every day for the rest of our lives,” she replies, her jeans finally coming off as she does. 

“As long as I’m with you, I’d be ready and willing.”

Jude captures Cardan’s lips, kissing him fiercely at his words. She finally gets his pants removed after a few minutes, their inability to stop kissing causing some slowness. Jude goes to move her hand between Cardan’s thighs but he beats her to it, his own hand sneaking it’s way into her underwear. She gasps as he finds the small bundle of nerves, his middle finger caressing it carefully.

Jude’s head falls to Cardan’s shoulder as he plays with her slowly, teasingly. Every once in a while he’ll dip a finger inside her, making her cry out, before withdrawing it again. A warmth builds in her belly and before she can ask him to, Cardan dips two fingers in, his thumb rubbing furiously at her clit. It’s like he can read her gasps, the way her breath hitches in her throat. He knows her like their favorite song.

Jude bites her lip and grips the sheets, bills collecting in her fist as she does. Cardan moves his head up, his other hand pushing aside her bra so she can capture her nipple in his mouth. Overstimulation lights a ravenous fire inside of her. It’s all Jude can do not to scream out as his teeth graze her nipple slightly, causing her to tip over the edge, an orgasm crashing over her.

She shivers and shakes as she comes down, Cardan’s hand moving slower as he helps her ride it out. Before she can protest, he flips her over so her back is on the mattress. His lips find her lips, her cheek, her earlobe, her neck, her chest, her stomach, and then finally, the one place she’s been waiting for.

Jude looks down just in time to meet his eyes before his tongue finds her folds, licking a hot, wet stripe. She’s still sensitive so she moans loudly, the sensation overwhelming. Cardan places her thighs on his shoulders, moving closer to her as he does.

“You deserve this,” he says, licking at her again, making her writhe in his grip. “Your plan got us here. Your determination, your brain.”

“I’d do anything for you, for us,” Jude pants. And it’s true. Her happiness with Cardan was more important than anything. It still is.

Cardan doesn’t respond with words, but in action. He doesn’t come up for air for minutes, feasting on her like he’s a starving man. Jude bucks against him at every turn and he welcomes it, pulling her closer and closer until she’s sure she’ll suffocate him. The fire burning inside her begins to build again. Her fingers find his hair, gripping and pulling hard as she rides his face. 

Her hips begin to buck against him as she threatens to spill over again, only this time Cardan removes himself before she can. Jude pounds a fist on the bed, and at that, Cardan smirks.

“Don’t worry my dear criminal,” he says, leaning over her to kiss her. “I’d just rather you come around my cock instead of my tongue.”

Jude gasps as he enters her slowly, taking all the time in the world. She can taste herself on his tongue as he kisses her. She has so many feelings trying to override another. Her hands scramble to find purchase before they finally settle on Cardan’s arms that are framing her face. He pulls away so he can look in her eyes as he bottoms out. Jude wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper.

Moonlight filters through the curtains of their room, threads of silver highlighting Cardan’s face. Jude reaches up, wrapping her arms around his neck to bring him closer. She loves him, with every piece of her soul. She loves him enough to fight tooth and nail, to steal, to lie, so they can live happily. She’d risk herself every day for him, for her Cardan.

Like he can read her mind, Cardan bends down, kissing her roughly.

“I love you,” he moans into her mouth. 

He begins to move faster, a hand snaking between her thighs so he can play with her clit. Jude bites her lip to fight the scream that threatens to rip from her throat. She loves him so much she can hardly breathe, or think, or feel anything else.

“More than all this money?” he asks, teasing. He pulls away and looks into her eyes. 

“More than anything.”

He grips her hair and yanks, exposing her neck to him. He mouths at her throat, sucking a bruise into the light mocha of her skin. Everything is too much. Jude feels like she’s burning from the inside out. Her arms around Cardan’s neck circle tighter and she lets herself be taken completely over. Everything fades away and it’s nothing but Cardan. The way he makes her feel, his eyes, his laugh, his voice, the pounding of his heart, his everything. 

Jude erupts for the second time, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave. Cardan follows soon after, a moan falling from his mouth and into the skin of her shoulder. When they’re both completely spent, he rolls off of her. He immediately pulls her into his chest, her forehead meeting his neck.

A twenty dollar bill sticks up from underneath Cardan’s arm and Jude laughs lightly, pulling it away from him and throwing it to the floor. It’s everywhere, sticking to their sweaty skin as they’ve moved across the bed.

“I meant what I said, Jude,” Cardan says, eyeing her carefully. “All this money… well, it wouldn’t mean a damn thing if I didn’t have you.”

Jude fights a lump in her throat at his words. She’s never been the type to say how she feels, it’s always been more of Cardan’s thing. She blinks away the mist in her eyes before grinning at him.

“I know what you mean.” Jude pauses. “I love you so much.”

Cardan leans in, kissing her forehead.

“Let’s start our new beginning.”