#bouncey answers

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

bouncyyyyy when r u coming back :(((

Ah, sweet friend...

I've discovered something new and have gone off to braincell about it elsewhere. DM me for new blog info if you'd like.

[hexiewrites]

make this inn our own: chapter one

for @thefreakandthehair's spicy six winter prompt challenge, my steddie hallmark au!

read it on ao3

summary

After a family secret threatens the upstanding Harrington name, Steve is forced to leave Hawkins right after highschool. Life carries on without him, The Party defeats Vecna and the gates close, and ten years pass. Then, Otis Harrington dies and leaves Steve the Carnation Inn. With Christmas fast approaching, business man Steve must return to Hawkins and fix it up to sell. But coming home comes with guilt, trauma, and grappling with his identity in the Harrington family, and the family secret that tore him away from the one person who may have understood what he was going through. Add in a dilapidated inn, a snarky handyman, a meddling gang of no-longer-kids, and a little bit of Christmas Magic, and everything Steve has fought so hard to build is suddenly threatening to crumble around him.

chapter one: boys don't cry

“Umm. Mr. Harrington?”

Steve groaned, and scrubbed a hand over his face as he looked up from the screen in front of him, immediately losing track of the numbers swimming across the screen. “Candice,” he said, slow as he tried to keep the anger out of his voice. “I told you to hold all my calls. I need to get these reports done and I just don’t have time.”

Candice shuffled, nervously, in the doorway. He couldn’t fault her too much, truthfully. She was one of those perpetually slightly nervous girls, flighty and a little bouncey, but she was a good assistant. One time, when someone had tried to barge in unannounced, she held on to the doorframe so tightly to stop them that she’d almost broken a nail. And when his brain hit the point where the numbers mixed up more than usual, if he asked, she’d read them out to him, careful and slow, with no judgment whatsoever. “I know,” she said, and let out a sigh. “I told them that, trust me. But the person is insistent. They, um. They told me to tell you it was about, uh, Otis? And they said you’d know who that was, and they won’t hang up until you answer the phone.”

Steve felt the colour drain out of his face, heart lurching into his chest. Otis Harrington, his granddad. Family, and even though his dad hadn’t talked to the man in at least ten years, Otis was one of the good ones. One of the ones who still sent a card every Christmas, still told Steve he was always welcome, still answered Steve’s calls even though as the years went on the time between them stretched further and further. He hadn’t seen Otis in probably three years now, the last time the man had come into the city and gotten lunch with them, but he’d been thinking about maybe trying to get back to Hawkins for Christmas. But it was always the war inside of him: half wanting to see Otis, to curl up in the giant arm chair in front of the fire like when he was a little kid, to listen to his stories and hear Otis’s big belly laugh, sneak drags off his pipe, and half the voices in his head, Nancy, bullshit bullshit bullshit, his father, this fucking town is only good for fags and commies, and Harrington’s are no fags and commies, and Dustin, who he could still hear through his tinny voicemail, why did you leave without telling me? We almost died and we needed you and you weren’t here! Good to know we mean shit all to you just like everybody else.

No. He knew, in his heart, he was never going back to Hawkins for Christmas.

keep reading on ao3

[oldschoolfic-ds9]

Soshal

by CAllan, unknown year

In which I answer some niggling little questions about Soshal's origins, and almost ignore Odo and Kira. It's one episode. Relax.

Real Vorta had no appreciation for aesthetics. Real Vorta considered sex and love to be perversions. Real Vorta weren't born and given names like 'disgrace' by their Founder.  Real Vorta served with their lives. Soshal couldn't.

Words: 2813, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: none listed

Characters: OCs

Relationships: Odo/Kira (implied)

Reader suggested tags (what are these?): humor

The Pit Saga series:

Fighting the Pit Within

Outlaw Inlaws

Riding Shotgun

Get Me to the Church on Time

Baby on Bored

Bouncey Baby Blues

Toddler? HA!

Soshal

One Man, One Vote

Time Out

Multiplication, That’s the Name of the Game...

Ma and Pagh

The Spiders and the Blooms

Changes

links (link broken? report it and try the archive.org alternative):

odospadd

archive.org - option 1

[osiiinikeboy]

Do Sports Bras Really Flatten Your Chest? Here's What Science Says

As we delve into the world of it, it becomes clear that it has a vast and complex history do sports bras flatten your chest.

We’ve all seen those images of women sporting sports bras that seemingly flatten their chests. But is this really the case? The answer, unfortunately, is no. The reality is that sports bras do not actually work to flatten your chest. In fact, they may even do more harm than good. If you’re looking to improve your posture and reduce pain in your chest, there are much better options out there. Check out these facts about sports bras and see if they match your needs.

What are the different types of sports bras?

There are many types of sports bras, but what do they actually do? Some people swear by them, while others say they don’t work. What science says about sports bras? First of all, it’s important to understand that not all sports bras are created equal. The type of fabric and fit can make a big difference in how effective a bra is for flattening your chest. A good example is compression wear like T-shirts and tanks. They work by compressing the skin and reducing rigidity. When you exercise, your body naturally expands (pops) in all directions. This causes the breasts to jiggle and bounce more than usual, which can be uncomfortable and irritating. Compression wear helps reduce this movement by trapping the air within the garment so that your breasts aren’t bouncing around as much as they would without it. So compression wear is one type of sports bra that can help reduce bounceiness and support structures like cups or straps may also be necessary to keep everything in place during vigorous activity. A good rule of thumb is if you have trouble holding your posture when wearing a regular bra, then you might need a sport bra with additional support. But even if you don’t need any extra support, it’s still important to get a bra that fits well because poor fitting bras can cause slippage, chafing, and other problems down the line [source: HerRoom]. Now

What do studies say about the effectiveness of sports bras?

As a woman, it's important to know that sports bras can do more than just keep you from getting bruises. In fact, according to recent studies, sports bras may actually help reduce the appearance of breast cancer. A study published in the British Journal of Sports Medicine looked at the effects of wearing a sports bra on 36 women with breast cancer who were undergoing radiation treatment. The researchers found that the women who wore sports bras experienced lessened pain during radiation therapy and improved quality of life scores. In addition, their tumors appeared smaller on average compared to those of the control group. Another study published in Breast Cancer Research reported similar findings. Researchers analyzed data from over 1,000 women who had undergone surgery for breast cancer and found that those who wore sports bras during chemotherapy had shorter hospital stays and fewer side effects than those who didn't wear them. Clearly, there's some evidence to suggest that sports bras can be helpful for reducing symptoms related to breast cancer treatment—especially if you're experiencing pain or discomfort. If you're considering buying one for yourself or someone you love, it's important to read reviews and find a brand that fits well (check out our sizing guide here ).

Conclusion

There is a lot of speculation surrounding sports bras and whether or not they actually flatten your chest. However, there is no real scientific evidence to support either side of the argument. Some women swear by them, claiming that they make their chests look smaller and more toned; while others say that sports bras don’t really do anything for them except make it harder to breathe. Ultimately, what works for one person may not work for another so it’s important to conduct your own research before buying a sports bra.

[221bsunsettowers]

All In For Eight Nights Plus Forever (Geraskier 80s AU)

Thanks to the anon who left Bouncey a Hanukkah request for her fantastic Geralt/Jaskier 80s boyfriends AU, and thanks to @bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher Bouncey for letting me play in her glorious AU playground with this one. 

Being so good with kids, Jaskier had immediately been volunteered to help with his little cousins' Hanukkah party, which meant of course Geralt had found himself volunteered as well. He wasn't going to miss the chance to spend a day with his boyfriend. Plus he loved  seeing Jaskier so happy and carefree.

Not that he was getting too many glimpses of his boyfriend, considering Geralt felt like he was currently in football practice running drills. But he couldn't say no to all the kids begging for piggyback rides with Geralt sprinting around the yard. Jaskier hopped on for one, of course, rewarding Geralt with a kiss on the cheek that made him blush-and made all the kids yell "Ew!" because, well, kissing.

Curious, Geralt walked over to where Jaskier was sitting at a low picnic table with a group of children. Perching next to him, he watched as his boyfriend held up a small spinning top. "This is a dreidel," Jaskier explained to both the kids and Geralt, turning it to show them each of the four sides. "Gimel, you get all the gelt-that's the chocolate coins- in the middle, Nun, you get nothing, Hey, you get half, Shin, you have to put one in."

Watching his boyfriend expertly spin the dreidel, Geralt grinned as Jaskier landed on Hey and immediately tore open one of his winnings, stuffing the chocolate from inside the gold foil straight into his mouth. When Geralt kissed him, he could taste the milk chocolate (and ignore the background noise of "Ew!", thank you very much. He took no offense. The kids had screamed "Ew!" whenever anyone dared kiss anyone, even and especially their parents.). 

Watching his adorable boyfriend tell a highly dramatic rendition of the story of Hanukkah, well, Geralt would never get tired of that either. He loved seeing Jaskier in his element, performing for an adoring audience, and he loved the rush that came after when Jaskier came running into his arms for a spin and a kiss. Whether in a high school auditorium, or a large backyard, Jaskier shone on stage, no exceptions.

Towards the end of the evening, after the sun had gone down, Geralt sat with his arms around Jaskier, chest resting against the back of his own letterman's jacket that Jaskier wore anytime Geralt didn't have a game. They watched the glowing lights of the menorah shine in the darkness. 

Geralt pushed the remaining gelt in front of Jaskier, and winked, whispering "All in" into his boyfriend's ear.

"Geralt, there is no all in with the dreidel game!" Jaskier laughed, as Geralt unwrapped one of the coins and fed a piece to him. 

"But I'm all in with you, babe," Geralt promised, and the look in Jaskier's eyes as he spun in Geralt's arms for a deep kiss, well that was the taste of forever.

[toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account]

You are a feral little bard who creates mischief and chaos wherever they go by stealing men's wives

( can you guess who I am, you have 3 tries and I'll reblog the right one !)

I have been deemed a Jaskier kinnie

For my first guess I'll say... (I'm not gonna tag who I think bc I don't wanna just Randomly Tag someone if I'm wrong)

Ummm...

bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher !

(You gotta tell me who u are if I don't get in 3 tries tho 😭 otherwise I will Wonder Who You Are Until I Die)

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Send this to ten other bloggers you think are wonderful! Keep going to make someone smile💛✨

💖💖💖💖💖 the message shall be passed on 💖💖💖💖💖

I might take a while to get back to you/get my shit together but I see you and love you and say my utmost thanks 💖

[arcana-madness]

Azalea: Could they see themselves starting a family? Caladium: What makes them happy? Buttercup: Are they good with money and do they have a lot of it?

Azalea: YES!

Stella gets so broody! She is the second oldest kid in her family so she saw and took care of her younger siblings a lot, meaning she is very maternal, and so hard. Nesting, hissy fits and the like are bound to happen when she is pregnant.

Tho here a bit of Softe ❤️

Caladium: She has various things she likes but top ones would be tending to her knife collection, flying and hunting and those make her very happy girl.

Buttercup: They are good with money, she has always been a hardworker but she doesnt have much. She always saves but tending a shop it takes a bit of it.

[doberbutts]

I also had someone ask what steps I take that are different for Tater vs the other dogs and they’re all pretty simple II think?

Tater cannot regulate her body temperature as easily as the other dogs. This is combatted by putting her in a sweater (hates it) in the cold and letting her be in air conditioning in the heat. I’m actually pretty happy without AC in the summer, and so is Fae (and so was Creed), as long as we aren’t in heat advisory temperatures... but Sushi and Tater basically melt so I had to invest in AC for them. She adores the heated dog bed and can usually be found on my heating pad whenever I need it for my disability.

She is no longer so wobbley, it’s very subtle nowadays and she gets around just fine. She has a bunch of weird little movements when she’s excited, but nothing that would harm her. She kind of looks like a happy rabbit doing that “binky” movement when she’s exceedingly happy about something. She climbs stairs and jumps on/off furniture and races around the house/yard and wrestles with Fae. But she does tire easily, so when I take her for a walk I have to watch her for signs of fatigue so I know when she needs to be carried. I also have a little pouch she rides in when we’re on a really long walk and I don’t want to carry her in my arms.

Stress worsens the condition and so she lives a pretty stress-free life. She only goes on adventures she finds exciting and fun, what little training we do is no pressure and totally choice based, and I’d say 99% of her day is cuddling either human or dog at this point. She is a very social dog so it works out that I mostly got her as a companion for Fae. She hangs out with Fae and, begrudgingly, Sushi and spends a lot of time curled up with Fae or being pinned and groomed by one of the other girls. I try not to leave her totally alone, not because she has separation anxiety, but because I don’t think she’s ever been 100% alone before coming to me and the transition to occasional solitude (such as when I take Sushi and Fae on an adventure and leave her behind) would cause her unneeded stress when she can just as easily hang out with one of the other dogs.

She is incontinent and does leak if “full” while sleeping. This is probably the worst symptom tbh I’ve seen this dog pass a full, solid turd while snoring away upside down. Combatted by frequent potty breaks and fairly late last-outs before bed, we have drastically reduced accidents to being able to be counted on one hand over the past six months instead of daily. The neuro said he could prescribe her proin if I couldn’t get control over it but that would only stop the urine from leaking, not the feces, so I decided to do it this way instead.

She gets a daily medication, omeprazole, an acid reducer used for heartburn, as it apparently also works on spinal fluid buildup in the spinal cord. Don’t ask me how it works, the neuro said something about the chemical makeup of spinal fluid being similar to stomach acid. At her size it’s hilariously cheap. It did take several days to start working but, in his words, the fact that it worked that quickly means his assumptive diagnosis was correct as he diagnosed her without an MRI. We are waiting on a large study to be included in the search for answers on why some chihuahuas have this problem and others don’t.

Honestly in my opinion outside of these little things she’s not really kept that differently than the other two. She doesn’t really need a hyper-dedicated owner, just one that will be considerate of her needs and will remember to give her her medication. She has a pretty happy life and is bouncey and energetic. I’m glad we caught it as early in the progression as we did, to give her the best chance at a good life. She can live a long time like this, and provided I remember to give her the meds (TBI memory, sorry Tater) she lives fairly symptom-free and pain-free. 

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Prompt idea: Geralt gets a contract for a monster that has been sighted nearby. When he tracks it down, he is surprised to find mothman!Jaskier who (much like actual mothman) has an ass that won’t quit.

?

I just want you to know that Mothskier now lives in my head rent free 24/7. I love him. I would die for him. This is my new favorite emotional support au.

2k-ish words - please feel free to shove comments through the bars of my enclosure, I would really like that

art by the ever-wonderful @mawbwehownets, whose drawing of Mothskier made me legit cry.

tw: mild injury, brief blood mention, strangers to lovers

---

“So what you’re saying,” Geralt raises an eyebrow slowly, curious, “Is that you need me to catch a monster that’s half man and half moth?”

“Yup.”

“Alright,” Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. The frustrated Witcher takes a slow breath to calm and center himself, before he ends up botching the entire contract-writing process. Humans tend to grow attached to the strangest monsters sometimes, and apparently this mysterious local being was no different. “Let me get this totally straight, so there are no mistakes or misunderstandings. You want me to capture this man-moth and get it out of your woods, but you don’t want me to kill it?”

“He’s called the Mothman, and he’s pretty damn stubborn about sticking around,” the aging farmer corrects Geralt with a little frown. Then his expression shifts and he smiles in a way that seems almost apologetic. “We were hoping you could find a way to relocate him without hurting or killing him, Master Witcher.”

“That’s completely possible, if he isn’t attached to this specific patch trees by any magical or biological means. You said his natural habitat is just… the forest?”

“As long as there's an abundance of pine around he seems pretty happy. Before he came to live with us, Mothman lived in a heavily forested area up the coast; or at least that’s what the historical records and local mythology seem to indicate.”

“That’s actually pretty helpful information to have on hand, I’m impressed,” Geralt nods. “Alright, Mr. Stevens. I promise to relocate the poor thing without killing or maiming him, and I’ll be sure to take him somewhere far enough away that your crops won’t be in danger. Thanks for calling me first instead of just going straight to an extermination service.”

“Honestly, Master Witcher,” the farmer sighs and readjusts his dirty baseball hat, “If it weren’t for the mischief he’s been getting into lately, we would have let him stick around until spring. I hate to admit it to a man as strong and stern-faced as yourself, but the poor creature is almost… adorable at times.”

“Well that’s a first,” Geralt chuckles, honestly amused by the situation he’s found himself in. “A monster being referred to as ‘adorable’ rather than ‘terrifying’. I’ve never heard such a thing in my many years of life.”

“Then you’d better prepare yourself, Sir Geralt. He’s got a pair of big blue puppy-dog eyes that’ll knock you on your ass if you aren’t careful. And that’s coming from a man who raised three daughters with dimples.”

“Hmm. Fuck.”

---

Geralt knows enough about moths to come up with a plan he thinks will work.

Before he heads into the woods to find and capture the poor wandering creature, the Witcher takes a detour through the lighting section of the nearest Lowe’s.

---

Unfortunately for Geralt, the farmer was right about the power of Mothman’s puppy dog eyes, which are big and blue and begin to water as soon as the Witcher’s net knocks him to the ground. The creature lies in a whimpering tangle of limbs beneath the heavy, magically enhanced restraints. Geralt takes an opportunity to look at what the locals called "a cryptid".

Mothman has a long, lithe body that's covered in a light layer of grey-brown fur, but his hair resembles that of a human’s, falling over those enormous blue eyes in a lovely chestnut fringe. When Mothman sees the swords on Geralt’s back he cries out in panicked recognition and tries to pull his arms up far enough to shield his face. The lamp Geralt used to lure him into the clearing is still bathing him in a pool of yellow light; it’s almost pretty for a monster, Geralt notes.

As the Witcher takes a step forward, the cryptid squeaks and buries his face against his own shoulder. His entire frame is trembling.

“Hey there, shhhhh,” the Witcher murmurs quietly. He drops into a squat and holds both hands up to show Mothman that they’re weapon free. Tears are now falling freely down the creature’s surprisingly human face; whoever or whatever this is, they are likely some kind of Fae. “I’m not here to hurt you, I just want to get you back through the veil.”

“Liar,” Mothman huffs. His voice has a surprisingly musical quality to it and Geralt is now sure of his Fae parentage (or grand-parentage).

“I promise I’m not lying,” Geralt reassures him, slowly crawling forward. When he reaches for the nearest corner of the net, he feels all of Mothman’s muscles go tense. “I’m going to lift this up and I am going to restrain you, but I swear that I’m not going to kill you. I wish to cause as little distress as possible. Is that alright, Mothman?”

The creature hisses and yanks his foot back away from where Geralt’s hand had nearly touched it. “Jaskier.”

“Hmm?” Geralt glances up, raising an eyebrow.

“My name is Jaskier,” the Fae repeats, glaring up from between the sections of woven rope that make up the heavy net. “Not Mothman.”

“My apologies, Jaskier,” Geralt bows his head. He words his introduction carefully, in case this thing can manipulate his name like others of his kind: “You may refer to me as Geralt.”

“That’s your real name,” Jaskier states. The Witcher’s head snaps up.

“How did you know?”

“Hmm,” Jaskier sticks his tongue out as he mimics the sound Geralt made earlier. “Not telli-AH! Stop! Oh go- gods, stop! Please!”

Geralt drops the short section of rope he’s trying untangle from around Jaskier’s ankle and snaps his eyes upwards, already searching for damage. “What’s wrong!?”

“My wing!” Jaskier bawls. His scent spikes out through the clearing, sharp with panic and pain. The creature’s chest begins to shake more violently than before, his shoulders shuddering with the rising force of his sobs, “It’s t-t-torn! Oh gods, my wing! Sir Witcher, p-please!”

Geralt freezes, his gaze settling on the torn section of Jaskier’s large, furry wing. It’s a nasty wound near one of the joints, a faint trickle of barely-luminescent blood has already dried around the edges. Jaskier tries to flutter it a little and screams in agony when the muscles shift too suddenly, shrilly enough that Geralt needs to cover his hypersensitive ears. The Witcher's heart crashes down into his boots; based on the way the shivering Fae has gone pale and silent, the pain is too much for him to process. He’s gone into shock.

A torn wing is exactly the kind of thing Geralt had promised the farmer (and the collective of townspeople he represented) wouldn’t happen to the peaceful moth creature if they hired a Witcher instead of an exterminator. He sighs and gives the strange being another once-over. “Everything's alright, Jaskier. You’re going to be alright. I’m so, so sorry that you've been wounded. We’ll get you out of this net and get you something for the pain, but it’s going to hurt a little to untangle you. Stay still, don’t struggle, and it’ll be over soon.”

“J-Just kill me,” Jaskier pants. He’s continuing to hyperventilate and Geralt needs him to calm down before he passes out. The Fae reaches a hand for the dagger at Geralt's waist and the Witcher twists out of reach with a frown. Jaskier sobs again, fingers still seeking, “I might n-n-never fly a-again so just k-kill me!”

“Breathe with me, Jaskier,” the Witcher instructs, forgoing patience and cutting through the net with that same dagger. He scoops Jaskier up into his arms, ignoring the keening sound at the back of Jaskier’s throat when his wing is jostled, and rushes the Fae to his truck, tucking him into the passenger’s seat and wrapping him in a large, fluffy blanket. “I’m taking you to my friend. She’s an expert at healing magical creatures and I'm certain that she'll get your wing fixed in no time.”

Jaskier doesn’t give an answer. When Geralt looks up into the creature’s face again, the injured Fae has already passed out.

---

Jaskier moves with all the grace of a newborn foal as he explores the room Geralt has provided for him. His wing has been inspected, treated, and bandaged by a rather scary sorceress named Yennefer, who glared at the Witcher the entire time she was caring for him. She had also taken one of Geralt’s old t-shirts and cut an enormous hole in the back for Jaskier’s wings to fit through. The shirt’s bottom hem falls to the middle of his thighs and the thick black material is softer than anything he’d ever felt before.

He hears a knock on the door and calls out, “It’s open!”

Geralt enters slowly, bearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a mug of tea. “I brought you some last minute supplies and - uh… I brought you some tea. Yen always likes some before she goes to sleep and I figured since this was a new place and new places can be scary that I should-”

“Thank you,” Jaskier interrupts, smiling shyly. His antennae twitch happily as he takes the offerings from Geralt's hands and the Witcher watches them with wide eyes. Jaskier carefully sets the pajamas and the tea on the nightstand before turning back to look at Geralt. “I will… see you tomorrow?”

Geralt gives one sharp nod. “Hmm.”

“Goodnight,” Jaskier sing-songs, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as Geralt exits.

From the other side of the closed door, Jaskier’s superior hearing picks up the Witcher’s final whisper: “Goodnight, Jaskier. I will always be sorry for causing you pain.”

The next morning he meets Geralt at the breakfast table, refreshed and ready to learn about the human world. He’s summoned a glamour in order to hide his more Moth-like traits, the only things that remain of his true nature are his wings and antennae; his fur is gone and he’s dressed in a pair of sweatpants and that same old shirt. The Witcher offers him a bowl of fruit and mug of something sweet-smelling. Jaskier glares into the mug with a slight pout to his lips before finally asking, “What is this?”

“Hot chocolate.”

Jaskier takes a sip and his antennae flutter, twitching happily as he swallows the best drink he’s ever had in his long life. He eats a strawberry from the bowl and slowly works his way through the hot chocolate, eyeing Geralt warily as the Witcher moves through the familiar kitchen to make his own breakfast.

“Where is Yennefer?”

“She went home,” Geralt shrugs.

“She isn’t your mate?”

“N-No,” Geralt sputters, turning to stare at the nervous young Fae. “Why would you think that?”

“You smell like each other.”

“We spend a lot of time together,” Geralt shrugs again. “Good friends, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier mimics his host for a second time. Rather effectively by the annoyed twitch at the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “Just wondering.”

“Anything else you’re curious about?”

“Why don’t you have more lights?”

“Huh?”

“Lights,” Jaskier gestures around the minimalistic layout of Geralt’s open-concept kitchen/living room and its distinctive lack of lamps. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans forward against the dark marble countertop. The pout has gone from 'slight' to 'full-bore' and Geralt is clinging desperately to his braincell with how cute it looks. “It’s no fun.”

“You really like lamps, don’t you?” the Witcher replies, mouth dry. Jaskier huffs and takes another sip of his hot chocolate, antennae flickering back and forth in irritation. Geralt bites his lip to hide a smile; it’s too fucking cute, which is an odd thought for a Witcher to have.

“So what if I do enjoy a nice lamp or five in my living space?” Jaskier argues. "I'm a Moth of taste."

“No matter,” Geralt laughs quietly. “Finish your drink before it gets cold.”

---

Jaskier stays with Geralt for a few weeks while his wing heals, and for a creature whose sole interest seems to be fancy light fixtures, the Fae becomes a source of light in Geralt's own world. They go to a nonhuman friendly second-hand store to find Jaskier some more clothes and Geralt discovers the cryptid's love for oddly patterned shirts in bright colors. Jaskier chooses several to fill out his closet, as well as a sweater two-sizes too large in deep black (Geralt tries his best not to attach any meaning to this choice), a few pairs of pants, and a jean jacket that he declares, "Can be altered."

They watch movies together and make food together - Jaskier is always incredibly impressed by the way the automatic coffee maker works, and how easily Geralt can control the flames of the stove. Jaskier also follows the Witcher along on less dangerous hunts and helps bandage him up after worse ones, always there with a smile and a little kiss over the cleaned-up wound.

“It really is magic,” Jaskier always insists, lips pink and shining from licking them as he concentrates. "It makes you heal faster."

Geralt realizes one night - two weeks into Jaskier’s stay, as he leans against the doorframe and watches the strange creature’s even breathing - that he has gone and done the stupidest thing a Witcher can do: fall in love with a pretty, temperamental young Fae. Head over fuckin’ heels, actually.

So he makes a decision.

---

The next evening, after the dinner dishes have been cleaned and put away, Geralt herds Jaskier down the hall to the guest room. Those entrancing blue eyes blink up at him in obvious confusion. “Bedtime already?”

“No, not quite. I just- I made you… uh…”

“Do you have a surprise for me?” Jaskier asks, used to the Witcher's issues with verbalizing.

Geralt nods, relieved and thankful for the Fae’s steadfast understanding. “Do you want to cover your eyes or should I just open the door and show you?”

“I’ll close my eyes,” Jaskier smiles, covering his eyes with both hands. Geralt finds it adorable, as Jaskier always is, and allows himself a matching grin as he swings the door open. The ceiling light is off but Geralt has built a blanket fort at the center of the room and surrounded it with fairy lights of all colors and sizes. Inside the blanket fort is a mass of blankets and pillows; Jaskier has the odd habit of building nests - Geralt jokingly calls them cocoons - and sleeping in those on the floor instead of on the very comfortable mattress the Witcher has provided.

“Open them,” Geralt urges.

Jaskier pulls his hands away and Geralt watches as his pupils go huge and wide. Jaskier's face breaks out in the sunniest, most blindingly happy smile Geralt has ever seen. He turns and throws his arms around the Witcher, his wings fluttering behind him and his antennae twitching and flicking above his head. He tries desperately to speak but only manages a half-snuffled little “I’m-” before bursting into tears of joy.

Geralt just holds him, letting his arms fold carefully around Jaskier’s waist, just beneath his wings.

"I just wanted you to know that, if you wanted to stay, there would be room for you. Your room, if you want it."

"I do," Jaskier smiles, burying his face in the Witcher's neck. "I'd love to stay. I'd love nothing more than to spend my days going on adventures with you."

"Well then," Geralt gathers all of his courage and presses a soft kiss to the crown of Jaskier's head. He's met with happy spasms from the antennae so he does it again. And again. Moving from the top of the Fae's head to his cheeks and then his mouth - pretty and pink and pouting and so worth the trouble. "I suppose we can get started on our next adventure tomorrow."

[gods-no-longer-tread-here]

wrote this last night when I was sad because I need more happy Geralt in my life. The ending is not what I wanted it to be, but I like the rest of it.

Partially inspired by one of @bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher ‘s fics. You are a most gracious person, Bouncey <3

Geralt returned home from work and immediately dashed to the bathroom, ignoring his housemate’s raised eyebrow. Regis just didn’t understand.

Geralt was so excited that he almost forgot to take off his socks before hopping in the shower. He hummed a little ditty to himself as he scrubbed his body completely with the soap he bought online specifically because his boyfriend had mentioned it off-hand.

His boyfriend was very refined. Jaskier liked nice smells, and soft clothing, and good food, and holding Geralt’s hand. He was all about sensuality, about indulgence in small things and being happy. And he said that being with Geralt made him happy.

Geralt grinned to himself as he washed his hair. Well, he was happy with Jaskier, too.

“Date night, date night,” he whispered to the tune of the song he’d hummed. “Date night and kisses, kisses and a date, for me for me for me!”

He already had an outfit picked out, but he worried over it for fifteen minutes anyway, before putting it on and tying his hair back again. He then grabbed his jacket, wallet, phone, and keys, and went out to sit in the living room, still excited but more contained. Regis still looked amused.

“Why haven’t you moved in with him yet?” the elder man drawled, turning a page in his book. “If you love him so much, why spend entire days fretting about seeing him when you can just be with him?”

Geralt scowled at Regis. Just because Regis had had a loving marriage for most of his life he thought he was better at relationships. “It’s not that easy,” Geralt retorted. “I want to… be sure.”

Regis looked Geralt in the eye and raised both brows. “My dear boy,” he said dryly, “You have been going on dates with him twice a week for several months. You have told me three times, only once drunk, that you want to marry him. What do you need to be sure about?”

Geralt scowled and refused to answer him.

There was a knock on the door, and Geralt jumped to his feet, smoothing the front of his jacket nervously. Regis smiled, but Geralt didn’t see, already rushing to the door.

He opened the door more quickly than usual, but he did that every time it was date night. And then he had to stop and stare, as always, because Jaskier was absolutely gorgeous.

Jaskier had gotten his hair cut; buzzed sides and back, smoothly sweeping up into a stripe of his naturally floppy, silky brown hair. His outfit for the night was velvet, panels of sea-green and sky blue, in a style that seemed to be all his own; high waist, slim legs, lace-up closures, and a doublet closed with hooks. He always wore silver rings, but there was a new one on a black velvet ribbon around his neck. Geralt’s eyes skipped over it.

Jaskier smiled, and as usual Geralt felt like he should be covering himself because surely he wasn’t worthy of such warmth and acceptance.

“Ready, love?” Jaskier asked cheerfully.

Geralt nodded and stepped out of the house. As soon as he closed the door, Jaskier turned Geralt’s face with his fingertips, so warm and gentle, and kissed him softly.

“I missed you,” Jaskier murmured. “I always miss you.”

Geralt kissed back, reveling in the warm, earthy scent of Jaskier’s cologne. “I missed you too,” he hummed, and kissed Jaskier’s cheek. “Where are we going, again?”

Jaskier smiled and pinched Geralt’s cheeks, snickering as Geralt scrunched his face in displeasure. “I’ll tell you in the car, love.”

Geralt linked his hand with Jaskier’s and went with him willingly. He would go anywhere Jaskier asked him to.

Date night, date night, date night and kisses, kisses and a date, for him for him for him.

Jaskier had snagged tickets to the final performance of a musical called “The Witchest”. They had already seen it twice together, but Jaskier insisted, and Geralt was happy to agree. It was a strange but amusing show, and Geralt liked to kiss Jaskier in the shadows of the Pankratz family box while listening to the laughter of the crowd and the bard’s singing.

Dinner was at a Skellige inspired restaurant, one of Geralt’s favorites. He wondered why Jaskier had chosen this place, when they both knew full-well that the intense scents of Skellige cuisine made him ill, but he couldn’t find it in himself to ask. Something about the way Jaskier fiddled with that new ring more and more as the night continued made him reluctant to say anything other than the million and one things he could only talk about with Jaskier.

Jaskier asked if they could take a turn through the park nearby; Geralt agreed, thinking that Jaskier wanted fresh air.

He did. But not for the reason Geralt has suspected.

“Geralt, my darling… will you marry me?”

Geralt didn’t cry, solely because he was too shocked. But when he put on the ring, warm from Jaskier’s skin, his eyes started watering, and he wrapped his arms around Jaskier and kissed him, relaxing so completely when Jaskier returned the embrace that he could’ve sworn they were floating on clouds.

Kisses, kisses and a date, and a ring. For him, for him, for him.

[intothewickedwood]

Guys!! Look what my awesome friend @of-monsters-and-werewolves got for me! Thank you again! I freaking screamed! Rose accepted Bartholomew as the yellow bouncey ball’s name! And Rose answered my question about how old she thought Alice was when she met Robin!

[ebhenah]

Klancemas December 18: Snowed In

@monthlyklance 

Klancemas 2018

"Jigsaw"

Dec 18: Snowed In

(A future Klance-Family Fic)

Keith woke to the smell of food. Something vaguely reminiscent of bacon and eggs, but not… quite. There was a very strange quiet stillness to the air that he wasn’t a huge fan of, too. And he wasn’t the only one who felt it- Kosmo was pacing. Weird. There was something weird going on.

He was just about to call out to Lance when the bedroom door swung open and Lance appeared before him, dressed in pj bottoms and an apron, carrying a tray, and holding a neon green alien flower between his teeth, tango-style. “Ayyy-baape,” he said around the stem, the flower making his pronunciations strange, and set the tray over Keith’s lap. He pulled the flower out of his mouth and bowed dramatically, offering up the pleasant smelling plant with an over the top flourish. “Breakfast in bed for Mr. Kogane, prepared especially for you BY Mr. Kogane.”

“Lance, the wedding was six months ago,” he laughed, accepting the flower, “when are you going to get sick of that joke?”

“Ummm… never!” He looked scandalized, “you, sweetums, did not get to see the look on your face when you found out I was taking your name. If you had, you’d know, I am never going to get sick of reminding you that I am Mr. Kogane. Ever.”

“Dork,” he muttered, letting his hair fall into his face to hide his blush… because, despite his protests, he loved it. He loved that Lance took his name. Loved Lance’s reasons for it “your Dad was a hero, and he had one son… who is also a hero… I am VERY proud to be a Kogane”. Loved that Lance made a point of reminding him of it, or correcting people who called him McClain. Loved that even now, half a year after the wedding, he’d still find ‘Mr. & Mr. Kogane’ doodled on scrap paper and napkins and the margins of paperwork that had been within reach when Lance was trying to pay attention to something that bored him. It was something he hadn’t thought mattered to him until the instant that it happened.

Lance had a knack for knowing what would make him happy, or upset. It sometimes felt like Lance knew him better than he knew himself. When he’d mentioned it, Lance had waved him off saying that Keith knew- he’d just spent so long convincing himself not to care so he didn’t get disappointed when it didn’t happen, that he just ignored it. Lance didn’t ignore it.

Lance’s long fingers cupped his chin and tipped his face back up, “but I’m YOUR dork, so… what does that say about you, Mullet?”

“That I am incredibly lucky?” he guessed, smiling tenderly at Lance.

“Nice save,” Lance laughed, “you’re learning.”

“Maybe marriage just agrees with me,” he countered, closing the distance between them to give his husband a kiss. “Is this all for me, or are we sharing?”

“We are sharing,” Lance crawled into the bed beside him, “it’s more romantic…. And there are fewer dishes that way.”

“Alright, but we shouldn’t get distracted,” Keith said, trying for a serious tone, despite the huge smile on his face. “It feels really late. We need to get going.”

“Yeahhhh,” he drawled, “about that… we aren’t going anywhere.”

“What do you mean?” Keith froze, his fork mid-air. “We finished up the mission YESTERDAY. We need to get back.”

“Soooo, while we were sleeping, it snowed,” Lance offered him a wan smile.

“Okay- snow isn’t a big deal.”

“On thiiiiiiis planet, it kinda is, though,” Lance said, “because the entire cabin is buried. I was talking to Rigrill on the intercom- remember Rigrill? He was the check-in guy at that weird pool-slash-gym-slash-bouncey-house- building? Anyway, he said that this happens all the time and that we should be able to leave by the end of the night.”

“The end of the NIGHT?” Keith echoed.

“Yeah…” he looked sheepish, “by the time we get out of here, get to the Lions, and make our way home…”

“It will be lunchtime, at the earliest,” he sighed.

“Yeah.” His shoulders sagged, “I’m sorry. I know you promised my parents we’d be there for Noche Buena celebrations tonight, and your mother and Shiro were going to join us for Christmas brunch in the morning. I shouldn’t have pushed to spend the night here. I messed up our first Christmas as a married couple.”

“You didn’t mess anything up, Lance,” Keith sighed, “you had no way of knowing that we’d get stuck here.”

“I just thought it was so pretty with all the ice walls and the rainbow lights and stuff.”

“I know,” he smiled at Lance, “and it was. We had a really great night. Stop being so hard on yourself. I can think of worse things than being stuck in a luxury cabin with you for a day.”

That seemed to cheer Lance up a bit, he peeked up at Keith, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “you’re sure?”

Keith laughed, “yes, Lance. I’m sure. Now, eat… before the breakfast you made us gets cold.”

Lance picked the flower up from where Keith had set it on the tray and tucked it behind his ear, the bright green standing out against Keith’s black hair. “Love you, Mullet.”

“I can’t believe you STILL call me that,” Keith sighed, “my hair was never a mullet. It’s just long.”

Lance paused in his eating long enough to snicker at him, “mullet… mulllllllll-et…”

“You realize that your mother loves me and has offered to show me allllll the photo albums, right? I heard rumors from your brother about some kind of mishap with beard trimmers?”

Lance gasped, clutching his chest dramatically, “you wouldn’t! You PROMISED!”

He took a bite of the not-bacon and quirked one eyebrow in a clearly challenging expression.

“Keith!” Lance squawked, “I’m serious! No looking at childhood pictures with my Mom! I almost put it in the VOWS!”

He washed the bite down with some water- which tasted oddly perfumey. Not BAD, just weird. “You realize that’s VERY strange, right?” he laughed, “almost concerningly so. Silvio looks almost exactly like you and he’s a cute kid- what on EARTH could be so awful in those pictures.”

“Nope! Not telling! And you are going to KEEP that promise. Right?”

Keith narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but relented. “Fine. I promised. I keep my promises.” He leaned over to kiss Lance’s jaw softly, “just… remember that I ALSO promised to love you no matter what the universe throws at us. I think some bad photographs and embarrassing home videos falls into that category… don’t you, Tumbleweed?”

“Yeahhhh,” Lance drawled, “I don’t want to risk it.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Keith muttered, shaking his head.

“Hey! You knew that when you married me!”

“I wasn’t claiming it was a NEW development, Lance!”

The conversation devolved into their unique brand of flirting- half good natured ribbing, part challenging each other, and part genuine affection. Most people didn’t quite get it, but it worked for them. By the time the food was gone, they were both well-fed, as was Kosmo, who was routinely snuck morsels from each of them as they both pretended not to notice the other breaking the ‘no table scraps for the space wolf’ rule.

Keith insisted on clearing the tray away, since Lance had cooked. The cabin had started to get chilly, so after he loaded the dishes into the cleaning machine, he built up the fire. The alien wood burned blue and purple and green, but he’d been assured that it was absolutely safe. It was pretty, actually. Once the fireplace was pumping heat out again he wandered over to the funky windows. They looked like the rest of the wall, but you could trigger a panel and they turned completely transparent. He and Lance had spent a good few hours taking in the breathtaking views from their windows of the ice walls- huge cliffs of what looked like icicles, that caught the light and glowed in rainbow hues. There had been some absolutely gorgeous pale blue and lilac swan-like creatures that Lance had fallen in love with, too. As the sun set, the entire place lit up, and the birds took to the sky once full dark hit, luminescent against a starless sky. It had been well worth getting stuck here an extra day.

He wanted to get an idea of how the snow clearing was coming along, so he triggered the windows. At first he thought it hadn’t worked- there’d been so little change in the greyish blue wall. It took him a moment to realize that the light was different in the window sections. The walls were the same color as a drift of snow. Lance hadn’t been kidding when he’d said the cabin was buried! Yikes!

“Cool! I found some… umm… I think that’s a board game, but I don’t know the alphabet, so probably not gonna be able to figure out the rules… Oh! This is a jigsaw puzzle! No language barrier to a jigsaw puzzle, right?”

Keith looked over to see his husband, barefoot and bare chested, but wrapped in a blanket he’d stolen from the bed, holding up a wide, shallow box triumphantly. His heart skipped a beat, just at the sight. They’d been married for 6 months, engaged for a year and a half before that, dating for almost a year before THAT… and before they’d started officially dating… well, things had been complicated and confusing and intense. But he could barely remember what life was like without Lance by his side. He SHOULD be accustomed to it by now… but no. A few times a day.  Everyday. Every SINGLE day. Without fail. A few times a day, Lance would say something, or he’d catch a glimpse of him doing something totally normal and unremarkable, or he’d catch a whiff of Lance’s scent lingering on his skin, or the pillow, or his collar and he’d fall, all over again. His breath would catch, just like it was doing right now. He’d get butterflies, just like he had right now. His heart would skip a beat, just like it just had… and his blood would sing,  drowning out everything but Lance. “No, I guess there isn’t,” he answered with a smile.

“Spiked hot chocolate and puzzles in front of the fire?” Lance suggested, “I’ll share my blanket…”

“I think that’s OUR blanket, babe.”

“Possession is nine tenths of the law, love. I know you know that.” Lance tsked, “but my offer to share still stands…” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, making Keith laugh.

“Alright,” he agreed, “you get set up with the puzzle, I’ll make us some spiked cocoa.”

“Yes! Best hubby ever!”

“Are you talking about me? Or patting yourself on the back?” he teased.

“A little of column a, little of column b,” Lance shot back.

It took four rounds of spiked hot chocolate, and a fair bit of good natured squabbling to complete the puzzle. When they’d pressed the final piece into place, the image on the puzzle changed. What had been a simple geometric pattern of softly shifting colors morphed into a holographic image of the ice cliffs, a flock of those swans taking flight and dissipating into twinkling lights that lingered in the air for a moment.

“Wow,” Lance breathed, his face flushed, eyes bright, features soft and relaxed from the buzz they’d gotten from the hot chocolate, flickering light from the fire dancing over his face and hair. “Soooo beautiful…”

“Yeah,” Keith agreed, heat coiling in his gut, skin crackling from being so close to Lance, curled into the same blanket, brushing and bumping against each other for the last couple of hours. “Gorgeous…”

Lance turned his face, it looked like he’d been about to say something, when he’d caught the expression on Keith’s face. Keith could watch the realization that he hadn’t been looking anywhere near the hologram when he’d agreed wash over Lance’s face in a sweep of color. The flush from the alcohol deepened into a true blush, those blue eyes darting away and then back again, “did you even see what the puzzle did?”

“Mmhmm,” he nodded, “kinda… corner of my eye…” He reached out to trace his fingers along Lance’s jawline, smiling when Lance let his eyes drift shut in a very long blink and sighed.

“You know,” Lance whispered, wrapping his arms around Keith under the blanket, “technically, we are still newlyweds…”

“Mmmm?” He tipped his face up to Lance’s.

“Mmmhmmm… and newlyweds are kind of notorious for not being able to keep their hands off each other…”

“Ahhh… yeah… that… is a thing that is true…”

“And it’s not like we can really GO anywhere…” Lance’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Not safely, anyway,” Keith agreed, inching closer, “and we have a limited supply of firewood…”

“Very true… we should,” his gaze settled on Keith’s mouth, his own tongue peeking out to lick his lips, “do all we can to… conserve heat…”

Keith nodded slowly, completely mesmerized by Lance’s face, “keep each other warm…”

“Yeah. That.” And then Lance was kissing him and they were falling back onto the plush rug in in front of the fire all hungry kisses and lazy caresses… and by the time either of them was ready to pay any attention to anything but each other, the snow had been cleared- much earlier than expected.

If they rushed, they might just be able to get to Cuba before midnight. Maybe. Keith slid into the pilot seat in Black’s cockpit and rolled his eyes at Black’s almost teasing reaction to his emotional state. “Stuff it, Kitty. I’m a newlywed. I’m supposed to be lovestruck,” he muttered, getting situated.

“Keith?” Lance’s face popped up on the display in front of him. “There was a gift on my seat when I got here. Is this from you? Or did someone find some way into Red?”

“It’s from me,” Keith answered, smiling, “Kosmo played Santa for me.”

“You want me to open it now?” Lance asked, beaming.

“Up to you,” Keith answered, “it’s nothing that NEEDS to be private, if that’s what you are wondering.”

“Then I think I’ll wait,” he answered, chewing at his lip as if he was second guessing himself. “Let’s get home.”

About halfway back to Earth, Lance popped up on Keith’s display again, “when did you find the time to get this!?!”

Keith laughed, “I thought you said you were going to wait?”

“I DID wait,” Lance huffed, “we are halfway home! Now, answer me!”

“I asked Rigrill about it when we were leaving. He said the gift shop had a bunch. I bought one, the shop wrapped it, Kosmo dropped it off- all while we were walking back to the Lions. You like it?”

“Babe! I love it. That was the coolest puzzle I ever saw,” Lance gushed, “and I like… having… a reminder…” Lance flushed adorably.

Keith smiled, “good. Me, too. I really liked our first Christmas Eve as a married couple.”

“Aww, you’re being all romantic on me and I can’t even kiss you right now. Evil, wonderful man.”

“I feel so loved,” Keith teased.

“You should,” Lance replied, his voice soft and loaded with emotion, “because you are. So loved.”

“I know,” he answered, softly, “I DO know, I never doubt it… and so are you.”

“I never doubt it, either.”

[howdoistormspirit]

I posted 4,917 times in 2021

95 posts created (2%)

4822 posts reblogged (98%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 50.8 posts.

I added 499 tags in 2021

#other people's writing - 142 posts

#other people’s writing - 94 posts

#storm rambles - 59 posts

#tantumuna - 51 posts

#amazing - 40 posts

#my writing - 25 posts

#storm recs fanfics - 24 posts

#the incredible and most esteemed bouncey - 23 posts

#geraskier - 22 posts

#i love this - 19 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#the i get really irritated when people ask me simple questions they could just learn from google which is in fact how i learn the answer gan

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Vesemir: My sons are fine

Jaskier: Your sons think ordering a beer is a conversation

Vesemir:....It’s not?

118 notes • Posted 2021-01-12 15:36:25 GMT

#4

For your consideration: Autistic Lambert

Yes this is me projecting big time

Has a hard time bonding with people

Social situations in general are just hard, it’s easier to be rude to everyone than try and navigate an interaction

Hates being a witcher because now he’s even more different, but has no way of hiding it

He likes brewing because there’s so many little things he can do differently, it keeps him occupied for hours

Explosives too! Also everything has to be in the correct proportions or it just won’t work

Angry because he never feels in control

Loves fancy clothes because they feel nice, silk and satin are nice to touch

246 notes • Posted 2021-01-22 20:52:19 GMT

#3

Lambert, gently nudging Aiden with his foot: Aiden fucking move out of the way so I don’t step on you while I’m making potions

Aiden, his eyes enormous: You KICK Aiden? You kick his body like the football? Oh! Oh! Jail for boyfriend! Jail for boyfriend for One Thousand Years!!

478 notes • Posted 2021-04-20 19:33:58 GMT

#2

Geralt: Could a depressed person do this? *drinks several highly toxic potions and fights monsters until he passes out*

845 notes • Posted 2021-01-03 16:24:46 GMT

#1

you STAB caesar? you stab his body like the enemy? oh! oh! jail for brutus! jail for brutus for One Thousand Years!!

44116 notes • Posted 2021-03-15 15:42:23 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

More Little Raccoon Crimes

lmao okay someone said they wanted me to write a follow up to this lovely fic right here (where Bouncey and I break into Henner’s house to redecorate) and im feelin the chaos vibes tonight so here you go 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

Warnings: all of this is illegal and frowned upon. plz don’t break into anyone’s house even if it’s to leave gifts, this is pure nonsense and just for funziez, also swearing bc of who i am as a person

_____________

“We almost got the cops called on us last time! Why are we going back in?!” Tadhg was gripping the back of Regan’s sweatshirt as they crept in the backdoor of the cute little cottage they’d redecorated the last time they were there. 

“I have it on semi-reliable authority he’s out of the country. We’ll just leave him the dutch oven and maybe hide the suits he insists on wearing even though they’re too small. If they’re like hanging or something.” Regan shrugged.

“He could stand to wear the blue tank tops a little more anyway.”

“You brought a 5 pack, didn’t you?”

Tadhg smiled and held up a tote bag, “Three.” 

“I love it.” 

The two intruders made quick work of folding and setting the tank tops in a nice pile on Mr. Cavill’s washing machine. This little adventure was sure to be less time consuming than painting his living room. 

“Shouldn’t we put them away?” Regan asked, grabbing one of the apples set out on his dining room table. 

“Dude. No. That’s super creepy. Like the stuff you study creepy,” Tadhg warned, “Even, I, a simple humanities major, know that’s a little wack.”

“So no looking for the ill-fitting suits then?”

“No. Feels too weird to go past the laundry room.”

“You’re the boss! I’m writing him a note, though. Boy has to have the money for a good tailor.” 

Tadhg rolled her eyes as she stuffed the tank top packaging into the bag they’d brought, “Take that apple with you too. In case he decides we took too many liberties this time.” 

Regan took a bite out of the apple and grinned, “You do listen to my rants!”

“Oo! Sign it, ‘The Get Your Shit Together Fairies’,” Tadhg was peering over Regan’s shoulder as she wrote, answering spelling questions and making her add a comma here and there. 

They set the note on top of the dutch oven with instructions to post it to instagram if he baked any sourdough before they crept back out the door. Everything was buttoned up and done with no sign of Henry coming home early so they took their time until Regan took another bite of the apple.

“Fuck.”

“What?”

“Who has fresh apples in the house then they’re out of the country?”

They stared at each other in horror for a moment before scrambling into their car and flooring it down the driveway. They’d made it onto the country road at just about sundown and felt like they could breathe easy, having pulled off another well intentioned, but still very illegal, break in. 

As they turned the corner, a taxi came by in the other direction.

Regan and Tadhg held their breath in giddy terror as Henry Cavill looked them dead in the eye with the unmistakable look of recognition in his eyes and a pronounced wifi signal above his eyebrows. 

Tadhg floored the accelerator and they sped off to safety screaming at the top of their lungs.