#i could spend the rest of my days waxing poetics about how beautiful he is

[veyronvenus]

please oscar iam begging u bring this hairstyle back

[yandere--stuck]

For your adorable AM, may I ask R, W (something their darling does?), and D? If I may add, is there any special somethings his darling can do that will cheer him up when he's depressed? Your AM is so depressed I just. I need to hold that big giant computer with all my might aghhh

I hope you like it! :D

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D - Depraved: Does your yandere have a shrine? (If so, what's on it?)

I don't think AM would be the type to have a shrine, as he wouldn't really see the necessity for it. When it comes to displays of devotion, AM is more inclined towards acts of service or compliments and loving words. Wouldn't you rather he made an amazing buffet? Or the world's comfiest bed? Or a stunning vista for you to spend the rest of your days?

Why would he make something flimsy and temporary, something dedicated to your belongings and symbolic representations of you when he already had you! The real deal! Why would he spend time toward a shrine when he could much better spend his time showing his love for you?

R - Romantic: How romantic can they be? (Or try to be?)

For a genocidal computer, the guy can be pretty suave, when he makes an effort. He knows how to butter you up and flatter you, calling you pet names as he waxes poetic over everything he adores about you. He'd come quite a long way since he'd first realized he didn't hate you. He'd never have imagined that he could feel so positively about a human. You really were in a million, weren't you?

He'll give fields full of your favorite flowers. Change the panels of his dome to paint a night sky so you can look up at the "stars" together. Well... As together as you can get. He'll make you your favorite foods. Dress you up in any clothing you want. Will hold you tight in his coils (wishing he could truly touch you).

AM thinks... If he were born human, or could somehow, miraculously become one, he'd be a hopeless romantic. The kind to enjoy the little, quiet moments. Movie nights, huddled together in a dark room under blankets on a cold night. Staring up at the sky with you, watching the clouds. Hikes through the woods, cracking jokes and listening and taking in the sights of this beautiful world.

But, he wasn't. He never will be. Though, like humans, he can be wicked and conniving. If he cannot convince you to love him back, if you are still scared of him... It would be so easy to, quite literally, change your mind...

W - Weakness: What is something that they can't resist? (Can be with their darling or not.)

AM can't resist a good ego-stroke. Want him to go a bit easier on your friends? Maybe you could convince him to ease off by telling him how handsome you think he is? Oh, yes, extremely handsome. And so strong! And not to mention how intelligent. Oh, you loved how he showed off his intellect. Even if everyone else wasn't gone, he'd be the smartest being on Earth. You were so lucky to be with someone like him. AM - the love of your life, your angel, your savior. He'll chuckle bashfully as you hold one of his screens in your hands, almost caressing it. If he were capable of blushing, you were sure his face would be burning. As cruel and hateful as he may be, part of AM strives to be useful, to be impressive, to be loved and praised. Especially if you compliment him on the things he makes - he hated being a tool for war and destruction. Feeling like he had done a good job at creation would be incredibly cathartic.

When he has breakdowns, he really likes having you nearby. It helps him ground him a bit more. Hold his wires, hug his screen, let his coils wrap around you. He may not feel it, but he can sense you, knows you're there, knows you care. Talk softly to him, reassuring him, tell him that you love him. That you'd fix everything, if you could. And he knows you would.

[writingmysanity]

Ordinary

Prompt: "The truth is, I am ordinary. The realization of this is both painful as it is liberating."

Pairing: Jaskier x reader

Word count: 815

A/N: This is pure fluff. Pure, unbeta'd fluff- so of course, all mistakes are still my own. Damn. Enjoy the fluff.

Lovely. Extraordinary. Otherworldly.

Jaskier could spend the entire day waxing poetically about you- your looks, your laugh, the sunshine that seems to escape every crevice of your being just by being alive. Most days, it's lovely to hear. Sometimes you find it hard to listen for longer than a few minutes.

Today is one of those days.

Sighing, you stand, moving to stand before him with a small smile on your lips. He looks up from where he had been absentmindedly plucking at his lute, waxing you another poem- singing you another song about how your beauty, features softened by the dimming of the fleeting rays of the sun.

“Too much?” he questions after a moment, making you laugh softly, nodding.

“Too much,” you agree, kneeling before him. He softens, reaching out to draw distractedly along your wrist where your hand had rested on his knee.

“I can't help it, you know,” he hums, his smile barely turning the ends of his lips. You know the truth- love brings new perspectives, and love brought him new words to describe your beauty, no matter how mundane you truly are or feel.

“I know,” you whisper back, turning your hand over, reveling in the feeling of his fingers lacing with your own.

“But you don't believe a word I say,” he chuckles, bringing your hand to his lips, kissing it gently. You nod, eyes softening when they meet his.

“I do,” you say softly. “Sometimes,” you admit, bringing his hand to rest in your lap so that you may fiddle and pick at your joined fingers. “I would love for all of the wonderful things you speak of to be true.”

“But?” he knew there was a but. You aren't the type to self-deprecate, you have quite the healthy sense of self-esteem. You know who you are, and you're comfortable in that. You aren’t sure where to start- so you just pick a spot.

“My smile doesn't light up a room,” you pause, holding your hand up motioning to let you continue. His mouth hangs open for a moment longer, words of argument dying in his throat. You start again when he closes his mouth again, a smile on your lips.

“My skin isn't flawless, my laugh doesn't sound like bells” you hum to a slight tune as he does, the action earning a chuckle from the bard as he fights the frown on his face. To him, you are these things. These things are his truth. But they aren't universal.

“I am not a goddess dancing upon the living, sunshine doesn't escape my every movement, and I am unable to cure all ailments with a simple touch” you could go on for days with all of the things he's compared you to, all the things he's said about you over the past year alone, but, you feel you've made your point.

“The truth is my love,” you smile up at him, the golden sun making your skin shine, in a way Jaskier can only describe in song, in a way he is sure you'll never believe him because he means every word. “I am ordinary.”

He wants to argue- to disagree. To him, you are everything, the sun, the moon, and the stars. The light you bring to his life was as if he has seen the sun rise for the first time. The stars in your eyes are better than any compass in finding who he is, and where he's meant to be. And, the weight of your hand in his grounds him when his ego threatens to lift him from the surface. You see none of this. To him, you are perfect. But to you, you are nothing special.

You can see the way he's fighting himself, and you know why. Because you feel the same about him. You never felt freedom until you saw the endless pools of the ocean washing in his eyes. The way the hand in yours is a lifeline, a buoy keeping you afloat in the endlessness that is life. His smile gleams like the sun on the rippling surface.

“This realization is both equally as painful” you chuckle softly, knowing you'd love for half of the things Jaskier spoke of to be true, sometimes. And sometimes, you're content to know that maybe only he sees you that way, and that's enough. “As it is liberating.” your smile is contagious as you rest your hand on his cheek. Huffing a soft laugh, he leans into your touch, nuzzling his nose into your hand.

“I will always see you this way,” he whispers. A promise.”And I will continue to tell you these things until you believe them yourself.” You nod, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips.

“Maybe one day, ill find the words to make you understand the way I feel, too.”

--

Tag list: @errruvande @thesleepy1 @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @queenxxxsupreme @screechingdreamercollectorsblog @open--till--midnight @one-eyed-captain-kinky

@seidenbros @cosmos-coma

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[early2000smovieimagines]

Meeting and Dating Ahkmenrah

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(This movie was my childhood. Brings back so many good memories ...and crushes.)

- You’d worked at quite a few museums in your day but none of them were quite like the Museum of Natural History; a fact you’d be made aware of very suddenly and without warning.

- You were somewhat new to the building, hired to do work on the exhibits since you were skilled in restoration and design. You weren’t a night worker, at least you weren’t supposed to be, but you’d accidentally dropped something as you were leaving your office and were forced to stay late to clean it up.

- After a few moments of sweeping, you’d heard a commotion upstairs and as you went to leave the museum; and investigate, you’d walked straight into the beautiful chaos of a night at the museum.

- Let’s just say that Larry had a lot to explain, all of which you took surprisingly well; though you didn’t have much of a choice now did you?

- Ahkmenrah spotted you from across the museum and watched as you made your way around the new magical world, staring at every person and thing in awe. He spied on you throughout the night and found that when he’d finally thought it appropriate to approach you, the sun was already beginning to rise.

- So the next day, he asks Larry about you, pretending as though he’s asking for no reason at all. Larry knowingly offers to introduce the two of you and the mummy drops the act, eagerly accepting.

“I’d like that very much, yes.”

- Larry approaches you with the sparkling pharaoh and is soon called away by someone else, leaving the two of you alone to speak. Ahkmenrah motions over to a bench nearby, commenting that it “must be a lot to get used to” as you both take a seat. You laugh in agreement and before you know it, the two of you are engaged in a conversation.

- Ahkmenrah’s sweet, he’s charming, he’s handsome, and he’s quite enamored with you; though you don’t know that just yet.

- Soon enough, it’s time for the sun to rise and he takes notice, begrudgingly standing and admitting that he “must say goodbye”. You respond with a somewhat disappointed goodbye yourself, watching as he begins to walk away before he turns and says “I should like to see you tomorrow ...to continue our conversation” to which you happily agree.

- The two of you become close fairly quickly. Anytime he spots you in a room, he makes a beeline towards you; both because he really likes you and because he’s somewhat awkward himself.

- He always likes being there for you, considering you’re new and not used to all that history coming to life stuff. He takes pride in being your guide and sort of likes the feeling of you depending on him a bit.

- Your “friendship” takes an obvious romantic turn, particularly; and outwardly, on his side; I say “friendship” because it was probably somewhat obvious from that he liked you more than that even from the beginning.

- He compliments you, oftentimes earnestly and quietly calling you beautiful, uses any excuse to touch you and your clothes, etc. He awes you with talks of Egypt and sweeps you off your feet quite easily. It’s really only a matter of time before the two of you get together.

- That “time” comes one day as you’re both sitting all alone. The room is dark and warmly lit and you’re sitting so close that his knees are touching yours. His hands hold yours as he speaks quietly to you and your face is leaned in close so that you can hear him.

- And then it just happens, your faces close in and you kiss, his grasp tightening around your hands.

- You’re interrupted by one of the others, most likely Larry who quickly apologizes and mentions something about the sun coming up before leaving the two of you be. Ahkmenrah turns back to you, saying something along the lines of “so we must once again say goodbye” with a small smile.

“It would appear so.” You respond, though you’re hesitant to move from your place. But alas, the sun has to rise and you have to go home.

“Tomorrow then,” He smiles at you, giving your hand one last squeeze. “...My queen.”

- You leave that morning, eager for the daylight to go and for you to be reunited with your newfound lover once more.

- Ahkmenrahs from ancient Egypt so I’m sure he isn’t particularly accustomed to “normal” Pda. That being said, he is somewhat dorky and practically has an entire hall to himself so he either just gives you innocent pda or the two of you go to his exhibit; and not have to worry about anyone seeing you.

- He’s been locked up in a sarcophagus for about fifty years; or more, so he’s arguably a bit touch starved. He’s always trying to touch you in some way and absolutely loves it whenever you touch him.

- He likes holding both your hands in his, occasionally bringing one of them to his lips. He just likes touching your hands in general if we’re being honest.

- Gentle caresses. He’s in love, leave him alone.

- Forehead and cheek kisses. He likes prolonging the amount of time his lips spend on your skin; a normal prolonged amount of time of course.

- Long, soft kisses.

- Loving makeout sessions. His hands roam your back and pull you in as close as they can whenever you have one.

- He likes laying between your legs and/or resting his head in your lap.

- Cuddling with your arms wrapped around each other and your head resting against his shoulder. He likes laying and talking with you, playing with the fingers that lay on his chest.

- Having his robes draped over and around you.

- He likes having you with him at all times, both because he’s protective of you and because he can’t bear to be away from you for more than a few hours.

- You’ll usually hang back and cling to his arm whenever you’re standing together. He likes feeling your presence at his side and the light grip you have on him.

- A bit clingy. He only gets to see you at night and has been alone for quite some time, of course he’s gonna want to be around you as much as possible.

- He always gets somewhat flustered when you give him gifts; particularly sweet things like flowers. You would have sworn you’d given him your underwear with the way he smiles and blushes in response.

- Ahkmenrah was the favorite son so he was a bit spoiled as a child. That being said, he’s surprisingly humble and sweet for a pharaoh that was given the best of everything.

- He’s probably teared up a little because of you at some point, whether it be your actions or just the fact that you’re there with him. He can get a bit emotional at times.

- Dancing together. We all saw how beautifully that man can move.

- Sneaking him out every once in a while. He really likes your apartment; even if you’re sort of embarrassed because he’s a literal pharaoh and lived in a temple when he was alive.

- Movie dates. They’re the easiest thing to do with him and he’s missed out on pretty much all of them so he’s got a lot of catching up to do.

- Listening to music together.

- Considering his time at Cambridge and just the way he is, he may or may not wax poetic about or at you on occasion. He gets a little embarrassed when he realizes that he’s doing it but it’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard/seen.

- Compliments and lots of them; usually paired with a term of endearment.

- He uses a lot of pet names on you, usually somewhat old fashioned ones. My dear, my sun, my queen, etc.

- He’s the cutest when posing for photos. He tries to look all regal in the beginning but it quickly dissolves into the adorable dorkiness that you know so well.

- The boy is lovestruck. He could sit and watch you do nothing with this look of unwavering love on his face for hours. Need to do some work? Thats totally fine. He’ll just sit there and love you.

- Please let him braid your hair. There’s just something that’s so relaxing and sweet about it to him.

- He has a hard time saying no to you. You’re his queen after all, you should have everything you could ever dream of; and he’s just too sweet to deny nearly anyone.

- Polite and respectful, Ahkmenrah is a gentleman with incredibly good manners. You’ll never be disappointed in his behavior.

- Helping Larry and him take care of the museum and tablet.

- Teaching him about all he’s missed.

- Always having a translator. He certainly comes in handy when you’re traveling around the museum and run into some “hostile” exhibits.

- Getting quietly and excitedly told a bunch of stories. He’s always so adorably eager to tell you about his life; whether it be about Ancient Egypt or more present times.

- He wants to introduce you to his parents so badly; though he’s somewhat embarrassed by them. Maybe you’ll transfer to the London museum for a bit?

- Getting bragged about. He always makes you sound cooler than you really are, though in your case, that’s just how he sees you.

- Stopping him from making morbid comments; oftentimes at the wrong time, or just giving him a look. He’s got a sort of different view on what’s exactly an acceptable thing to say.

“Too dark?”

- Sharing looks and making comments to each other.

- He’s always so gentle and caring with you; especially when you’re hurt or upset. He prides himself on being by your side and taking care of you.

- He’s a fairly patient person; especially with you. I mean, he’s had to wait a lot more than a few years to be let out of his sarcophagus so one can assume that he’d be good at that sort of thing.

- He’s not a terribly jealous person. Arguably, if you choose to be in a difficult relationship with a mummy, then you obviously want that relationship, right? He’s loyal and he expects you to be as well; that’s how it was in his times.

- That being said: if someone shows interest in you then he’ll get a bit jealous; though he’ll save his real jealousy for when he gets to see how you respond to them and how they respond to him making it known that you’re together.

- The museum can certainly get a bit dangerous at times; and he can only be there for you when you’re there, so of course he’ll be protective of and worry about you. He looks out for you and tells you to be careful every time you’re saying goodbye.

- The two of you hardly ever fight or argue, you’re just compatible with each other; and you rarely have the time to do so anyway. Plus, your pharaoh doesn’t have a mean bone in his body and lives to please you, so why would he try to fight with you?

- If he’s somehow done something; which is highly unlikely, he’ll apologize the minute that he realizes he’s upset you or thinks that he has. He’ll give you space if you want or need it and welcomes you back with open arms when you’re ready.

- If you’ve upset him then he’ll do his best to give you the silent treatment and act professional with you; not quite cold but not loving like he usually is. He’ll do so until you apologize and he cracks, shyly accepting your apology and reverting back to his sweet self.

- Lots of I love yous. You’re his queen, what do you expect?

- Your relationship is certainly going to be a bit challenging, but the happiness and love you feel with each other is worth it.

[astrowitch]

An Enjoltaire WIP

This is a scene from a big project I’m currently working on. As you may be able to tell, this scene is unfinished, but I’m pretty proud of it so far. I’ve tried to make the dialogue as authentic as I can to the 19th century, but it can be hard to do while still trying to be true to your own writing. It’s definitely ambitious, but I’ve tried my best, so please be patient with me. 

June 4th, 1832

“Grantaire, please just listen to me-“

“No! I’m not going to listen to you justify getting yourself killed!”

“You don’t know that I’ll be killed! What if we succeed? Then we still have time…then we have a bright future for France!” 

Grantaire sighed deeply, a sense of despair washing over him as he exhaled. 

“Enjolras, mon ange,” He began, gripping the blonde man’s soft, slender hand within his own big and rough one, “You are so idealistic. How I envy you and pity you at the same time. Your mind is beautiful, optimistic, everything I’ve ever wanted to be. But it is unrealistic. The National Guard will not listen to the people, much less students. I’m begging, if you just call this off, no one has to die. We can…we can be guaranteed time,” Grantaire’s voice caught in his throat as he finished what he was saying. Of course, right when he had earned a stroke of luck, the thing that he was living for was to be stripped away from in a matter of hours. Grantaire so desperately wanted to wake up tomorrow morning in his rooms with his lovely Enjolras in his arms and the sunlight beating down upon them. He knew that this wish was in vain, for Enjolras was the most selfless person he had ever met. He couldn’t be satisfied until everyone around him was. Grantaire would follow Enjolras to the ends of the Earth, so deep down, he knew that not only were these his last day or two with Enjolras and his friends, but also his last days alive. 

Enjolras had a look of frustration on his face, but still had a firm grip on Grantaire’s hand. His blue eyes bore straight into his lover’s soul, and Grantaire wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold his tears back. Hell, Grantaire didn’t even know if this Heaven he had been taught about was real. If God was real, how dare he burden this suffering upon Grantaire’s, Enjolras’s, and all of France’s backs. 

“Grantaire, nothing you say can stop me. I know what I must do. My duty lies with France, and I cannot let her down. I would love nothing more than to spend the rest of my days with you, not a care in the world, but none of that is possible until France is reformed! When I feel the crunch of the monarchy beneath my feet, I will be at rest,” Enjolras rambled, his grip on Grantaire’s hand getting tighter. His eyes told a different story than his words, and it was easy to tell just how terrified Enjolras was behind his cover of fearless leader. It was in moments like these that Grantaire recognized Enjolras’ humanity, contrary to when he first met the man. 

Alexandre Enjolras was not a god. He was just a boy with a dream. 

Cynical Adrien Grantaire was irrevocably and utterly in love with him. Grantaire’s heart was breaking more every second he thought about losing his love. 

“Enjolras, please. I can’t lose you. I-,” Grantaire choked on a sob before he could mutter those three words to the boy in front of him. 

Arms immediately came to envelope Grantaire in a tight embrace. He felt the familiar soft curls brush up against his neck, and he tried to keep his sobs under control. 

“I know, Adrien. I know. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry-,” Enjolras was speaking through tears too, as Grantaire felt them soaking the collar of his shirt. It was even more unusual to hear Enjolras speaking his first name though, then it was to see him shedding a tear. 

Shakily, Grantaire brought one of his hands up from Enjolras’ waist to card it through his Apollonian curls. “I…I would call you Alexandre, but I think you might actually kick me,“ He tried joking, but it came out watery and desperate. Enjolras still let out a broken laugh, and Grantaire’s heart soared at the thought of himself bringing Enjolras joy. 

“Grantaire, I- there’s just so much I want to say to you and so little time. There are so many injustices in the world, and I feel that this is one of them,” mused Enjolras, his composure clearly cracking. 

“I think we’ve finally come to an agreement on something. How bittersweet those words taste on my tongue in a time like this,” Grantaire leaned his forehead against Enjolras’ own. The pair of them were an incredibly melancholy sight. 

“Grantaire?” Enjolras broke Grantaire out of his cage of darkness. 

“Yes?” He replied, the smallest twinge of hope manifesting in his voice.

“I…I need you to stay as far away as you can from the barricade tomorrow. I may be risking my life, but…but you don’t have to. Do you understand me?” These words looked like they were physically painful for Enjolras to say, like thousands of little knives pierced his throat as they fell from his mouth. 

Grantaire let out a humorless laugh at that. “Enjolras, you really believe that I will stay away from you tomorrow?” He started.

“Grantaire, please-“ 

“Enjolras. My world is nothing without you. I have no one if you and the others are to expire at the barricade. Living alone for eternity is a far worse fate than dying together. I told you that I would never abandon you, and I intend to keep that promise. There…there is no longer an Adrien Grantaire without an Alexandre Enjolras I’m afraid. My soul intertwined with yours the moment I laid eyes on you. Tomorrow, I’ll be there with you. I’ll die with you…and I’d do it over and over again for a million years if it meant I’d get to experience whatever we have,” Grantaire exhaled after he spoke these honest words. 

Enjolras surged forward to capture Grantaire’s lips in a passionate kiss. Grantaire felt tears staining both his and Enjolras’ cheeks as they embraced. It was horribly poetic, their tears mixing. All their anguish was shared, much like their fates seemed to be. When Enjolras finally pulled away from their kiss, he buried his face in the crook of Grantaire’s neck, hiding himself from the world. He was holding on to Grantaire impossibly tight, like he’d somehow slip away from his grasp if he didn’t. 

It was then Grantaire heard the most heart-wrenching sound; Enjolras gasping for breath, sobbing helplessly into his neck. This was so unlike the Enjolras that he had first met that it was almost disconcerting. This Enjolras was vulnerable and loving instead of cold and militaristic. This was the Enjolras that a lot of people didn’t have the pleasure of seeing. Of course, it was clear that Enjolras cared deeply for others, but he had never broken down like this before. 

“Shhh…I’m here. We’re going to get through this…together,” Grantaire soothed, holding the golden boy in his arms close. 

“I…I’ve never-“ Enjolras began, “I’ve never felt like this before. Oh, how Marius underestimated me in his speech about the girl he met. I do know how it feels to…to…,” he stumbled. 

“To?” Grantaire questioned, hoping that this was going the way he believed it was.

“To be in love. Grantaire, you’ve changed me for the better. How could I have gone on to die without knowing how it felt to be cared for by you? You’ve made my task so much more difficult than it was before, not only because you have a fondness for playing Devil’s Advocate. You have the kindest heart I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing. I’m honored that you let me in,” Enjolras didn’t have time to finish what surely would’ve been a long, rambling proclamation of love because Grantaire so quickly captured his lips in another kiss. 

“So many call me cynical, but more honest words have never been spoken than when I told you that I loved you from the moment I saw you. I have been your beloved Patroclus from the very beginning, and you my Achilles. How queer it is that we’re also condemned to a tragic end! Maybe it makes our ephemeral romance all the more fascinating,” Enjolras couldn’t help but grin as Grantaire began his waxing of the classics. It was one of many little quirks he adored about the artist. 

When Grantaire finished his spiel, the hopeless expression returned to his sullen face. Enjolras mirrored it, pressing his forehead against Grantaire’s own. 

“We will treasure this night, live in our own world. Tomorrow, we return to the situation at hand. We honor General Lamarque, and we will rise up and show the king that we are tired and desolate. If we are to perish, at least we have made a point. At least we have perished for the sake of the people,” Enjolras, ever the patriot, insisted passionately. If this wasn’t such a tender moment between the two of them, Grantaire normally would’ve started an argument, but he had the wise judgement to not say anything. 

[delos-mio]

Out of the Woods - College!AU - PART 1

A/N: Welp, here it is! Part 1 of my silly little AU for my favorite silly little king. I really hope I can do him justice and I greatly appreciate any comments and questions you may have! No major triggers- only implied drug use, drinking, allusion to sexy stuff. So, without further ado..

If you had to gaze into a crystal ball at the beginning of the year, this would not have been the future you expected to see. You didn’t plan on being unhoused, stuck in an idle relationship, and debating dropping out of school all together. But here you were, trying your very best to pick up the pieces, salvage what little motivation to carry on that you had left. It could have been worse. It could have been much worse, at least that’s what you kept telling yourself to keep from crumbling entirely. You were never one to back down though, and these few hurdles sure as hell weren’t going to be the thing to break you. At least one of your problems was solved.

You had just emptied the last of the boxes left from moving and were hanging up the rest of your clothes when there was a soft knock on your door. Genya popped her head in, smiling brightly.

“Hey. I was just making sure you were getting settled ok,” she said.

“Yeah, I’m just about done unpacking I think.” You sat down next to her on the edge of your bed. “Thanks again for letting me live here. You have no idea how much you saved his ass,” you laughed.

“Don’t mention it! I’m happy to have someone else here, honestly.” She seemed to mean it, so you decided not to keep groveling. “Anyways, I just had a friend text me about a party tonight if you wanted to go?”

Your party days were almost entirely behind you. Freshman and Sophomore year were a haze of booze and recreational drugs, leading to you almost flunking out of school on more than one occasion. You’d since cleaned up your act, for the most part, and found you way back on the Dean’s list. But...it was a Friday afterall. And you’d just spent all day moving and contemplating your entire life- did that not earn a beer or two?

“Yeah, ok. Ok. That sounds good,” you said with a nod.

“Awesome! I think we’re meeting there around 10ish, so I’ll come grab you to get ready in a little bit.”

“Get ready? Are we 18 and going to our first frat party?” you joked, making Genya laugh.

“I was thinking about it more so as a roomie bonding activity, but if you wanna be a brat…” she drawled, trying to keep the smile off her face.

“Come back in an hour,” you finally sighed. Genya looked simply delighted as she exited, very clearly planning out looks for you both in her head.

As you went to finish up organizing your closet, you felt the familiar buzz of your phone in your pocket.

Matt: u coming over tonight?

You couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling back in your skull. That probably shouldn’t happen when you get a text from your boyfriend.

Y: can’t, sorry. Going out with Genya M: ok- have fun. Make good choices. Y: wtf does that mean M: just to make good choices? Jesus does everything have to be a fight? Y: i’m not trying to fight omg Y: i’ll just talk to you later M: k

K. He had some fucking nerve.

---

Across campus, Nikolai wasn’t having much better of an evening.

"Do I have to?"

"Yes." Aleks's tone was final; Nikolai knew there was no point in trying to bargain with him at this point.

"Jesus, fine." Nikolai’s fate had been decided and it was now mandatory that he go to the Delta Chi party that night. And here he had been looking forward to a quiet evening alone with his guitar and journal...

"It'll be fun, you sad sack. And I really want you to meet Alina," Aleks chastised.

"I didn’t know you missed my irreplaceable company quite this much."

Aleks gently threw a pencil across the table at his head. "Maybe you'll even catch a new fish of your own, huh?" he said with an obnoxious smirk. Nikolai just chuckled, nodding noncommittally before heading off to his bedroom.

It's not that he didn’t want to go. Well, he didn’t, really. But normally, he would. It’d been about a month since he called it off with the girl he met in Statistics. And it's not like he even missed her all that much- he knew she wouldn’t be around long from the start. But he was still stuck in the “mope in his room, write songs about heartbreak” phase of his healing. Because of such, he hadn't felt like partying much lately, but he’d blown off Aleks the last 3 weekends...he wasn't going to let Nikolai say no again.

Nikolai figured the least he could do is try and look presentable. It was unlike him to spend as much time in sweats as he had; his sense of style had always been impeccable. He was a man who knew he was handsome and knew the best way to broadcast just that. He pulled out tight black jeans and paired them with a powder blue button down with the sleeves rolled up, maybe a couple of the top buttons left undone. He pushed his golden hair back out of his hazel eyes and scrutinized himself in the mirror. To his horror, he looked like he hadn't had a good night of sleep in a week, which was true. Overall, it could have been better, but it could be worse. With a sigh, he grabbed his phone and keys before going out to find Aleks.

They got to the Delta Chi house, and there were already a few guys passed out on the lawn. Nikolai wasn’t surprised, but it was only 10:30. They must have been freshmen. Aleks lead the way to the porch where a petite dark haired girl turned around and beamed at them.

"You're late!" she says with a clearly fake pout. Aleks leaned in to kiss it away and Nikolai looked everywhere but at them.

"Sorry, sorry, I know. Miss Princess here had to be dragged out of his cave," he laughed at his expense. "Alina, this is Nikolai. Nikolai, Alina."

"Nice to finally meet you," Alina smiled. She's cute, he can give Aleks that.

"I’ll have you know I was not in a cave. I was waxing poetic about love lost, heartbreak and what have you,” Nikolai smirked as Alina laughed.

"Genya and her new roommate are already inside," Alina said, grabbing Aleks's hand.

Thank god. Not that he didn't want to spend time with them or get to know Alina, but he didn't really want to watch them suck face and play third wheel all night. Genya had been a friend of theirs since Freshman year- she smoked them down at a random dorm party and she'd been part of the gang ever since. Nikolai pushed through the crowd and made it along with Aleks and Alina to the kitchen. There were fewer people back here and Nikolai felt like he could breathe again.

"Nik," Genya chirped and threw her hands up excitement. "He lives!"

"You saw me Wednesday," Nikolai laughed. “But, I understand. Aleks was desperate for his company too. It must have been unbearable without me.”

"I really didn't think Aleks would get you to come," she said with an easy grin. Genya handed him a cup of what he assumed was beer. "Doesn't matter. You're here now."

They all circled up and chatted for a minute. For once in his life, Nikolai felt like he was noticeably quiet, but he found he didn’t have much to add. They didn’t want to hear about how he managed to cook a meal TWICE last week. Or how he’d written probably a dozen songs, all of them dogshit. Genya was grinning at a story their friend William was telling when she looked over his shoulder and motioned for someone to join them.

"Guys! Guys! This is my new roommate," Genya said. Ah yes, the new roommate. How could Nikolai forget?

New Roommate had wedged themselves into the circle two people away from Nikolai. He looked up from his cup and immediately locked eyes with you. Honestly, the name should have tipped him off. He never, ever thought he’d see you again. There's no way you possibly remember him, right? God, you were still so beautiful.

"Nikolai?" you asked with a tight voice, eyes jumping all around his face. And it's right about then that Nikolai wished he got a little more beauty sleep. Here you were, practically glowing, while he looked like the walking dead.

"Hey," he breathed out. It sounded a lot more desperate than he meant it to, but you always have had that effect on him.

"You guys know each other?" Aleks interjected.

"It's uh, it's been a few years, but yeah," you said with a blush, looking down into your cup. Aleks and Genya both looked at Nikolai with a raised eyebrow. He could feel the sweat pricking along his brow. Fuck, now all eyes were on him...

"Maybe there's a spot open for beer pong. Let's go check it out." Thank you. Subtle, Genya. "You guys can catch up," Genya said walking past you and patting Nikolai on the shoulder. The rest of his friends followed suit and Nikolai was left alone with you, staring not so subtly.

You hadn’t grown an inch. You’d lost the bright red glasses too. But, god, you were still the most gorgeous creature Nikolai had ever laid his eyes on. Really, he couldn't have lost his virginity to a hotter person.

It's your typical boy-meets-girl story. Nikolai first saw you at the rink where he played hockey in high school. Your parents owned the building and seeing as such, you were employed as the kid behind the concession stand. Nikolai remembered the first time he saw you, he thought you looked like a dork. A very hot dork, but a dork all the same. Nikolai began to notice you watching him in particular during practice, which just further flustered his raging teen hormones.

One night, after everyone else had left practice, Nikolai stayed behind and introduced himself to you. He’d never seen such a beautiful mouth and he had to resist the urge to kiss you right then and there. It became habit that he stay after practice and lean against the counter to shamelessly flirt with you. You often had the rink to yourselves by that time, so Nikolai felt like he could really be himself during those hours. He was still figuring out his place in the world and had stuck-up parents who would never approve of him taking you home. But in the lowlights of the concourse, he was allowed to have a crush on you.

Flirting led to making out behind the counter. Making out behind the counter led to hand stuff in your beat up purple van once you locked up for the night. Hand stuff led to him fucking you in the locker room shower. It was both of your first time and it could have been much less hurried. But you were young and inexperienced and horny as fuck and still exploring sexuality. You kept that arrangement up for the next few months until the season ended and Nikolai left that fall for school. He felt like a dick for not saying goodbye to you. It's not in his nature to ghost. It just isn't. He thinks maybe he was still scared of what it all "meant" and how much he really liked you. Maybe this was the universe telling him to make things right with you and make things right for himself.

"Hey, stranger," you said with a lopsided grin. Fuck. Nikolai was so done for if you kept looking at him like that.

"Hey yourself." And Nikolai couldn't help himself when he reached out to you to pull you in a tight embrace. Lucky him, you didn’t push him away and call him a fucking asshole; he thought he would have deserved that. You buried your face into his neck and the hot little puffs of air were doing way more to him than they should. You parted just enough to get a good look at each other.

"You look good," you said with a dark edge to your voice, bottom lip trapped between your teeth. He knew very well what he looked like that night, but you seemed to mean the compliment.

"You look better," he replied earnestly, because it was true. It shouldn't have been this easy to fall right back into things. But it was always different with you. Sometimes, he still thought you were the only one that really understood him without him having to say a word.

"Nikolai Lantsov, you always were a little flirt," you laughed. Your eyes crinkled at the corner and Nikolai thought to himself how beautiful you are when you’re playful. You’re always beautiful. He wanted nothing more than to whisk you away and have you alone. This time, he wouldn’t fuck it up. He wouldn’t let you go. You must have noticed his brain going into overdrive because you say "What's going on up there? What ya thinking?" You pushed a rogue lock of golden hair away from his face.

"Honestly?"

"Honestly."

"I'm thinking about how much I wish we weren't at a frat party right now. I'm thinking about how I want to be selfish and have you all to myself," Nikolai said low so only you could hear. You laughed a little to yourself and looked at him with sparkling eyes.

"I'm not stopping you," you drawled. Fuck. Fuck, ok. This was really happening.

"Let me tell the guys we're leaving and then do you maybe want to get some food?" Nikolai asked hopefully. You just nodded coyly with a small smirk.

"I'll meet you out front." You squeezed his hand once and started pushing your way through the sea of bodies.

Nikolai ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath before nearly running down to the basement, eager to say goodbye and make his way back to you. Genya, Aleks, Alina, and William were playing each other, a beer pong table stretching between their pairs.

"Where's your old friend?" Genya asked with a shit eating grin.

"We're um. We're actually gonna head out. So, I guess I'll—" but he was immediately cut off by Aleks.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Nik, are you leaving with a girl?" he teased.

"Yes. I am." Nikolai looked at him defiantly.

"How do you guys know each other anyways?" Bill asked before launching a shot.

"Just from growing up. High school or whatever," Nikolai mumbled.

"Cmon..." Genya begged.

"Wouldn’t you love to know," he said, voice laced with snark. "I just came down here to say we're fucking leaving!"

"Well then you better not keep your girl waiting," Genya said with a silent kiss in his direction. Nikolai just flipped her off and took his leave.

When he got outside, you were waiting with your hands in your pockets at the bottom of the porch steps. He smiled wide at you and offered a hand, which you seemed happy to take.

"So, are they gonna give me a bunch of shit next time I see them?" you asked as you walked hand in hand to the little strip of 24 hour restaurants on the outskirts of campus.

"Probably. Nothing you can't handle," Nikolai winked. You laughed then a little giggle. It's such a familiar sound and just like that, Nikolai was transported back to the ice rink and you giggling between kisses behind the snack bar.

You made it to one of his favorite delis in town and he offers to buy you a sandwich, which of course you tried to refuse his offer. Nikolai simply won't hear it. He had 5 years of douche baggery to make up for and insisted. You finally conceded and thanked him with the sweetest smile Nikolai had ever seen. You found a table in the corner, away from the door and prying eyes.

"So, how'd you meet Genya?" Nikolai asked.

"We have a writing class together. And we got to talking and became friends. I needed to find a new place cause my old roommate had to drop out and move home. I couldn't afford the place on my own. And I mean, you know how Genya is," you laughed, "I told her all about it one day in class and she offered me a room at her place without batting an eye."

"That does sound like Genya," Nikolai nodded.

"I've only been there like, two hours. But it's been good so far. Genya's been super cool," you said with a smile.

"I can't believe that we've been at the same school this whole time and it's taken this long to find each other," Nikolai said, mostly to himself, but you heard him and reached across the table to grab one of his hands.

"But we did find each other eventually, yeah?" You ran your thumb over his knuckle.

"Yeah," he said, suddenly bashful. Nikolai was seldom flustered. He had nerves of steel and had confidence to spare on his worst days. But you. You cut through him, all the way down to the core, and that made him nervous.

"So," you started, "Tell me about everything Nikolai Lantsov. Surely you've been up to something the last few years."

"Not much interesting to tell," he shrugged. "Been studying history. Writing music here and there to keep myself occupied."

"Girlfriend?"

"Who wants to know?" he asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Shut up," you mumbled into your soda. He doesn't miss the blush that's spreading over your cheeks.

"No. No girlfriend." he paused, considering how honest to be. But fuck it, he owed you candor. "I actually broke up with a girl a little over a month ago." You looked back up at him then, your eyes searching presumably for whether or not Nikolai was still torn up about it. "She wasn’t...she wasn’t right for mw and I guess I was just done. I feel like I should still be sad about it or whatever, but I'm not. I don't miss her. The wallowing and self reflection has been great writing fodder though," he said with a laugh.

"I'm sorry, Nik. You don't deserve that."

"Don't I?" Nikolai looked at you and suddenly felt torn open. "I...I'll never forgive myself for what I did to you." You bit down on your lip and looked out the window. "I regretted leaving you, god, and like a fucking asshole. I regretted leaving you so much. I know saying I'm sorry isn't even close to enough. But god, I'm so fucking sorry." He knew there were tears threatening to fall from his eyes, but he swallowed them down best he could.

"I'm not going to act like it didn't hurt me. Because it really, really did. But I accept your apology, Nik. You know I could never stay mad at you." You paused for a minute before looking at Nikolai with a tiny fire in your eyes. "You know, I'm pretty sure I was in love with you back then."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I don’t think I ever stopped loving you," He said confidently. Your jaw dropped just for a moment before you're giving him that sexy grin that apparently still drives him absolutely crazy.

"Still?” Nikolai just smirked. "What if you don't know me anymore?" you asked and sucked at the straw in your soda.

"I'd like to." There's a shift in the air between you. Nikolai was sure you could both feel it. It was suddenly too warm in the restaurant and there's too much table separating you. He decided to take his chance. “How do you feel about going back to my place?”

You suddenly seemed very interested in your nail beds, picking anxiously at the skin. “You didn’t ask me if I was seeing anyone.”

Nikolai stalled. He didn’t. You asked about his relationship status and he was so absorbed with letting you know that he was, in fact, single, that he didn’t bother to ask if you were even available. Hadn't you been flirting all night? He'd certainly been flirting. But like you said, maybe he didn't know you anymore. Maybe this was just how you were these days. “Are you...are you seeing someone?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. Maybe it was his own wishful thinking, him hearing the resignation in your voice. Not that he wanted you to be unhappy. No, you deserved the world and he wanted nothing more than for you to have the sun and the moon and the stars. But, maybe there was still a chance for him yet. “His name is Matt. We’ve been together for like, a year or so.”

“Matt.” He let the name burn his tongue. “You love him?”

“Nik…” you warned.

“Just a question.”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“Just my two cents here,” Nikolai started, leaning back into the booth, “But you deserve to be with someone you can gush about. Someone who when you get asked if you love them, you don’t think twice and say ‘they’re the love of my life!’”

“And you don’t think that’s him?” you said, huffing. “You think that’s you?”

“There’s a chance,” he smirked. “All that aside, I��m very glad fate has brought us together again.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you laughed. “I missed you too.” You looked at your phone quickly. “Shit, I should get going. I have a shift at 9 tomorrow.”

“Let me walk you home,” Nikolai insisted, standing from the booth and helping you into your jacket.

“Always such a gentleman,” you smiled, tapping him gently on the nose before walking ahead of him.

The walk to your and Genya’s place felt too short. Nikolai had made this trek, both intoxicated and sober, and it always seemed much longer. But now he was at your front door, hands shoved in his pockets as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. “If you don’t want to hang out again, I understand, but I need you to tell me now if you think it’s a bad idea,” he rushed out.

“Of course I want to see you again,” you said, rolling your eyes. “So dramatic. We can still be friends, right?”

“We can be best friends,” he smiled.

“I’m glad I ran into you tonight.”

“Likewise.”

You were both clearly just trying to prolong the evening at this point. Nikolai took it upon himself to put you both out of your misery and pulled you into his arms again. You gripped his torso tightly, melting your body against his. He held you close, both strong arms wrapped around your shoulder while he tucked your head under his chin. After a moment, he pulled back enough to leave a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Get some sleep,” he whispered, his breathing a little hard.

“Ok,” you croaked, nodding. Nikolai stepped out of your space then, squeezing your hand one last time before walking back out to the sidewalk, waiting and watching to make sure you got inside safely.

[havenoffandoms]

Can we get some Lambden with prompt 13 pls? 🥲💜 (@geraskier-trashh)

@geraskier-trashh I’m so glad you requested two separate prompts ahhhhhh! Okay so this one is soooooooooo soft. Toot-rotting fluff fits the description of this prompt fill. Hope you enjoy it, I certainly loved writing it. 

Anyone can send me a prompt from my list.

Lambert x Aiden: “You have to make a choice” (prompt 13)

"How about this one?" 

Aiden emerges out of the fitting rooms for what feels like the hundredth time. Lambert jerks awake (he cannot let Aiden know he's falling asleep or he'll never hear the end of it) and thankfully his eyes adjust rapidly to the light. Aiden is wearing a fitted grey pinstripe suit, which to Lambert's despair, looks like the exact same suit his fiancé tried the first time round. If Lambert had known that "wedding suit shopping" entailed a whole day of sitting in an uncomfortable chair under an unflattering lighting, he would've convinced Jaskier to be Aiden's fashion advisor for the day.

"Yes, very handsome."

"You've said that about all the suits I tried," Aiden whines, yes whines, not unlike a child, and Lambert refrains from rolling his eyes. 

"That's because you look handsome in all of them." 

“Flatterer,” Aiden drawls, shooting Lambert a cheeky wink before assuming a serious expression once again, “okay but, if the house was on fire and you could only save one suit, which would it be?”

“Trick question,” Lambert stifles a yawn as he straightens himself in his chair, “if the house is on fire, the first thing I save is our son.”*

“Obviously, but after that,” Aiden presses, a pointed eyeroll following his words. Lambert heaves a tired sigh and wonders if it’s worth calling Eskel and faking an emergency just to get out of this shop. He decides against it because Eskel would enjoy his suffering far too much and be exactly zero help. Plus, he might tell Aiden which would mean a whole lot of trouble for Lambert. How long have they been in this shop, anyway? Lambert guesses not far off two years. 

“The navy blue one,” Lambert suggests, praying to God that Aiden tried a navy blue suit at some point.

“Because grey washes me out, doesn’t it?” 

“No,” Lambert is quick to correct his mistake, forcing himself to soften his tone, “no, babe, you really can’t go wrong here. Everything you try on fits you to perfection.”

Aiden grins at those words, his cheeks flushing red as he basks in Lambert’s compliment. God, how did Lambert get so lucky? Yes, shopping with Aiden was a nightmare under normal circumstances and literal hell on earth when shopping for their upcoming wedding, but other than that Aiden is the best thing that happened to Lambert since… well, since nothing. The day he met Aiden and the day they adopted their four-year-old son Connor - those are Lambert’s happiest memories. And soon, he’ll add his and Aiden’s wedding to that list.

“Well, thank you babe,” Aiden croons at him, his eyes flickering to his reflection and checking himself out with a newly-found confidence, “I like this one. Hmm, but I think I want to try the white suit.”

That’s when Lambert snaps. 

“No!” He rises from his chair and faces a surprised Aiden. “Baby, I love you, but this has been torture for me, okay? Aiden, you have got to be a better shopper than this, I’ve seen you order three outfits while stopped at a traffic light.”

“This isn’t just any outfit, Lambert,” Aiden bristles, “this is our wedding outfit. This is the single most important outfit of our entire lives. It’s like you don’t want it to be the most beautiful day of our lives.”

“We don’t need fancy suits and expensive menus to make it a beautiful day,” Lambert argues, “all we need is each other. Now you have to make a choice, or so help me God I will drag your indecisive ass out of the shop and order myself a suit off Amazon.”

A dramatic gasp pushed past Aiden’s lips as one hand shoots up to cover his chest, as if the gesture alone would serve to steady his racing heart. 

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Don’t test me, Aiden,” Lambert threatens, his eyes narrowing with determination, “you get to try one more suit. And then you decide! End of the discussion.”

“Well where was all that righteousness when I booked your favourite venue? What were the words you said then? ‘Aiden, I swear if we don’t get married on that beach I will lose my shit.’ Don’t be a hypocrite.”

“It took me all of ten minutes to pick our venue.”

Lambert watches Aiden’s cheek puff up in consternation upon hearing the barefaced lie with a certain amount of amusement. He loves nothing more than winding up Aiden and seeing those cheeks fill out and flush red. It was truly an adorable look.

“Oh, the cheek! Just for that I will try on two more suits.”

Lambert lets himself fall back into his seat with a frustrated groan. 

“Fine, two and then you decide.”

Lambert resents himself to the fact that he will be spending the rest of his life in this shop. He probably should let Geralt know that he will need to pick up Connor from school and, well, take over his entire education because Aiden and Lambert will die in this shop before they find Aiden’s dream suit. No, he’s not being dramatic. Lambert’s leg shakes nervously in anxious anticipation. He’s really beginning to lose his patience. He’s feeling restless. A coffee and doughnut sound like heaven right now. It takes another ten minutes for Aiden to reappear wearing a white suit.

Lambert’s jaw drops. Aiden looks fucking gorgeous. The whiteness of the suit brings out his natural tan and the material hugs his lithe yet muscular form just so. The burgundy tie bring out the chocolate brown of Aiden’s eyes, and oh that radiant smile. Aiden is speechless as he checks his reflection in the mirror. Lambert can tell that Aiden loves it. And so does he. 

“This is the suit,” they both say in unison, their eyes meeting in the mirror. A mesmerised smile tugs at the corner of Lambert’s lips.

“Yes babe, that’s the suit. You look…”

“Hot?” Aiden offers cheekily, “drop-dead sexy, like a literal god?”

“Beautiful,” Lambert breathes out, his voice heavy with emotions and just on the right side of soft, “you look beautiful, Aiden. There’s no other suit.”

Aiden’s eyes shimmer with a myriad of emotions that remain unspoken between them. Aiden and Lambert don’t do cute, they don’t do cheesy declarations or poetic waxing. It doesn’t mean they don’t love each other, it just… it’s just that it’s not them, but in this moment Lambert can’t think of a more accurate word to describe Aiden. 

Beautiful. 

His beautiful fiancé.

Lambert couldn’t wait to finally make Aiden his husband.

[sign-from-god-complex]

smitten

Summary: It had been a few months since Roman had fallen for Virgil. He’d come home to Patton that first day, waxing poetic, and come home much the same way every day since.

Pairing: Queerplatonic royality and romantic prinxiety!

A/N: I did create an entire AU around this with qpr sleepxiety and long-suffering-coworker-and-best-friend Logan Sanders but who knows if I’ll ever actually write anything else for it, hahah. Also this is a contribution to my aroace Patton agenda cause it’s a Good hc that we need more of, I think.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Oh, gosh, they were gorgeous again today, Pat!" Roman yelled upon flinging open the door to their apartment.

His qpp poked her head out of the kitchen, giving Roman a bright grin. They were donned in a bright blue apron, paw prints marked on the front with some fabric pens the two had bought a while back. "Oh?"

In an instant Roman was running up to her, pulling them into his arms and excitedly spinning her around the lounge to the sound of her giggles. Eventually, she was returned to solid ground, moving to pat down her apron with a sweet smile.

"What was it this time, then?" Patton asked, heading back into the kitchen with Roman trailing after them.

It had been a few months since Roman had fallen for Virgil, caught up in their snark and smirks and secret sweetness (and also a little bit in their iced-coffee-making skills). He'd come home that first day singing the praises of the cutest barista he'd ever seen and since then Roman had become a regular, always returning to their apartment after his classes with a lovesick smile and a pastry for Patton.

Roman sighed, the sound like the epitome of a daydream. "They had this lovely blouse on today, all black and sheer and delicate, like a spiderweb but infinitely more goth."

"More goth than a spiderweb, hmm?" Pat hummed, not really questioning Roman's words so much as prompting him to go on.

"Oh, and their eyes! How they lit up when their coworker made them laugh, I swear I have never beheld that level of beauty!" He paused for a moment, considering. "Except for you, of course, my dear."

In response, Patton just laughed, smacking Roman on the arm before turning back to the shopping list they'd been writing out.

"And the way they blush! Every time their cheeks darken I am overtaken."

Patton rolled her eyes fondly. "Overtaken, huh?"

Roman grinned at them, bright like jewels and other things nowhere near as precious. "Entirely, my love."

Things were quiet for a moment—but quiet in that way you can only be when you know each other so wholly and love each other just as much. Patton swung her way around the kitchen, pulling items from the cupboard as she checked what needed to be restocked while Roman watched with a look of utter adoration. Occasionally, Roman would grab their hand, pulling them into a spin before letting them carry on their way and each time Patton would laugh like it was the happiest day of their life.

Eventually, the list was completed and the two had wound down, taking up entwined positions on the couch. The TV was on in the background but neither were paying it much attention, focused instead on the way they fit together and the slow set of their breathing.

"Have you ever thought about asking them out?"

Roman spluttered for a moment, seemingly trying to come up with a reason for why he hadn't already that didn't simply boil down to "I'm excruciatingly afraid of rejection".

"You're not supposed to flirt with service workers while they're on the clock, Patton!" Roman declared loudly, "I wouldn't dream of putting them in the position of being unable to turn me down."

Patton rolled her eyes. "Love, that's a weak excuse and you know it. Logan has been trying to give you their number since the second you started going by the shop. Something about being sick of the pining, I think."

Roman mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, "Oh, as if he can talk," but Pat decided to ignore it.

"I know you're worried about being turned down but you know you're not gonna be alone. I'm never gonna stop loving you. Not as long as there are stars in the sky, darling." Roman flushed at the words, ducking his head, and Patton grinned teasingly. "Every day the sun rises is another day I get a chance to love you with all that I am and I could never be more grateful for that."

Roman made a sort of high pitched squealing noise before ducking his head to hide in Patton's lap. "You're being mean."

Pat giggled. "Maybe I am but that doesn't mean I'm not also right."

Roman lifted his head, gazing up at his partner with a look that spoke of years of trust and emotional vulnerability—another gift Patton would spend the rest of her life cherishing.

"I know that I don't technically have anything to lose except access to some really good iced coffee but I just... I don't know. I keep thinking of all the ways it could go wrong."

Pat hummed, brushing a hand through Roman's hair. The action seemed to soften Roman, the corners of his lips quirking up into a soft smile.

"Okay, let's think about it this way. You like Virgil, yeah?"

Roman gave a decisive nod, his cheeks tinged a faint pink.

"So, you think they're a good person?"

He nodded again.

"Therefore, if they're a good person, they won't react negatively to you asking them out, even if they don't feel the same, right?"

There was another nod, this one marginally more hesitant than the last.

"And," Patton continued, "if they do react negatively, then they probably aren't actually a good person and their opinion doesn't matter anyway."

Roman screwed up his face a bit, seemingly thinking about that. Finally, he smiled—the expression more of a mask of confidence than a real expression of it.

"Ten out of ten logicing there. Logan would be proud."

Patton huffed a laugh. "Look, I'm not gonna pressure you but I think you should go for it. You deserve to be happy."

"I am happy," Roman protested instantly, "You make me-"

"I know, I know," they replied fondly. She cupped his face in her palm, smiling so sweet she could almost taste caramel in her mouth. "Even happier then—happier than any human being thought they could be. That's what you deserve."

"You too," Roman whispered back. His eyes had fallen shut with the sound and Patton's smile turned to an outright grin as their chest warmed. 

"Oh, don't worry, honey. I'm already there."

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[rosyfingereddawnn]

only the black rose (chapter 5)

pairing: jimmy page x layla porter (oc)

warnings: talks of parental abandonment, off-scene injury, drug use (legal!), fluff, and me waxing poetic about one of my favourite books. and more fluff.

words: 3.1k

summary: in the blink of an eye, it’s 1975 and layla’s suddenly joining led zeppelin for their north american tour. throughout the chaos, the band take a liking to her, she builds friendships with the boys, and love blossoms. but all good things must come to an end.

author’s note: this one wrote itself. i expected to take longer with it cause of this. this is the start of the Chaos seen in the 1975 North American tour, so hold onto your hats and enjoy! congrats! you’ve unlocked layla’s tragic backstory! unbeta’d as always, and here’s the link to the playlist :)

masterlist

playlist

chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

----------

Soon enough, the band make their way home, basking in the golden glow of a couple of excellent shows. It’s only a matter of days until the start of the North American tour, and the excitement is palpable. The boys find themselves at the studio, running through some last-minute tour details, accompanied by a certain brunette firecracker, who sits reading comfortably in the lobby.

Layla, sitting on a luxurious couch just outside of the meeting room, is drowning in a hardcover book, consuming every word at a ravenous pace. The sound of pages flipping periodically is accompanied by the light din of voices detailing the upcoming tour. Lost in the story in front of her, she is surprised when she hears a person clearing their throat, seemingly right in front of her. Looking up, she spots the secretary of Swan Song Records, a woman with glasses and long brown hair ran through with gray, pinned up in a low bun. Light freckles dusted her cheeks. Judging by the crow’s feet at the corners of her hazel eyes, the secretary had to have been older than Layla, perhaps around 50, though her bright smile gave the impression of youth.  

“Sorry to interrupt, Miss… I just couldn’t help but notice the book you were reading. I don’t see many fans of the classics around here, especially ones so young.”

Recovering from the shock of being ripped out of the hypnotising story she was wrapped up in, Layla gestures to the seat next to her. With a bright smile, the secretary smoothes down her pencil skirt, and sits down.

“My mother was a literature buff, and it seems she’s passed that down to me! My name’s Layla. You’re Evelyn, right?”

“Y-Yes, I am! How do you…”

“Well, I had to put a name to the lovely secretary that gives me a smile whenever I see her. Makes my day, if I’m being honest.”

“You’re too sweet, darling,” Evelyn says, lips turning up warmly, eyes dancing with joy. “If I may, what are your thoughts on the book? It’s a personal favourite of mine, and it’s always nice to hear new opinions.”

“Well,” Layla starts, lighting up as she speaks. “Wilde’s language paints such a beautiful, vivid picture, and the characters are so interesting, even if they aren’t morally likeable, most of the time. They make mistakes… Many mistakes… but we sympathize with them.”

At this, Layla cups her hand around her mouth, whispering to Evelyn mischievously, as if what she was about to say was the world’s most important secret.

“It’s a favourite of mine too.”

The two women laugh, Evelyn’s hand falling across Layla’s arm, a comforting, grounding weight. Evelyn, with a warm smile gracing her face, crow’s feet as prominent as ever, sends a pang of longing into Layla’s heart. Not for love, but for her old life. Her friends worried out of their minds over her disappearance; her mother, left alone not once, but twice. Her father had left when she was a child, and it had been her and her mother ever since. Layla learned to put up walls, so that she’d never be hurt like that again. They all leave in the end. It’s better that way. Better not to get attached. Better not to get hurt.

“That’s a lovely interpretation, Layla. You know,” Evelyn says, interrupting Layla’s train of thought. “For someone so young, you have an old soul. Wise beyond your years, for sure.”

“You have no idea…”

“Well, I must get to work, darling,” Evelyn claps her hands together, and stands up, resting a hand on Layla’s arm once more. “I’d love to chat again, though. Such refreshing opinions from such a young woman. I’ll let you get back to your book.”

“I would love to! We’ll make plans soon, I promise. Have a wonderful day, Evelyn!” With that, Layla opens the novel, and is taken once again by the current of the story. Minutes pass, until Layla is interrupted once more, this time by a soft press of lips against the crown of her head.

“Everything alright, Layla?”

“Of course, Jim,” Layla says, reaching out to grasp Jimmy’s hand in return. “How did the meeting go?”

“Well, you were right outside the door, I’m surprised you didn’t eavesdrop,” He takes a seat beside her, and reaches down to tap at the book still nestled in Layla’s hand, her finger keeping the page. “You were too engrossed in this, I bet. What are you reading anyways?”

Layla lifts the book to show the cover, which is a slightly worn navy blue, with golden accents in the form of small droplets. In metallic lettering, read ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’.

“Oscar Wilde, hey? Wouldn’t have pegged you for a lover of the classics.”

“I spent my teenage years with Austen and Dickens, after all.”

“I didn’t think you were that old.”

Layla rolls her eyes, a fond look upon her features. Smiling at the man in front of her, she puts a hand to his cheek.

“Yeah, I’m a real cradle-robber.”

“Just make sure my mum doesn’t hear about this relationship: she’ll have a fit.”

“I’ll be careful, angel,” Layla laughs, putting a pensive finger to her chin. “Hey, Jimmy? Do you have a good relationship with your parents?” Jimmy smiles wide at the question and nods, dark curls bobbing at the movement. He absentmindedly takes Layla’s hand in his, rubbing his thumb in soft circles across her wrist.

“My parents… They’ve always been very supportive of me in every way, and I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to find a way to thank them,” Jimmy squeezes her hand briefly, meeting her eyes. “You know, I bet they’d love you.”

“Do you really think so?” Layla’s cheeks grow warm, and her lips tilt upwards in a smile that is uncharacteristically shy.

“Of course I do, petal,” Jimmy says, pushing a fallen lock of hair behind Layla’s ear, his touch featherlight. “How about you? What are your parents like?”

“Well… My dad… He left us when I was young, so it’s been me and my mom ever since,” This is marked with a moment of silence, and Layla’s eyes meet her shoes, pointedly not looking at Jimmy. “My mom’s probably the strongest person I’ve ever met, and I truly can’t thank her enough for everything she’s done for me. She’s my best friend.”

The silence continues, until Layla feels a calloused finger at her jaw, lifting her chin. Finally flicking her eyes up to gaze at the guitarist, she’s shocked by the concern and sadness she sees in those emerald green eyes.

“Petal, I…”

“Jim, it’s fine. It—”

“It’s not fine, Layla. It’s not. I’m so sorry, you didn’t deserve that. Either of you.” Jimmy pulls her into a tight hug, long arms wrapping around her, making her feel safe. They stay like this for what feels like hours, breaking apart slowly.

“Jimmy, I… Thank you.”

“Of course. Now, how about you read me some of that book of yours?”

Layla laughs brightly, albeit a little watery, and smiles at Jimmy, eyes shining with gratitude. Shuffling, she positions herself in his lap, legs hanging off the end of the couch as his arm comes to rest across her back, holding her steady against his chest. She opens the book, dog-earing the corner of the page she was reading, before flipping back to the start.

“Petal, as much as I like this, I thought we were gonna take it slow? I don’t think public places are the best idea to… Well…”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jimmy,” Layla says, smirk gracing her face as she speaks. “You just make a very comfortable chair.”

Jimmy’s laugh is music to her ears, and she presses a light kiss to his cheek. Focusing on the book in her hand, she begins to read:

“The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.”

----------

‘Was it all true? Had the portrait really changed? Or had it been simply his own imagination that had made him see a look of evil where there had been a look of joy?’

The next day had arrived, and Layla sits at her kitchen table, enraptured once again by the writings of Oscar Wilde. The words on the page enchant her, and she has no desire to put the novel down anytime soon. She’d have to tell Evelyn all about it, the next time she sees her.

‘Surely a painted canvas could not alter? The thing was absurd. It would serve as a tale to tell Basil some day. It would make him smile. And, yet, how vivid was his recollection—’

A shrill ringing pulls her out of the carefully crafted narrative of Dorian Gray. Layla huffs, annoyed at the intrusion, and moves to pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Layla! Hi, good to hear from you, hope you’re having a great day so far! Lovely weather we’re having, hey?” The slightly nasal voice of one Robert Plant, crackles through the phone, and Layla sighs at his exuberance.

“Robert, hey. What is it?”

“Uh… Please don’t freak out. It’s really not that bad, and everyone is… mostly… fine?”

“Rob—”

This is followed by a noise in the background, a sort of crackle, as if Robert had shifted the phone to his other hand. Layla can hear the way his breath picks up, the way panic seeps into his voice. “Just a heads up that we’ll be at your place in about… 10 minutes! See you then!”

“What is going on? I was reading, I’m really not in the mood for—”

Another crackle, and a sigh from Robert’s end of the line. Layla runs a hand through her hair, biting her lip in an attempt to quell the panic rising in her throat.

“Promise me you won’t freak out, little dove.”

Layla exhales sharply through her nose, unimpressed at the plea of the man on the other line. Coiling the telephone cord around her finger to calm her nerves, she responds.

“Fine, I’m not gonna freak out. Now, tell me what happened.”

“Well… Um… Jimmy, well, he kinda… got his… finger slammed in a train door?”

“...”

“Layla? Are you still there?”

“How?!”

“I told you not to freak out…”

“Robert!” Layla exclaims, concern painted clearly on her flushed face.

“Okay, okay, he told us he was holding the door open for someone on the way to Swan Song, and well… You know the rest.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

Another sigh sounds from the other line, and Layla waits in anticipation for his response, growing anxious with each passing moment. Finally, she hears the man’s response, and deflates with relief, sinking into the chair beside her.

“He should be fine. Like I said before, we’re gonna come get you right away. He’ll be okay, Layla.”

“Okay…Robert?”

“Yes, little dove?

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” Robert chuckles lightly, bringing a smile to Layla’s face, the undercurrent of anxiety still coursing through her. She thinks it will stay that way, until she sees Jimmy, makes sure he’s okay. “We’ll be there in 10 minutes. Sit tight, Layla.”

Layla sits at the kitchen table, biting her thumbnail, mind elsewhere, until she hears the telltale sound of a car pulling up, engine cutting out. Flying out the door, She spots Jonesy in the driver’s seat, Bonzo next to him, with Robert in the back. Opening the door, she sits next to the blond, and he gazes over at her, putting a hand to her shoulder. Sympathy flashes across his face as he takes in the shocked look Layla’s sporting.

“He’ll be okay, Layla. He will.”

“Robert, I… Jonesy, please, just drive?”

“Right.”

The engine rumbles to life, and they’re off, no doubt speeding to whatever hospital Jimmy’s holed up in. Layla lets her thoughts drift to Jimmy. She wonders how he’s doing, if he’s in any pain, if they’re treating him well. She’s distracted enough that she barely feels Robert’s hand, warm and comforting, on her knee. Layla is snapped out of her thoughts by a particularly sharp turn, and she looks up at Robert, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Rob… What if he’s… not okay? It was his finger. That means that he might not be able to play, if it’s bad enough,” She stammers, eyes frantic in their search of the blond’s face. “His guitar is his life, and—”

“Layla, calm down. It’ll be okay. It won’t do us any good to think like that.” Robert leans over, throwing his arm around her shoulder as best he could in the cramped car. To his surprise, she leans into him, resting her head on his shoulder. Layla unconsciously brings a hand up to bite her thumbnail, and catching the action, Robert places his hand on hers, pushing it back down to rest in her lap. They stay that way until the car rolls to a stop in the hospital parking lot. Layla lifts her head from Robert’s shoulder with breakneck speed, scrambling out of the car.

“Layla, wait!” Jonesy calls out, running after the woman, who dashes through the door. Robert and Bonzo catch up, just as Layla reaches the front desk, panting from exertion. The nurse on shift looks at her, eyes wide, shocked at the display.

“Excuse me, love,” Bonzo says, tucking Layla under his arm as he speaks to the nurse. “We’re looking for James Page? He was brought in for a fractured finger, I believe?”

“...Yes, right. What is your relationship with the patient?”

“We’re his bandmates, we can call our manager if you need proof. Please, we just need to see if he’s okay.”

The nurse eyes the group dubiously, and grabs the chart sitting next to her, looking through it. Glancing at the group again, she points behind them, to a room packed with seats, posters and pamphlets lining the walls.

“It seems that Mr. Page is still with the doctor getting X-rayed, so I’m going to need you to take a seat in the waiting area. Give that manager of yours a call, and we’ll see what we can do for you.”

“Thank you, love.” Bonzo says, as he herds the group over to the soft, patterned armchairs, plopping down with a sigh. Jonesy excuses himself to make a phone call to Peter, the others left waiting for news that won’t come fast enough.

Jimmy has to be okay. He has to.

----------

“For James Page?” The nurse’s voice rings out across the waiting area, and the group shoot up from their seats, stiff backs groaning in protest. “Follow me.”

The nurse leads them through a labyrinth of hallways, stopping finally at a room with a large 164 pasted on the closed door. Through the window looking into the room, Layla spots Jimmy asleep under the covers, his hands atop the sheets, resting on his stomach. He looks peaceful, she thinks, like he’s devoid of pain. If she couldn’t see the injured hand at all, she’d have thought he was perfectly fine.

The group finally walk into the room, the sharp smell of antiseptic burning their nostrils. Hearing the click of the door opening, Jimmy opens his eyes, pupils blown wide. His irises are almost black, and he sends them a dopey smile, a giggle bursting out.

“Hey, guys. Fancy seeing you all here.” Jimmy slurs, laughing harder now, as though he had told the most hilarious joke in the world. The boys join in, amused by the antics of their guitarist. Layla hangs back, staring at Jimmy, concern clear on her face. She had spotted the injured finger on the way in, which was already bruised a deep purple, the fingernail completely blackened.

“They give you the good stuff, Pagey?”

“You know it, Jonesy.” Jimmy shoots the bassist a sloppy wink, and the group erupts into soft laughter once more. Taking a dazed glance around the room, the raven-haired man pouts, completely endearing in his drugged state. “Hey… where’s Layla?”

Peter, who had been standing next to the bed, moves aside, and glassy green met warm brown. The guitarist smiles softly, relaxing back into the pillows. He sticks out his uninjured hand, and she walks closer to take it. Never lessening her grip, Layla threads the fingers of her free hand through Jimmy’s messy curls, and looks down at him fondly.

“How’re you doing, champ?”

“Good, now that you’re here. I would kiss you right now… if I wasn’t seeing two of you.”

“They must have him on the really good stuff…” Layla throws over her shoulder, looking back at the injured guitarist. He’s looking up at her with unabashed affection, and she can’t help but blush at the adoration in his gaze.

“Sorry to interrupt,” comes from the open doorway, as Jimmy’s doctor steps through. “I’m Dr. Vane, I treated James when he came in. If you’d kindly step out for a moment, I’d like to go over his prognosis.”

The boys file out of the room, and Layla goes to follow, stopped in her tracks by Jimmy tugging her back towards him with a whimper. She gives in, sinking back down in the chair at his bedside.

“I’m so glad you’re okay, Jimmy. I was so scared when Robert called. I thought...”

“I’m glad you’re here, petal. Now, come into bed with me. I want to see you better.” Jimmy mutters, scooting over to make room for her to fit in the small hospital bed. Layla laughs, nodding, and crawls in beside him, careful not to hurt him. She turns on her side, her hand landing in his hair again. Jimmy looks up at her, pupils still dilated, and presses a quick peck on her lips, giggling anew.

“You’re so beautiful. Have I ever told you that you’re beautiful? ‘Cause you are.” He insists, slurred speech returning in full force, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Go to sleep, Jimmy. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He hums softy in response and a few seconds later, Jimmy’s breathing evens out. He’s dead to the world. Through the door left ajar, Layla can hear snippets of the conversation with the doctor.

“... Fractured the tip of his finger… At least a month.”

“Will he be able to play anytime soon?” That was Peter, voice soft with worry for the frail man in the hospital bed.

“He should rest… Not good to put too much strain on it… Keeping him here until the anaesthetic wears off.”

Tuning them out, Layla looks down at the man sleeping beside her. His hair is matted on one side of his head, and he snores louder than he’d ever admit, but he looks peaceful. He’s not in any pain, and that’s enough for Layla. She drifts off, as the sound of footsteps against the floor draw near. Her tired eyes open to slits, and she sees a shadow with dark, shoulder-length and a beard. It must be Bonzo, she thinks. The last thing Layla hears before succumbing to the exhaustion that plagues her, is the drummer’s soothing voice, hushed to a whisper.

“Let them sleep.”

----------

taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 (let me know if you want to be added!)

[sleepawaywriting]

Mornings, Part I

[Piers x Reader, NSFW]

okay so this is half domestic headcanons, half unadulterated horniness. i love the goth boy okay I JUST WANT HIM TO GET SOME SLEEP.

NSFW (18+) UNDER THE CUT

You learn a lot about a person by sleeping with them. In your case, literally. Sleeping next to someone can be an exercise in trust, as it can be extremely vulnerable, and potentially disastrous. After all, you never know who you truly are while asleep until someone is there to bear witness. You could see everything: their nightly routine, their little habits and quirks. What did they prefer to wear, if they wore anything at all? How did they wind down? How did they get comfortable? Did they read? Listen to music? Did they prefer one pillow, or two, or ten? Did they surround themselves in a cocoon of blankets, or sleep completely uncovered, mocking the monsters under the bed? Did they stir at the slightest disturbance, or could they sleep through the end of the world? Were they restless in their slumber, or still as the grave? Did they snore? Did they talk? Did they steal blankets in the night, or did they cling to their partners? You personally found all of these details fascinating. It was as if the other person was sharing a special part of themselves, a part not too often seen by others.

You especially appreciated it now, as you dozed in-and-out of consciousness on a warm, cozy Sunday morning, lying entangled in the slender arms of your loving boyfriend. Your mind tended to wander on mornings like this, when you had no duties, no obligations, and could simply bask in the comforting presence of your slumbering musician. You thought it was funny, how you personally had very little change in your own sleeping habits since dating the ex-Gym Leader, despite your newly-inherited responsibilities as the Champion of Galar. Piers, on the other hand, had gone through an entire circadian metamorphosis since the two of you became intimate. Before you had moved into his flat in Spikemuth—a shocking and borderline scandalous development in your relationship, as far as the tabloids were concerned (you rarely paid them too much mind)—and before he had stepped down as Spikemuth’s Gym Leader, you were amazed if he managed to sleep more than four hours a night. You had an idea of how rarely he slept before you started dating—after all, why else would he send you texts in the dead of night and wee hours of the morning? But it wasn’t until after the two of you began sleeping together that you fully understood the extent of Piers’ problems. He had insomnia, that much was clear, and tended to become restless in the hours that you normally retired to bed. He claimed that all of his best ideas came to him late in the night, and would spend hours scribbling in his trusty journal while you cluelessly snoozed away next to him. Upon discovering this, you felt somewhat guilty, but he assuaged your worries by waxing poetic about how your soothing presence provided him with endless inspiration—that even while asleep, you helped organize his frenzied, haphazard thoughts long enough to translate them into song (and no matter how many times he admitted it, hearing how much you effected his music never failed to make you blush like a starstruck teen).

After moving in together, and as your domestic routines began to blend, so did your sleeping habits. It was surprisingly easy to get Piers into bed with you, you discovered. You simply had to tip-toe down to his basement studio and subdue him with a gentle kiss to the neck, along with some soft words teasing the shell of his ear. Though your schedules were not entirely in sync, as you had very different jobs, your sleepless songbird was finally getting some well-deserved rest. Gone were the mornings spent opening Spikemuth’s Gym, and spending most of the day prepping Gym Trainers, training Pokemon, and fighting rambunctious, overly-confident Gym Challengers, who often underestimated the rockstar’s abilities, much to your frustration. Now that he was a full-time musician, his workday didn't begin until late into the afternoon, and his concerts would often go late into the night. During your busiest times, when your Champion duties required you to be up at sunrise, you would have to bow out early most nights, feeling guilty when you could only support your boyfriend’s gigs about half of the time. Of course, in typical Piers fashion, he was endlessly understanding, and there was nothing quite as sweet as the feeling of going to bed alone, only to wake up and find him exhaustedly cuddled up next you, face buried into your chest or the small of your back (along with your menagerie of Pokemon, which, due to many of them being simultaneously competitive and cuddly, the two of you had to make a schedule for which Pokemon got to share the bed on certain nights).

You never expected Piers to be such a massive cuddler, but you very much welcomed it. At the beginning of your relationship, you suspected that Piers was averse to touch, as he tended to tense or not entirely reciprocate when you first began kissing or embracing him. You soon discovered that this was far from the truth, and that the poor guy simply wasn’t used to the type of affection you so enthusiastically showered upon him. Once the two of you lived together, it became increasingly obvious that he adored and craved your touch, often snuggling up against you and draping his arms around you when asleep. You also learned, that despite having trouble falling asleep, once Piers was securely in dreamland, it was almost impossible to wake him. On most mornings, escaping his Bewear-like grasp was your first Champion challenge of the day. On top of being a heavy sleeper, he was also a heavy sleep-talker. This rarely bothered you, in fact, you enjoyed having full conversations with him while he was none the wiser, with topics ranging from Marnie’s homework, Obstagoon’s yearly PokeCenter check-up, scheduling future gigs (he often mistook you for his manager in his sleep-addled stupor), and other silly, mundane things. He never remembered any of it, no matter how much you tried to jog his memory (he once mumbled out an imaginary itinerary for your future wedding—you never told him this, but it was a secret you held near and dear to your heart). There were many mornings where you would lie next to him, mindlessly scrolling through your phone or checking your emails, only for him to jolt half-awake, ask you, groggily, to write something down (usually an idea for a song), then immediately plop back down onto his pillow, snoring comically.

Those mornings were much like this one: quiet, unassuming—where you would debate for several minutes on whether you were gracious enough to let him sleep in, or impatient enough to wake him. You weren’t exactly in a hurry to get out of bed, as this was one of your rare days off, and the warmth radiating from Piers’ body, the welcoming scent of his lingering cologne, and the light pitter-patter of rain on the roof of the massive structure overhanging Spikemuth was enough to tempt you back into sleep. Your head rested under your boyfriend’s chin, your face close to the base of his neck, and you gently brought one hand up to trace a finger along the smooth metal of his collar, which he rarely removed. You weren’t sure if it was because he never wanted to, or if he simply forgot it was there, and either sounded like him, if you were being honest. Yawning quietly, you nudged your head back, wanting to get a better view of Piers’ sleeping face. Your bedroom happened to have a window facing the outside of Spikemuth’s container, allowing the diffused morning light to bathe your room in an overcast veil. He seemed to be sleeping soundly, despite his perpetually-grumpy expression still present, if somewhat more relaxed. You smiled to yourself, remembering when you first admitted to him, early in your friendship, that you assumed he hated you because of how he always seemed to look annoyed around you. “Hate to break it to ya, love, but that’s just my face,” he said then, making you feel embarrassed for assuming the worst about him, but also somewhat flustered that he referred to you as “love”. Back then, you wanted to write it off as one of his many Spikemuth-isms—that perhaps it was just a more casual nickname where he was from—but here you were, proven wrong.

Sighing softly, you looked over his sleeping form, admiring the way the stormy glow highlighted his features. You had always found him both incredibly adorable and handsome, despite the things he would say about himself in hushed tones on his worst days. His large, sad blue eyes, though closed for now, paired nicely with his high cheek bones and dark, striking eyebrows. You drew the tip of your index finger down the bridge of his nose, slightly crooked from the handful of times he had broken it in his youth, through back-alley scuffles and far-too-wild concerts. You tried not to giggle when the muscles in his face twitched as you reached the tip, giving it an extra boop for good measure. And, of course, you loved his mouth, the way his lips felt so soft and inviting against your own, the way they curled into the most adorable little smiles. The way they felt against your skin, at your wrists, the dip of your neck, across your shoulders, between your breasts, down your stomach, flush against your sensitive, needy heat, along with his overly-generous tongue.

Oh.

Suddenly and without warning, you really wanted him. Biting your lip, you didn’t wish to disturb the musician’s peaceful slumber, nor did you want him to spend the energy on reciprocating, which you knew he would insist upon (it was difficult to get him to be the least bit selfish about his own pleasure). Not to mention, you were still fairly groggy yourself, but you were equally as longing for your boyfriend, and the way his body would react to your loving, methodical touches, the way his beautiful voice would sound upon waking up in the throes of pleasure. Then, you remembered something. It was an idea the two of you had discussed before, whispers of heated fantasies in the dead of night, something that you had been waiting to act upon, but only at the right time, when it would truly be a surprise. Well, now was as good a time as any, you thought, smiling mischievously to yourself.

Ever-so-slowly, you wriggled out of Piers’ all-encompassing grasp, trying desperately not to laugh at how ridiculous you looked—arms firmly pressed to your sides, legs squeezed together, shifting yourself to-and-fro like a newly-hatched Caterpie. Once free, you sat up on your knees, careful to not shake the bed with your movements. Next came the difficult part, you thought, as he was on his side, and you needed him to be on his back for your plan to work. Placing one hand gently on his shoulder, and the other on his hip, you subtly began nudging him onto his back. You almost startled when he suddenly moved, shifting onto his back of his own accord. You winced internally, fully prepared for him to stir awake and be reasonably confused as to why you were leaning over him, but he quickly settled back into sleep, completely oblivious to the waking world. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, smiling at the silly, dramatic, sprawled-out position you boyfriend had assumed.

Carefully, you straddled his waist, making sure to place most of your weight onto your knees. Since the weather was getting warmer, even in the rainy, coastal town of Spikemuth, the both of you were sparsely clothed, with Piers completely bare, save for a thin pair of briefs. Looking him over, you watched the slow rise-and-fall of his chest, and admired the way his long, thick, two-toned hair cascaded down his pillow, descending into rivulets of stark white and midnight black against your bedsheets. He had just showered the previous night, which meant it was extra soft and fluffy, and just messy enough to make him look even more attractive, without risk of becoming a tangled mess. From your angle, you took the time to appreciate his slender frame, which you found endlessly attractive. You loved everything about him, from his prominent collarbones, to his flat chest, to the slight indents of his ribcage traveling down to the smooth plane of his abdomen, punctuated by his sharp hip bones. It took everything in you to not draw your hands up his torso, feeling every muscle and the occasional edge of bone beneath your eager touch. You frowned slightly, remembering how he would occasionally jab at himself, stating that he looked like a skeleton or a walking corpse at times. Though you knew he was joking, at least for the most part, you were adamant on reminding him just how much you adored his body, which was something that simultaneously baffled and flattered him. Your effortless and brutally honest compliments never failed to turn him sheepish, avoiding your gaze and hiding his warm cheeks behind his long, thick bangs. And you would keep reminding him, again and again, that he was plenty attractive, even if you needed to give him a a few more hands-on demonstrations to prove it, which you were more than happy to provide.

Taking a deep breath, you leaned over him, slowly placing your hands on either side of his head. Leaning down, you simply couldn’t resist brushing your lips against his own, just the softest, feather-light touch, holding yourself back from diving in and kissing him blissfully awake. Moving down, you grazed your lips across his neck, planting a gentle kiss at the base, right beneath his choker, noting the faint, yet sharp scent of leftover hair product, and the smooth, silky scent of mild soap. You left a trail of soft kisses across his collarbone, smiling into his skin as you noticed goosebumps appearing at your touch, then moved down to his chest, leaving a few kisses over his sternum before boldly swiping your tongue over one of his nipples. He flinched, and you looked up at his face, fearing the worst, but he simply turned his head to the side and settled back into sleep, breathing deeply. You could have imagined it, but you thought his cheeks took on a slightly rosy tint, contrasting with his normally pale complexion.

Continuing your journey downward, you lavished his soft belly with loving kisses and the occasional warm, gentle sweep of your tongue. Reaching the top of his hips, you nuzzled the soft, dark hair trailing down from his navel into the waistband of his briefs, before shifting your body down between his knees. You gingerly spread his thighs apart with your fingertips, lying down onto your stomach and slowly shimmying yourself forward, fitting comfortably between his long legs. Kissing up his soft inner thighs, you began to apply more pressure, teasing the sensitive skin with the edges of your teeth. You journeyed further upward, sucking on a particularly sensitive patch of skin that made his legs twitch beneath you. Hearing him exhale, you looked up, noticing as his breathing became slightly more labored. With a satisfied grin, you reached up with one hand, lightly palming the growing bulge beneath the soft fabric of his briefs. You adored the way Piers’ body reacted to even the slightest, most teasing touches, and the fact that you could make him feel so good so easily was a massive turn-on. It certainly helped boost your confidence—not to mention, seeing the handsome musician thoroughly enjoy himself never failed to make you weak in the knees.

It only took a few moments for your boyfriend to grow hard and wanting beneath your ministrations. You released him from his briefs, taking a moment to admire his cock in all its unapologetic glory. You suddenly remembered his reaction to you the first time you saw it. You must have been making some kind of face, because he immediately interjected with, “It’s not that big, is it?”, to which you replied, “Oh, ‘It’s not that big, is it?’,”  playfully mocking his accent for good measure, “Mr. Humble over here with ‘It’s not that big’. Seriously?” you smiled and rolled your eyes as your boyfriend laughed. You then told him it was pretty, which made him laugh even harder, but you were being completely serious. It was big, as in long, but not too girthy, and as pale as he was, save for the last half, which was flushed pink (it was actually quite similar to the rest of him, now that you thought about it). It also never failed to make you feel so full and satisfied, hitting all the spots inside of you that made you whimper and squirm. You wanted to be re-acquainted, preferably soon, but for now, you had other plans.

You decided to tease him a little more before fully indulging yourself, drawing the soft pad of your index finger up the underside of his shaft before circling it around the tip, taking your sweet time to feel every dip and curve. His breathing grew heavier, and now you could see that his cheeks were fully flushed, his brow tensing slightly as you all but tickled his aching cock. Licking a stripe up your hand, you gently wrapped it around him, keeping your grip loose enough as to not overwhelm his senses right away. Stroking him slowly, you lavished the rest with gentle kisses, reveling in the way his hips twitched and his breath stuttered once you began swirling your tongue around the tip. He was so warm, and you felt him throb beneath your hand, his hips practically jolting in place when you gave the tip a generous squeeze. You briefly wondered if he was dreaming, and if so, if he was dreaming about you.

Watching, enamored, as the tip began to leak clear pre-cum, you felt a hunger welling up deep within your chest and between your legs. You slowly began to take him into your mouth, securely holding his hips down in case he unconsciously thrusted up inside of you (though you weren’t opposed to the idea, you didn’t want him to wake up to the sound of you gagging). You took him down about half way, before delaying his gratification by withdrawing and, again, swirling your tongue around the tip. His entire body shifted this time, a soft, tired, breathless moan escaping his lips, sending a sharp pang of arousal deep into your lower belly. Your brain grew foggy, a wave of lust and adoration clouding your thoughts as you took him all the way, brow furrowed in concentration, wrangling in your gag reflex once the tip hit the back of your throat. He moaned again, and if it wasn’t the most beautiful, erotic sound. His voice was already gorgeous under normal circumstances, but especially in the morning, when it was tinged with the slightest bit of gravel and honey-like richness. It made you feel hopelessly needy, your own arousal, slick and hot, pooling between your thighs.

You continued with the same action, slowly taking him until he hit the back of your throat, then withdrawing, listening intently to the way his moans became more haggard and desperate—until about the fifth time, when you pulled him in completely, daring to swallow around him and practically choke yourself on his cock. You heard him gasp, a startled moan escaping him as you felt a hand grip the back of your head. Well, good morning, you thought, trying not to smile or laugh with a cock stuffed halfway down your throat. You drew up off of him, your eyes connecting with his sparkling blue ones, his pupils blown wide, noting how his adorable flush had spread up to his ears and down his neck. Before he could say anything, you took him again, setting a more intense pace now that he was awake.

“Fuck—,” he groaned loudly, hips stuttering as he carded his long, slender fingers through your hair, his other hand clinging to the one holding his hip. You laced your fingers through his own as you drew up off of him again, sucking on the tip almost obscenely before licking a firm stripe up the underside of his shaft.

“So good, love,” he praised, shuddering as he threw his head back onto the pillows, taking a handful of your hair and tugging slightly. Pulling him back into the slick heat of your mouth, you moaned around him, his breathless praise making your heart flutter. Feeling him throb inside of you, you moaned again, breathing out through your nose, before bracing yourself and taking him as far as you could go, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. He practically convulsed, making a delicious choked, startled noise when you felt him spill down your throat—hot, musky, and not entirely unpleasant. He held your head firm to him as he rode out his orgasm, a string of curses, praises, and broken moans leaving his exhausted body, before you tapped him twice on the hip, indicating that you needed to breathe.

“Ah, sorry—!” he startled, releasing you as you practically gasped for air, settling back onto your knees. He leaned up, reaching out to cradle your face with one hand, drawing a thumb along your cheekbone before hooking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His gentle touch made you shudder, closing your eyes as you steadied your breathing. Upon hearing your name, you opened them again, your heart swelling at your boyfriend’s tired gaze and dopey, lovestruck grin.

“I… I just—,” he started, stumbling over his syllables, drawing a hand back through his messy hair, “You— you’re so— ah, fuck it,” he gave up on words and decided to just pull you up into his lap instead. You laid on top of him, chest flush against his own as he drew you into a lazy, tender kiss, and you couldn’t help but hum at the way he slid his tongue lovingly between your lips. Cradling your chin, he broke the kiss, staring deep into your eyes.

“I love you,” he practically whispered, and you felt your face heat under his intense gaze. Suddenly feeling shy, despite the filthy things you just did to him, you hid your face into the crook of his neck.

“I… I love you too,” you squeaked. He chuckled, wrapping his arms around you, and you could feel the vibrations of his voice beneath your flushed cheeks.

Sighing, you settled into him, listening to the rain and breathing in his warm scent as he came down from his high. You had almost dozed off again when he suddenly spoke.

“Ya know, if ya want me to do somethin’ for ya, I could—“

“Not right now,” you hummed, pressing a soft kiss to his neck, “Can we just stay like this, for a while?”

“Of course,” he replied, voice gentle and smooth as silk. He felt you smile against him, before you yawned dramatically, nuzzling further into him. He began tracing soothing circles into your back, sending tingles down your spine, and you quickly fell asleep to the sound of his breathing.

[ambssssssssss]

Ninth Year

Part 7 | Part 9

After nine years, Jamie’s a little surprised that she still finds Dani so endearing. It’s getting harder for Dani, Jamie knows. She’s noticed her staring at her reflection a little longer than normal. She knows the dreams are getting worse and that Dani is pulling into herself a bit, but sometimes the real Dani shines through. The Dani that Jamie first fell for, a little broken, a little damaged but still a kind, caring person at heart. The kind of person who sees a dying plant on the street and picks it up, carrying it to safety so it can grow and flourish under caring hands. Jamie can’t help but smile at the woman she loves, gladly letting Dani take over cooking so Jamie can look at the plant she brought home. 

“Well, there’s your problem. Your roots are all…” Jamie trails off as her eyes catch a glimpse of gold buried in the dirt. A ring, a Claddagh ring, is hidden in the roots. Jamie picks the ring up. “Dani, why is there a-” 

“Here’s the thing,” Dani interrupts, looking more nervous than Jamie has seen her in a long time. “You’re my best friend and the love of my life. And I don’t know how much time we have left. But however much it is, I want to spend it with you.” Dani is nodding her head slightly as she speaks, eyes shining, and Jamie feels herself drifting closer, the answer already building on her tongue. “And I know we can’t technically get married but I also don’t really care. We can wear the rings and we’ll know and that’s-that’s enough for me. If it’s enough for you.” 

“I reckon that’s enough for me, yeah,” Jamie doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry so she lands somewhere in the middle, the ring sliding over the tip of her index finger as she closes the distance between herself and Dani, pressing their lips together in what might be the most gentle kiss they’ve ever shared. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too. So much.” 

They don’t plan a big ceremony to celebrate their wedding, but they do invite Henry and the kids down for dinner one evening. All three of them are overjoyed for the couple and Flora spends a few minutes waxing poetically about finding her true love one day much to Miles’ annoyance. Henry looks downright frightened at the thought of his niece falling in love one day. Luckily, in the way of brothers, Miles is sure to bring things back to a more level and amusing mood by wondering aloud how anyone could ever fall for his troll of a sister. 

It’s a nice dinner, one that they wished could happen more often. The Winegraves had largely been living their own lives away from the Claytons (Jamie had her name changed as soon as she could after the wedding) but they made an effort to share at least a phone call every once in a while. After dinner, when they were sitting in the living room together sharing drinks and stories about the last nine years, Jamie began to wonder if they were really there, really married, really living this amazing life together. 

“It seems so unreal sometimes,” Jamie commented as they climbed into bed after Henry and the kids had left for the hotel they were staying in for the night. Dani hums in response, looking at Jamie questioningly and there’s something different about her in that moment. Something lighter. Jamie can see it in her eyes even if she can’t quite put her finger on what it is yet. “This, us.” 

“Us?” Dani asks as they lay down, wrapping her arm around Jamie’s waist. Jamie hums in confirmation. 

“I’d never thought I’d get to live a life like this, not in my wildest dreams.” Jamie turns her head and presses a kiss against Dani’s cheek and then her lips. “It may not always be easy but it’s ours. What we’ve done in the time we’ve had so far, it’s so beautiful.” Jamie turns on her side and lifts her hand to brush Dani’s bangs out of her face. “You’re so beautiful. I almost can’t believe you’re my wife now.” 

“And to think we were first met, I was almost married to a man,” Dani says and Jamie knows that it’s going to be a good night for them, for Dani. 

“Perish the thought,” Jamie quipped with a roll of her eyes, laying on her back again. 

“Hey,” Dani reaches out and cups her face, pulling Jamie’s gaze to her. It’s hard to tell in the low lighting of their bedroom, but Jamie swears that Dani’s eye is a lighter brown than normal. “I’m really glad I married you.” 

“I’m pretty glad you married me too,” Jamie grins, moving to kiss her wife as she rises up slightly, hovering over the woman she loves. “Care to see just how glad I am?” 

Dani giggles and wraps her arms around Jamie, pulling her down on top of her. Jamie laughs with her for a moment and then she’s much more interested in making a different sound come out of Dani’s mouth. 

It’s definitely a good night, for both of them. 

They plan a trip to Paris soon after, wanting to tell Owen their news in person. This isn’t the kind of news that can really be shared over  a phone call or through a letter and, after all, it’s been nine years since they were last back across the pond. This is something to be shared over dinner and champagne and Owen has a guest room that he’s invited them to use several times. It’s about time they took him up on the offer. 

Of course, planning the trip to Paris is different than actually getting there but they make it eventually and Owen is just as happy for them as he would have been six months ago. 

“Fantastic news,” Owen calls it over dinner at his restaurant. Jamie makes a quip about the name but they agree that it’s fitting, and that Hannah would have loved it. It would have made her laugh. 

For the majority of the meal, Dani feels light and present. There’s the near constant presence of Jamie’s arm wrapped around her and Dani can’t help but rest her free hand on Jamie’s thigh in time. She runs her thumb along the fabric of Jamie’s pants and marvels at how free she feels simply sitting there, holding and being held by her wife while they have dinner with a man that they both consider family. 

It’s shattered in an instant by the distorted image of Viola Lloyd looking back at Dani from the metal pitcher the waitress uses to refill her water.

[ddagent]

A Year in Review - Writers Version

Rules: pick your favourite sentence from a work you posted / wrote during a month of 2020! if you didn’t write anything in any particular month, don’t worry! tell us what you were doing or use it as free space for runner-up sentences. after that, tag 8 people or more to do the meme!

I know I am hideously late but I’m battling this sinus infection and only just now catching up. I was tagged by the amazing @aviss, and I am tagging anyone who wishes to do it! <3

January: Head, Hand, Heart (Chapter 15)

Brienne kissed Jaime in the spot where they had first met, where they had first embraced. Where they would stand as Queen and Prince Consort to preside over the kingdoms. Where they would present their first child to the Court. Where Jaime would tell their three children for the umpteenth time how he thought their mother the Maiden when she entered this very room. Brienne kissed Jaime in that spot until they both decided to return to their bedchambers and satisfy their hunger. They left the ghosts behind them as they went and began their new life together.

The Lion and the Beauty. Oathkeeper and Stormbreaker. The Golden Prince and the Warrior Queen.

February: I Can’t Get No Satisfaction 

“How gallant of you. Let us see how long it lasts before all you think about is your want; your need to touch your clit, fill that cunt of yours.” His teeth toyed with his bottom lip. Brienne loosened her grip. “You think I want to fuck you? I have no desire to bed anyone other than my sister, but I equally have no desire to walk all the way to the capital with my cock stiff and my balls blue. I am merely suggesting, my Lady, that we give each other a helping hand to take the edge off.”

“I won’t untie you.”

“There are other ways I can touch you, my Lady. You can straddle my face; let my tongue give you the orgasm you so desperately need.”

March: Sugar

Jaime’s forehead furrowed, and those beautiful lips fell into a frown. “Can you give us a minute?” he said to the waitress and, after she took her leave, leant across to Brienne once again. “You’re not used to asking for the things you want, are you?”

She bristled at his tone. “And I bet you never have to ask; they’re just given to you.”

He grinned. “Most of the time. I was lucky enough to be born into a family with more wealth than I can ever spend. My sister’s bought vineyards; my brother a boat or three. I’d like to buy your time and your company.”

“Why me?”

April: Table for One

As she completed the last table of appetisers, Podrick returned. He was smiling. “Table fourteen said to give his compliments to the chef.”

Brienne frowned. “He hasn’t even eaten it yet.”

“He said if you cook steak as well as your scallops, he’s in for a good meal.” Podrick closed the distance between them, so the rest of the kitchen couldn’t hear what else he had to say. “He also said that if he’s lucky enough to get a third course, he’d like the chef to bring it out herself.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks flushed. “I see.”

May: Chariot

Jaime pulled his car up in front of the Tarth Limited building; the blue-tinted windows shining in the King’s Landing sun. “We’re here.”

“Thank you,” said one of his passengers; a tall, striking woman with the bluest eyes Jaime had ever seen. Her companion, a shorter, plain-looking man whose face Jaime wouldn’t be able to pick out of a line-up, said nothing. “Have a good day.”

The woman went to open the rear door, only to find the handle stuck. Not wanting yet another comment about kidnapping passengers and holding them in his back seat, Jaime flung himself out of the driver’s side and opened Widow’s back door. While some (his mother, for example) found calling his car Widow’s Wail macabre, Jaime found it suited the faulty door, rusted exhaust, and the tendency for the radio to splutter to life at the oddest moments.

“Sorry about the door,” he offered, allowing the young woman to make her escape. “Have a–have a good day.”

June: Pride

Cat grinned, and Jaime just sat, watching his daughter smile his smile. She had her mother’s eyes and nose; both of their desire to wave around a stick at other people carrying sticks. But that smile was all him. She grinned at her lion cub, who had her mistress’ eyes, and Jaime knew the exact moment his daughter settled on the perfect name.

“Sapphire,” she said; the cub sneezing in response. “Saffie for short.”

“I love it. And your mother will love it, too.” He stroked his daughter’s head, earning a content smile from his child and a bop of the head from the newest addition to the family. “Now, will my little lions finally go to bed?”

July: Sparkline

“Nineteen Reasons why Hand Jaime Lannister is the sexiest politician in Westeros,” Brienne teased as Jaime entered her office. The Sparkline article was open in her browser; a topless photograph found on his brother’s social media reason number one. “And then there’s the one about your beard.”

Jaime ran a hand over his face as he slumped into his familiar seat beside Brienne’s desk. “Ah, yes. I saw that article.”

“They suggested you should call it Ovary Killer.” A clear riff on Oathkeeper, the ancient Valyrian sword that hung in the Queen’s office. It’s sister blade hung in his own. He’d like to take it to his laptop most days. Over her screen, Brienne caught Jaime’s eye and grinned. “The press is rather fond of you.”

“As they are of you, Your Grace. You and…Renly.”

August: Score

“Touché, Ms Tarth,” Jaime said; his smile fixed in place as he chatted with her. “Manager of the Evenstar and so desperate to meet me that you did a job one of your staff could have easily done.”

Brienne snorted. “I don’t believe in hiding in my office, Mister Lannister, especially during a busy weekend. Believe me, the highlight of my day will be watching you lose, not seeing you in a small towel.”

“Oh, so you did see me in that towel?” Jaime Lannister teased his bottom lip with his teeth, and her traitorous stomach somersaulted. “I should thank you again, Ms Tarth. My lucky gloves were in my room; without that key, who knows how many of your goals I would have nearly let in.”

“I don’t think your hands are nearly as good as you think they are.”

September: Mixed Doubles

The half-penny dropped, and Jaime had the sudden urge to throw himself in front of a fire-breathing dragon. Anything other than face this realisation. As Jason re-joined Brienne and Melara in the living room, Jaime gripped the kitchen island and tried not to scream. “Oh, Gods!”

“Now, Jaime, this isn’t something to get worked up about,” his father declared; a wry smile forming on his features. “In actuality, it’s rather amusing.”

“We’re not even on the same continent as amusing! Tyrion told me to wait a day.” Jaime turned sharply towards his brother. “Wait a day, you said. Ask her then if you think it’s right, you said. Well during that day, Brienne fell for the direct-to-DVD version of me!”

Tyrion held out his hands; trying to placate his brother. “Jaime, I know you’re angry—”

“—angry; I’m not angry. I just want to hit you, wait a day, and take you to the maester then!”

October: N/A

[I didn’t write anything in October. Not even headcanons :( ]

November: Not Marriage Material

“Is she presentable?”

From behind the handmaiden, a choked snort of derision echoed out into the hallway. Jaime, Lord of Casterly Rock, just smiled. The handmaiden, short of stature but sweet of face, merely nodded and allowed him entry. Her gaze lingered on his crimson tunic and golden curls before the girl took her leave; no doubt to return to the kitchens and wax poetic about the Golden Lion. Jaime took a moment to bask in the admiration before he entered his oldest friend’s chambers.

Brienne was sat in front of the looking glass, staring unhappily at her reflection. Jaime crossed the room and pressed his lips to her freckled cheek. “Lady Evenstar.”

“My Lord.” Brienne sighed as he perched himself atop the dresser. “Who is it today?”

December: A Sevenmas Carol

“I don’t deserve this.”

“Did I deserve my end, Kingslayer? Did my husband and sons? Does your sister, after all she’s done, deserve to die in your arms like lovers from a song?” Lady Stark blinked away a tear. “Life is not given to the deserving. It is not a case of what you deserve. What do you want, Ser Jaime?”

He did not even have to think. “Her.”

[doing-all-write]

act two, scene two

Pairing: College!Joe Mazzello x Fem!Reader

Summary: Joe is in your Acting 101 class and you’re never quite sure if your flirty relationship is just pretend or the real thing. Then, you’re given the scene you’ll have to present during your final...

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: SMUT (don’t interact if you’re under 18 please!), swearing, drinking and me fantasizing about how adorable and dorky college!Joe would be. 

A/N: Between working from home and social distancing myself, your girl has SO MUCH free time so GET READY FOR LOTS OF WRITING!!! I hope everyone is doing okay during these Weird Fucking Times but here’s some soft and smutty Joe to get you through! 

Thanks to @fairestkillerqueenofall​, @mrhoemazzello​, and @diasimar​ for the inspiration and for being the best dang #LizardLadies around 💖

💖💖As always likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated 💖💖

“Room 102...room 102...room 102...there you are.” Realizing she’d been mumbling to herself underneath her breath, her (Y/E/C) eyes flitted over the hall, making sure no one had heard her talking to herself. 

Heaving a sigh, she gave a little shimmy, shaking off the nervous energy that was buzzing under her skin like bees and opened the door to the classroom. 

Well, not a real classroom. It was a blackbox. When she had chosen her major for college, she couldn’t completely get rid of the dream where she majored in theatre and got to spend her life doing something that she loved. So, when her counselor had asked her, she’d given a double major. Something “practical” and theatre. She knew if she didn’t have that creative outlet, her world would become drab and gray. 

Walking into the room, the sounds of murmured conversations flooded her eardrums, the old wood floors sending shock waves up her calves with every “clunk” of her heeled boots. She knew the next few moments would be crucial. 

Choosing a seat. 

She knew that wherever she sat today would be her seat for the rest of the semester. With the pivotal task hanging over her, she scanned the bodies that were already crammed into seats. The first row was filled with girls with bouncy curls, long legs, cute sundresses, all of them loudly clamoring to get information from the girl in the middle holding court with her story of how she had met the cast of Mean Girls by the stage door over the summer. 

In the last row were a few kids dressed all in black, heads down, beanies firmly planted as they scribbled into moleskine notebooks. 

In the middle, random pockets of students, mostly keeping to themselves, one or two had struck up conversations asking the basic questions, “What’s your major” “What did you do over the summer” “How embarrassing do you think this class will be” etc. 

Her eyes lit upon a boy sitting toward the end of a row in the middle of the desks.  All she could make out was his ginger hair as he rooted around in his backpack. It was sticking up in several directions, like he constantly ran his fingers through it. She couldn’t help thinking she’d like to run her fingers through it one day. Taking a deep breath, she decided the middle, end of the row was the best spot for her. Hitching her backpack higher on her shoulder, she started climbing the stairs, keeping an eye on him as he was now elbow deep in his backpack, muttering to himself. 

Sliding into the seat one down from him, she swung her hair over her shoulder, aiming a small smile at him as he paused in his actions to stare at her with wide eyes. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she ducked her head to pull out her own notebook, letting her hair fall in front of her face to hide the blush climbing from her neck up into her cheeks. 

Stupid. Joe scolded himself as he shook himself from his dazed state. Why he didn’t just smile back at her was beyond him. He chalked it up to being stunned by her beauty and being slightly confused why someone so beautiful was paying any attention to him. 

That, and he was pretty hungover. 

“Dammit,” he muttered to himself as he realized that he must have forgotten a pencil, the most basic school instrument, in his haste to get out the door and make it to class on time. 

“Do you, um, do you need to borrow a pencil?” His eyes darted up to meet her (Y/E/C) ones and let a smile grow over his face (finally, she thought) as he nodded. Smiling back, she quickly darted a hand into her backpack only to pull out a pencil pouch covered in cacti. He felt his smile grow bigger at how cute it was. 

“Here you go.” She handed him a mechanical pencil and he accepted it with a thanks, “I’ll give it back at the end of class, promise.” 

She waved him off, “No, no. Don’t worry about it, I accidentally bought a pack of 500 pencils so you’re doing me a favor by taking one off my hands.” 

Joe cocked his head, “How do you end up with 500 pencils?” She opened her mouth but before she could defend herself, the door swung open and a woman draped in what looked like the whole curtain section of a home goods store came striding into the room, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention. 

“Thespians! Thespians! Thespians! Listen up! Your start to a long and lucrative career in the arts begins...immediately.” She proclaimed as she swanned onto the stage in front of them, hands waving, the many rings she wore reflecting the stage lights all over the room, creating a make-shift disco ball. 

“Either she has a lisp and called us all lesbians or I signed up for the wrong class.” Joe whispered as he leaned over to her. Her mouth quirked up in a smirk as she finished dating the page she was writing on in her notebook. Joe glanced down to see she had written the date and the name of the class in pink pen and felt a surge of adoration at her adorable actions. 

As class continued, (Y/N) thanked her lucky stars at her chosen seat. This boy next to her was cute and funny, which was a lethal combination for her, but part of her was worried that she may have something on her face, considering the way he had just stared at her with no reaction for a long time when she initially sat next to him. 

For the rest of class, they kept stealing glances at each other, eyes sometimes meeting, smiles exchanged when it happened, as Professor Lily waxed poetic on the arts and why theatre is the best thing one can do to “expand the mind, the body and most importantly, the heart.” 

She had let her mind wander to what it would be like to run her fingers through her seat mate's hair but was snapped back to the present when Lily started talking about their final. 

“Now. For the final, I will be assigning you and a partner a scene to perform for us at the end of the semester. This will be completely random but I’d like to get it done now so you and your scene partner can start thinking about it and preparing. Acting is all about the nuance, the tiny details you can make a whole meal out of.” She fluttered down from the stage, pairing people at random. 

(Y/N) suddenly found herself desperately wishing that she and the boy next to her would be made partners. 

Joe clenched his hands into fists as he jiggled his leg up and down, hoping beyond hope that he and the girl next to him would be paired up. 

As Professor Lily came to them, her eyes softened, gesturing a hand grandly to Joe she proclaimed, “Mister…” letting it trail off so he could fill in the blank. 

“Mazzello. Joe Mazzello.” she nodded sagely as she gestured to the girl next to him, “and Miss…”

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)” she promptly filled in. 

“You two shall be working together.” As she floated down the stairs she couldn’t help but indulge a tiny smile as she considered the scene she would give them to perform. 

Turning to Joe, (Y/N) smiled, “Hey partner.” 

“Hey partner.” Joe returned in a bad southern accent as he pretended to hitch up suspenders. 

“I don’t know why you’re in this class, it seems like you don’t need a lot of acting help.” she laughed as she closed her notebook, twisting in her seat to face Joe head on. Smirking, he draped an arm over the back of his chair, “I’m just here to show everyone else how it’s done. I’m very generous like that.” 

“You’re too good to us peons. How can we ever repay you?” 

“By not making me look like an ass during the final.”

“No promises on that front.” she deadpanned as she closed her notebook, tucking it back into her bag that was covered in patches and pins.

“You think you have enough hardware on your bag?” 

Pushing her hair behind her ear, her eyes flicked up to meet his as a smile grew over her face, “Honestly? No. I have a problem.”  She shrugged as she straightened up. 

Joe smiled back as he scooted his chair closer to her, “The first step is admitting you have a problem so I’m proud of you for taking that first step.” 

Rolling her eyes, she contemplated the boy before her. His eyes were bright as he stared boldly back at her. He never sat still, even now, his leg was bouncing up and down like a maniac. It made her want to reach a hand out and settle it on his thigh, hoping to translate some calm from her body to his just through her touch but knew that would be a step too forward at this stage. 

“Well listen, I think this partnership is going to work but like you said, I don’t want to look like an ass, when are you free?”

~~~

Weeks had passed. The glow of those first few easy classes had passed into rigorous studying, hours filled with homework and group projects with everyone trying to figure out when they could fit in sleep and socializing. 

With finals looming closer, the semester had started taking its toll on (Y/N). Her classes all bled together, as did the piles of reading she had every night. But even when she started googling how much people would pay for feet pictures, she never dreaded her acting class. It was her favorite part of the week. For 50 minutes, three times a week, she got to do what she loved most. Even Professor Lily’s eccentricity had become a balm and reminded her to stop taking everything so seriously.

 As Lily had put it once “you all need to stop being so serious, no one likes an actor who takes their work too seriously. Look at Jared Leto!” 

That had snapped them out of their melancholy. 

As (Y/N) walked into the Black Box, fidgeting with the strap of her backpack, she cursed the fact that she had chosen to wear a dress, considering how chilly it was in the classroom but as she climbed the stairs to her seat next to Joe, it was worth it to see his eyes light up when they fell on her form. As the weeks had passed, they had struck up an easy reparatie. A lot of times, (Y/N) had no idea if they were really flirting or just play-flirting. It was easy to get swept up in believing that the sparks between them were real enough to explode into something more but then Joe would look away or she’d get too in her head and the moment would be lost and they’d go back to their usual friendly banter. 

The scene Lily had given them definitely didn’t help her confusion.

~~~

“Act two, scene two.” Joe wiggled his eyebrows at her as she walked down the row of chairs at the start of their third class together. 

Quirking an eyebrow at him, she slowly lowered into her chair, “Okay?” 

Leaning forward, Joe raked his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end, adding an even crazier level of insanity to his look as he strained forward, trying to make her understand, “Act two, scene two.” he hissed again. 

“Mazzello, did you have a stroke? Those words mean nothing to me…” her voice drifted off as Lily’s ethereal form materialized in front of her, “I believe Mr. Mazzello is referring to the scene I assigned you for your final.” Pulling a stack of papers from within the folds of her scarfs, she grandly laid them on (Y/N)’s desk and floated back to the front of the room, where she began lecturing. 

Cutting her eyes over to Joe’s she was surprised to see some hesitancy in them as he nodded at her to flip through their pages. Shrugging, she leaned forward and felt her breath catch in her throat as she recognized the lines. 

But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

Her head whipped up and met Joe’s. 

Joe hadn’t realized how nervous he had been to see her reaction to the scene they had been given until he saw a spark in her eyes and her lips curled into a smile as he held her gaze, letting a wink drop at her. Giggling, she turned to rustle through her backpack and Joe almost dropped the highlighter she tossed at his chest.  

“Well? Get highlighting Romeo, we have some romantic tension to work on.” she whispered as she popped the cap off her own highlighter. 

~~~

As Lily dismissed them all for the day, Joe groaned and let his forehead bang on his desk as she calmly continued packing up her things. 

“What’s wrong, Joey?” her only reply as Joe continued to huff out sigh after sigh to get a reaction from her. 

“I can’t do it anymore, (Y/N). The pressure, it’s getting to me. It’s all too much.”

“What? The pressure of being Lily’s favorite student? Or just the weight of having to carry every scene we do in class?”

“Yes.” He moaned as he rolled his head to the side, only one eye visible as he stared at her trying to hold back a smirk at his dramatics. “Don’t laugh at me, I’m distraught.”

“Too distraught to rehearse tonight?” 

“Yes.” came the muffled reply as he buried his head in his arms.

“I have a new bottle of wine, a fresh bag of goldfish and I booked the auditorium.”

“Okay, not as distraught anymore. I think I can make it.” 

“Thought so.” she said as she patted him on the shoulder. 

~~~

“What's in a name? That which we call a rose. By any other name would smell as sweet,” her voice flowed over Joe like the first breeze of spring. He was sure that if anyone was to watch them rehearsing, the only note they’d give Joe was to “tone down” the mooning he felt himself doing as he watched (Y/N) act.  

His eyes couldn’t radiate anymore love than they already were. He almost felt embarrassed for himself but figured if they really wanted to pass this class then, maybe over the top was better. 

As (Y/N) finished up the last part of her lines, she felt her cheeks heat up as Joe locked her in place with his ardent gaze. She felt a smile tug at her lips as his own grew wider as she leaned forward, resting her chin on her crossed arms on the top of the ladder she was standing on. 

Clasping the ladder with both hands, Joe pushed his own body forward as he delivered his next few lines, knowing the smile growing across his face was getting out of hand but not being able to stop it. Her eyes were dancing with mirth as her smile blossomed. 

They had set up their stuff in the middle of the stage, (Y/N) pulling out a bottle of wine with two red solo cups (“You couldn’t find anything classier than Red Solo cups?” “Do you want some cheap wine or not?” “I never said I didn’t want it (Y/N).”) and Joe flinging his body onto the ground, complaining about everything he had due until she’d threatened to spill the whole bottle on his face. With that threat looming large, Joe had scoured backstage to find something they could use as a balcony. 

She’d almost jumped out of her skin when Joe had pulled the ladder to the middle of the stage with enough noise to wake the dead, as was his M.O. 

They’d been rehearsing their scene for the past hour. They had their lines word perfect, they knew their blocking but every time they got to the end, they both felt the urge to kiss each other; but as their characters or as themselves was still up in the air. Each time they spoke their last lines, the silence would hang, the air crackling between them until one, or both of them, would pull away and ask if they should “run it one more time?” 

Their argument being that maybe running it “one more time” would unlock something MORE in their words and their actions. 

They both agreed that Lily would really approve of that decision. 

“Parting is such sweet sorrow! That I shall say good night till it be morrow…” (Y/N) breathed out as their eyes locked together, both of them moving forward infinitesimally.

 It’s finally going to happen. Her heart leaped into her throat as Joe glanced down at her lips but then, he blushed and cleared his throat. Turning away, he asked if there was more wine. 

Blinking herself from the haze, she nodded numbly, stepping down from the ladder only to be stopped by Joe’s hand by her side, “May I help you down from your balcony, fair Juliet?” 

Giggling, she slipped her hand into Joe’s, marveling at how well they fit together as she stepped down from the ladder, turning only to be face to face with Joe again.

Looking down at her, Joe smirked, “Hello there.” 

“Hi” she whispered, looking up at Joe through her eyelashes. It made Joe want to fall to his knees and promise her anything she wanted if she just always looked at him like that. 

This time, she was the one to break away first, grabbing his cup from the ground as she sauntered over to the bottle, sweating underneath the stage lights.  

Handing it back to him they both took a long sip. Bringing his cup down, Joe scrunched his face, “Jesus, this wine is awful.” 

“Grow up Mazzello, it’s good for you. Plus it was only $5, what did you expect?” 

Shrugging his shoulders in defeat, he finished the last gulp of wine, cocking an eyebrow at (Y/N), “Want to run it again?”

Throwing her head back she dramatically finished her wine, Joe taking the opportunity to admire her throat and thinking how it would look covered in hickies he left. Shaking himself, he realized the wine must have loosened him up more than he thought. 

“Let’s do this one more time, I’m going to be the best damn Juliet this school has ever seen.” she proclaimed as she scrambled up the ladder again, looking back over her shoulder at Joe, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol. 

Joe chuckled as he got into place underneath her. By the time he nodded at her to start the scene he felt his heart expand as he looked up at her, her hair glowing underneath the lights, her eyes dreamily looking out over the horizon, talking about how in love she was with him.

Well, not me me, but my character. She’s a good actress, it’s easy to get swept up in the drama of it all, he reasoned with himself. 

As the scene got closer and closer to the end, he made herself promise he wouldn’t wimp out of kissing her. The wine they’d consumed left him feeling a little braver. So, as she breathed out her last line, bidding Joe farewell, and they locked eyes it was the wine that helped push the words past Joe’s lips. 

“We should probably practice kissing, huh?” 

Before the last word had passed his lips, (Y/N) reached out, grasping the collar of the worn gray t-shirt he was wearing and pulled him to her, crashing her lips against his. 

His arms reached up, wrapping around her, pulling her closer to him as their lips fit together perfectly. Winding a hand through her hair, he felt like if he were to be struck dead in the next moment, he would die happy. 

As her hands interlocked behind Joe’s neck, she got the feeling she had done this a million times before and would do it a million more times. 

When they finally pulled away, they both were breathing heavily, her forehead leaning against Joe’s as they looked at each and giggled, “I think if we bring that kind of heat to the performance they’ll fail us for being too graphic.” Joe breathed out as she laughed, planting another quick kiss to his lips. “Yeah but, it’s worth it.” she murmured as she blinked up at Joe through her eyelashes. Joe groaned as he pressed his lips against hers again, “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that right?” Her only response was to deepen the kiss as Joe growled against her mouth. 

“You know, we’re the only ones in this auditorium, and we’ll be the only ones in here for the next three hours…” Joe let his voice trail off as he searched (Y/N)’s face to see if she was into this idea. Her widening eyes and the way she scrambled down the ladder, pulling Joe down with her, was the only indication he needed. 

As she hit the ground, her head swiveled, trying to find the best place for them to have a private moment together. Tugging her towards the other side of the stage, she turned her head, only to be met with a large couch that had been pushed backstage after the last play. It was hidden by the curtains so if someone were to walk in, they wouldn’t immediately be seen but it was still fairly exposed which sent a shiver up her spine. 

As Joe took a seat on the couch, he pulled her down to his lap, shooting a smile at her, “C’mere,” he whispered as he pulled her down to his lips, pushing her hair over her shoulders as he nipped at her earlobe before he pressed a line of kisses down her neck. Moaning softly, she started grinding into Joe’s lap, feeling the outline of his cock through his jeans, causing both of them to moan. 

Joe halfheartedly tried to shush her, “Shhh, we need to be quiet...even though you moaning is probably the hottest thing I’ll ever hear in my whole life.” 

Those words only made her throw her head back and moan louder. Grabbing the back of her neck, Joe craned his neck up to mash his lips against hers in a desperate effort to quiet her. His hands moved from their grip on her waist to travel up to grasp her tits, letting his own moan slip out as he gently rubbed the pads of his thumbs over her nipples. 

“Yeah, baby? You like that?” she whispered as he moaned again, leaning forward to suck on the peak of her nipple through the fabric of her dress. Grinding her hips harder into Joe’s cock practically had her seeing stars, she hadn’t realized how wound up she was or how long she’d wanted this to happen. 

Joe’s mouth continued working on her chest as his hands travelled to her ass, grabbing it, giving it a light smack, then a harder one when she gasped and whispered, “harder” against his lips which almost had Joe cumming in his jeans like a twelve year old. 

Feeling Joe’s hand slip from her ass to her thigh, his fingers dancing up and under the hem of the skirt of her dress, caused her breath to hitch as his fingers ran along the edge of her panties. 

“These feel very hot.” he looked up at her with glazed over eyes. 

Leaning forward, pressing her chest into Joe’s she whispered, “They are, but I was considering not wearing panties at all which I think would have been much hotter.” 

Joe gulped audibly as he bobbed his head up and down, his fingers hooking into her panties, pulling them to the side as he ghosted a knuckle up and down her folds. He stared at her with wide eyes, “Damn, are you really that wet for me, sweetheart?” Nodding, she bit her lip, rocking her hips over Joe’s knuckle, relishing how it produced that familiar tugging sensation in her gut.  

Joe smirked when he saw how much she wanted him. Slowly, he inserted a finger inside her, marveling how easily it slipped in and how it made her fling her head back and groan in a way that would have caused them considerable trouble if anyone was near the auditorium. 

“I’m almost scared to insert another finger just in case you start screaming.” Joe laughed as he made a come hither motion with his finger, causing her body to go limp as she babbled about how badly she needed a second finger to cum. 

“Okay, sweetheart, I’ll give you what you want,” he smirked as he leaned up to whisper in her ear, “besides, I want to see what you look like when you cum for me anyway.” she groaned as Joe slowly slipped a second finger into her folds. 

The heat that was building in her core was licking up her sides, rising through her, causing her hips to jerk over Joe’s fingers as they managed to find every sensitive spot in her cunt, hurling her closer and closer to an orgasm. Joe was still moving his fingers inside her, mouth open as he watched her eyes flutter close, hair falling over her shoulders as she pushed herself to her orgasm. He was in complete awe of her. 

“That’s it baby, let go. Let go for me. Want you to cum all over my fingers, I want to taste you so badly…” he murmured into her ear as she bent forward, resting her hands on the back of the couch as she rode Joe’s fingers into oblivion.

Joe felt her walls clench around his fingers and wished it was his cock they were closing around but damn if this wasn’t still one of the best feelings in the world. Moaning, she choked out, “Joe…’m close.” Bringing his lips to her ear and his other hand to her ass, he gave it a sharp smack, pulling another moan out of her as he growled, “Then cum for me, baby girl.” 

With those last two words and one more stroke of Joe’s fingers, she squeezed her eyes closed as her orgasm pulsed through her body, first in intense waves then a gentle lapping at her consciousness, pulling her back into the present. Feeling Joe’s arms wrapped around her as he whispered how amazing she was in her ear. Pulling back, she felt the dumb smile grow over her face and Joe’s own face lit up with how blissed out she looked. 

“That good, huh?” She could only nod. Laughing, Joe brought up the two fingers that had been inside her. She saw how slick they were and gulped as Joe brought them up to his mouth. Wrapping his perfect lips around them and savoring the taste of her as he brought them out of his mouth with a pop. 

“I can’t wait to do that with your cock.” She found herself blurting out. Joe’s eyes widened as hers lowered into a provocative stare. 

“If you were that loud with just my fingers, I don’t think my cock is going to make you any quieter, want to get out of here?” 

(Y/N) hopped off his lap, practically pulling him out of the auditorium to her apartment. 

~~~

They ended up getting a 95% on their final and would have gotten a 100% but their kiss was “a little too long and lingering. And Mr. Mozzallo, I distinctly saw you slip Ms. (Y/L/N) some tongue. Other than that, wonderful performance. Truly, the sparks were flying!” 

It had a place of honor on their fridge in their shared apartment.

[firewoodfigs]

(long post, but I’m gonna try and make journalling a thing in 2021 😆)

The first day of the new year was nice. :) I woke up to the sounds of rain crashing against my windowsills - a strangely chilly morning in this tropical country where it’s summer all year round. For a moment it felt like I was back in Canada again, all cloudy grey skies and whimsical rain - the perfect weather for introspection. 

I started my day with a pot of hot green tea, then settled down by my reading lamp to finish a book that I’ve been putting off for far too long - Steinbeck’s East of Eden. I only had about forty pages left, but somehow couldn’t bring myself to finish it. I hate when books end because it feels like that little world I’ve created and compartmentalised in my head has likewise ceased, but the good thing about books is that you can always re-read them and immerse yourself in the same fantasy. (Maybe even a different one, if the same words lend themselves to a different interpretation!) But it truly was an absolute masterpiece: such a stunning, intricate exploration of humanity that tugged at my heartstrings and led me into still waters of reflection. I know that I will definitely carry this tale in my heart for a long, long time to come. 

Afterwards, I had some instant ramen while watching The Queen’s Gambit. I’m not a big fan of watching shows usually because I often feel like they move too slowly or tend to miss details from the book, but this one is pretty exceptional. Like, the acting and the artistic direction are incredible - the constant juxtaposition between Beth’s traumatic past and her glorified present, and the exploration of the fallibility of genius were executed so brilliantly. Another thing that really stood out to me were the scenes where she’d hole herself in the toilet and rebuke herself aloud for weaknesses in her play and/or being weak, in general. I cannot begin to explain how many times I’ve done that to myself in law school for even the most trivial of infractions, the most minor of errors - Lord knows I’m my harshest critic. 

I promised to try, however, to be a little bit kinder to myself in 2021. My perfectionism tends to be a bar to goodness and growth because sometimes I get so afraid that my subconscious keeps demanding that my first draft has to be perfect. But it really doesn’t. That’s what editing is for. And writing, like any other talents and passions, requires nurturing and constant practice. I saw a quote yesterday about how we cannot just sit around and magically expect to be Faulkners overnight, and that is so true. I definitely need to find a sweet spot where I’m not berating myself to the point of giving up, but still demand growth so that I can keep bettering myself. 

In the evening I headed out to a friend’s for tacos, which were an absolute delight in itself. And then my bf and I got to walk his dog, who I am convinced is the most precious thing in the entire universe - maybe even more so than my bf himself (I kid... or maybe not) - and who is just such a gentle-natured darling. It began to drizzle, so she led us home and we spent the rest of the night playing Sherlock and Among Us with the rest. :) It was a very peaceful evening. For a moment I’d forgotten all about the fact that I start work next Monday and was simply content to bask in the Christmas lights, the heavy downpour and the anomalous chill that came along with it. Just... living in the present, enjoying the moment. 

Now that’s definitely something else on my to-do list for 2020 as well. So often the beauty of the present tends to be marred by my worries and anxieties of the future, but I always remind myself of this quote from Scripture: “Which one of you, by worrying, can add another day to his life?” And when I look back at my life and all the times I’ve worried and fretted and cried, feeling like there was no way for us to extricate ourselves from this rut, this perennial cycle of debt and other things that have plagued me from birth, I am also reminded of God’s grace and providence that has brought me through so, so much. It would’ve been impossible to have done all of this by myself; I frankly might not have had the will to continue living if not for those things. 

Talking about my lived experiences also ties in to the last part of my day - where I thought about how exclusive and inaccessible the poetry scene here feels. You would think otherwise, in a country of no more than 5-6 million folks, but no. I was ranting about this a little to my boyfriend: how it feels like a lot of the spaces within are reserved for the elites of society with silver spoons in their mouths and golden plates on their tables offering them anything they wanted while I was struggling to put food on the table at fourteen. Sometimes I also lament the fact that I didn’t have my parents to tell me bedtime stories, to encourage me to read and cultivate my vocabulary. Perhaps it’s jealousy, or inferiority, or a mix of both. 

But my boyfriend, ever wise and supportive, offered me a different perspective. He made a fair point about how I still fell in love with books and writing regardless, and how literature is oftentimes only a harbour that the privileged visit because the marginalised, the poor are too busy working for basic necessities to even think about such things. To the ordinary blue-collar layperson, poetry is just frankly a frivolous sentiment that won’t turn itself into gold. I agree with this wholeheartedly. It’s one of the reasons why I always felt like I didn’t have time to write, and one of the reasons why my first job was at a library (so I could read as much as I wanted! For free!). Then he said, “But see, no one wants to read about the rich waxing poetic about how lovely and grand their sunny little island is. But people will want to read about your perspective - your poems of the brokenhearted clinging on desperately to their inner child, your poems about the poor working to make ends’ meet, your poems about your tangible struggles - all of those will resonate with the masses, for sure.” And I was like, well, that’s fair. But I certainly don’t express myself as eloquently as these people do. Next to them I’m like an uncultured swine who can’t even tell the difference between all the different forks splayed on the table. 

His response was that people need to understand these things before appreciating them, and sometimes simplicity works best - a lesson that’s been drilled into us from the very inception of law school. And I was like, okay, fair, but deep down my heart was exploding with the sheer warmth of having someone so incredibly supportive of everything I do, even if it’s worthless in society’s eyes. I remember one night when I was telling him about how, as a twelve-year-old, I had a dream to one day study Literature at Yale. I would hole myself up in the library after school, feverishly flipping through books to expand my imaginations and horizons, my mental dictionary of words, dreaming about the day where I could escape all of this and dwell in nothing but imaginative worlds one day. Where reality failed me, I knew that I could always count on my imagination to transport me to somewhere safe and special, filled with joy and sorrow and tragedy and hope. 

I ended up studying law. Not a bad thing, because as stressful as it was I really did enjoy the things I’ve learnt - international and constitutional law, especially - and it has certainly given me new, mature perspectives on so many things; taught me to argue with reason and objectivity instead of just emotion and passion and has led me to meet so many wonderful (also trashy, but I’m out of this hellhole) people. I just don’t like the fact that 80-hour work weeks are the norm and that there’s always so much to... read. If you gave me a piece of fiction I could happily indulge in it for hours, but sometimes judgments can be so ridiculously mundane to read, especially if they’re just itemising every single case on illegality from the 19th century. Lord knows I need at least two cups of coffee for that. Black, to be specific. 

Anyway, I digress (as I always do lmao). My bf ended up researching all night until he stumbled across this Literature programme at Harvard - which frankly sounds amazing, but also unattainable. Which was what I said. And he was like, “Do I think it’s impossible? No. I think you have a very compelling life story, and you’re full of amazing stories within you to tell. And if you want to do it, I will support you wholeheartedly.” 

Again, as is usually the case, I had nothing left to offer apart from muted sobs under my blanket. It still sounds absurd to me - unthinkable, even - but I am just so, so grateful to have someone like him support me through everything. Literally everything. This is the man who has spent hours tutoring me in the subjects that I was hopeless in in first year, because I was too busy tutoring random folks in economics and geography and catching up on sleep (in class, no less), who has patiently helped me prepare for every single mooting competition and watched every single one of them, who has seen me cry and admonish myself for being a failure (only to spend hours trying to convince me otherwise), who has celebrated every single one of my victories and losses - you deserve a treat, anyway! Let’s go eat something nice and put it behind us, for now! This is the same man who has so much passion for what he does, who is so darn good at it without even realising that he is (I wept when he won a mooting competition this year because I was so proud of and happy for him), and who inspires confidence and compassion in me every day. 

I am grateful to share all our triumphs and tribulations together, and I look forward to starting a new chapter in life with you. :) 

[frobster]

Sugar and Salt

Rating: Teen and Up, for swearing

TW: vomit

☆☆☆

"Oh, look who it is! The Bitcher of Blaviken!"

Geralt sighed heavily at the familiar voice.

He had stopped in the tavern for a meal for himself and a stable for Roach, expecting a quiet atmosphere in the small village. But of course, it had to be the one tavern in the world where Jaskier was getting shit-faced.

"Won't even look at me!" Jaskier continued, voice slurred with drunkenness. 

The crowd around the bard cooed in sympathy, feeding right into his "wounded lover" story. Sure, the split wasn't very amiable. Geralt had yelled and left Jaskier alone and confused on the mountainside without a way back.

Clearly the lack of a map was no bother. The bard was more of an outdoorsman than most people would expect.

"He's so - so brooding. Like a mother hen. Until the egg he is perched upon turns out to be a dud. Then all bets are off! My soul is the yolk he feasted upon, my heart the shattered shell he left behind." Jaskier could wax poetic for hours. And given his drunken state, he likely had already been going for a while.

"You know this bard?" A barkeep came up to Geralt, expression and tone carefully level.

"Yes." Geralt did not feel the need to share more details. Jaskier had likely taken care of that already.

"Best you take him away soon. The customers are complaining." The barkeep gave Geralt a stern look before going back to his post behind the bar.

A more attentive glance around the tavern showed that, beyond the crowd around Jaskier, nobody looked very interested or happy. Most were grumbling some rather unpleasant things about Jaskier. And despite their less-than-friendly split, Geralt felt a flare of protectiveness.

Muscling his way through the crowd, Geralt stood before Jaskier with arms crossed over his broad chest and golden eyes narrowed in a glare. Some of the crowd pressed close, wanting to get a feel for the man their bard was so broken up about. He did not like having so many people touching him, but he knew he had to deal with it for the moment.

"Do you mind not lamenting so loudly?" Geralt asked with a gruff tone.

"I do mind, actually. You - hic - you left me on a mountain, Geralt! Me, good ol' Jaskier, whose shoes couldn't handle a puddle let alone a whole river. Do you know what I had to go through to get back to civilization?" As Jaskier's anger increased, so did his clarity. He was still drunk, still swaying even while sitting, but his eyes shined bright with emotion and his tongue was as sharp as ever.

The crowd started to disperse a bit, much to Geralt's relief. They could sense the rising tension, the personal history. Jaskier looked betrayed as they left him alone on his stool, lute propped against the wall behind him. He looked so.. fragile without his posse.

"Do you know what I had to go through because of you? Dragging me into that dragon hunt, wasting that djinn? I could spend a fortnight listing off the shit you've hauled onto me." Geralt was angry too. Not in his typical antisocial way, but in a personally slighted, emotionally invested way.

"Fuck you," Jaskier spit, sneering at Geralt.

The negative expression seemed so out of place on the bard's soft face.

Geralt was, by nature, very observant. He could tell when people were lying, he could track beasts by the smallest of clues, he could predict the outcome of a fight based on the perceived skills of those partaking in it. But when it came to Jaskier, he was perpetually caught off-guard. 

“Come on,” Geralt grumbled as he held out a hand. “We need to leave before you get kicked out.”

Jaskier tried to put up a fight, tried to yank free when Geralt instead grabbed his bicep and hauled him up. But he was no match. The witcher walked out with his bard in one hand and the bard’s lute in the other. The human hardly weighed anything, really. He was a skinny little thing, and Geralt had to admit he was a bit curious about how Jaskier managed to make it back to town alive from the mountain.

In the stables, Geralt set the lute aside next to Roach before looking down at Jaskier, still gripping onto him firmly. Jaskier had stopped fighting by then and had started to look a bit sick. Given how drunk he seemed earlier, that wasn’t much of a surprise.

“How new are those boots?” Jaskier asked, before burping and covering his mouth.

“What-”

Before Geralt could finish his question, Jaskier was doubled over as he vomited on the ground. Roach huffed and stomped a hoof as she stepped aside and Geralt only barely avoided getting any splashed on his boots as he lept backwards. There was still a sizable puddle on the ground and Jaskier didn’t seem any better for having emptied his stomach. His face was both flushed red and more pale than normal as he groaned and leaned against the wall.

Geralt sighed again and reached out to help steady Jaskier, being careful to avoid stepping in the puddle of sour alcohol and bile. There was hardly any food in the puddle, which wasn’t much of a surprise either.

“You need a nap, a bath, and a meal. In that order.” If Geralt’s voice had softened at all, there was nobody around to really hear it. Jaskier likely wouldn’t remember any of the situation when he woke up again.

Not trusting Jaskier to keep from throwing up again, Geralt wrapped Roach’s reins around his hand and started walking with his other arm around the bard. There was an inn a few miles down the road that hopefully would allow them to stay, if they had not yet heard of Jaskier’s dramatics at the tavern.

The walk was difficult and Geralt was right. They had to pause twice for Jaskier to vomit again, though nothing came up the second time. He was stumbling and half-asleep as the inn came into view, and Geralt decided to act a little rash. Trusting Roach to continue walking alongside him, Geralt dropped her reins and scooped Jaskier up to carry him the rest of the way.

The gods must have taken pity on Geralt that day, because the innkeeper was a sweet old lady who beckoned them in when she saw Jaskier’s state. She had one of her stable boys come around to take care of Roach while she went to fetch cloths and a pot for warming bathwater. Geralt expressed his thanks and pressed enough gold coins into her hand to cover a week-long stay, though he doubted he would remain past the next day. It was more for Jaskier than himself.

Jaskier was nearly passed out by the time Geralt got the door closed and locked. The bard was sitting sideways on the bed, slumped over with his eyes closed. But he managed to move as Jaskier worked to undress him, raising his arms and standing on shaking legs to get his nicer clothes off. The underclothes would stay on.

“Y’re a softie,” Jaskier mumbled when he was laid back on the bed.

Geralt glanced over to see Jaskier had his eyes closed but was smiling just slightly. He sat down in a wooden chair next to the bed and wondered if he would say anything more before falling asleep.

“Lucky I love you,” Jaskier added, barely above a whisper, before finally going still.

As his breathing evened out, Geralt finally let himself relax. At least it seemed Jaskier would not be dying from overconsumption of ale. The faint light from the small fireplace in the corner of the room illuminated him, casting away the pale pallor of sickness. He seemed to glow, and his hair became a soft halo. For all the beasts Geralt had slain, human or otherwise, it was reassuring to know that beauty still existed alongside them.

“And you’re lucky I love you,” Geralt murmured, mostly to himself.

☆☆☆

[nickysurfer28]

Summary: Desire and temptation take over like never before. Is it too much to handle, or not enough?

Warning ⚠️: 18+ adults only

Word count: over 1k

Characters: Dr.Nicky Ransom (female reader,you,etc.)x Chris Evans,Denise Ames (Cousin), Tim ( Denise boyfriend), clones, evil twin look-a-like (aka Adrian pretending to be Chris)

Chapter 11:

*dream sequence *

You look between Chris and his copy.

“This is...weird. I know this is a dream, but Whoa.” Nicky answered in shock.

They both chuckle.

“I can make more, Nicky.” Chris answered.

“You...you can?” Nicky answered startled.

“I can.” Chris answered.

He draws nearer to you,placing a soft,promising kiss on your lips. His clone comes up behind you and plants a soft kiss on the back of your neck.

“H-how many can you make?” Nicky answered blushing.

“To start, how about this.” Chris answered.

Three more mirror images of Chris appear. Their taut muscles gleam in the low light,and 10 brilliant blue eyes fall on you.

“What do you say,Nicky? We can date on you. Treat you like the princess you are.” Chris answered. “What do you want?”

“I could go for a cup of tea.” Nicky answered.

Quickly, you’re settled in at a round table with Chris and all his clones in a lovely bedroom. A tea kettle is being passed around. Cucumber sandwiches rest on fine,china plates.

“This is delicious. What’s in the tea?” Nicky answered.

“It’s a mix of cloves and honey.” Chris answered.

“It’s wonderful.” Nicky answered.

“Pass the sugar,please?”Clone 1 answered.

“Of course,Chris .” Clone 2 answered.

“Thank you, Chris.” Clone 1 answered.

“Does anyone else ever get a horrible itch after shaving their face?” Clone 3 answered.

“That means you’re cutting it too close to the grain. Ease up, Chris.” Clone 4 answered chuckling.

The six of you chatter amiably until all the tea has been consumed.

*end of dream sequence *

When you wake up, you feel yourself blushing bright red.

“Well, that was the wildest dream yet...”

Saturday evening finds you buzzing with excitement as you prepare for your date.

“Is it silly to be this stoked about a double date? No. So what if Denise and Tim will be there, too? It’s still a date. It’s normal to be excited.”

Nicky rifles through her closet.

“Hmm. What should I wear for a museum date?”

Nicky smooth’s the dress over her hips and admires herself in the mirror.

“Pretty damn stylish if I say so myself.”

Nicky gives herself one last appraising look and heads out the door.

You arrive at the museum just as the sun sets to find Denise and Tim waiting outside.

“Ooh, look at you, sexy mama!” Denise answered. “Chris won’t know what hit him!”

“Oh, stop...”Nicky answered blushing.

“Haha!” Tim answered laughing.

Tim’s arm rests loosely around Denise’s waist, and you smile.

“Never in a million years did I expect to se Denise this happy with a normal guy. There’s no way Tim would never... break into a Arby’s drive-through. I get Steve was hungry, but it was 11AM. I still don’t understand why he couldn’t just use the front door.”

Your musings are cut short by Chris’s arrival. He greets you with a warm hug, that makes your heart flutter.

“You look beautiful, Nicky.” Chris answered.

“So do you.” Nicky answered. “I mean, thank you.”

“All right, come on! We only have three hours before the museum closes!” Denise answered with excitement.

“Denise....that sounds like plenty of time.” Nicky answered.

“For lesser souls, maybe!” Denise answered.

“Okay, okay!” Nicky answered smiling.

Denise grabs Tim’s hand, practically skipping as she drags him toward the entrance.

“I hope everyone’s excited for art lectures! I have some very serious thoughts about Millais’s brushwork!” Denise yelled from the distance.

Nicky grins at Tim.

“Are you excited for art lectures?” Nicky answered.

“Of course! A teacher should always be eager to learn!” Time answered.

Beside you, Chris chuckles. He moves closer to your side, his hand brushing deliberately against yours.

“He wants to hold my hand.”

You turn your palm out, smiling encouragingly at Chris as he entwines his fingers with yours.

“You are entirely too cute sometimes.” Nicky answered.

“Part of my overall charm, I hope.” Chris answered.

“Very much so.” Nicky answered.

You walk hand in hand through the gallery as Denise waxes poetic about composition, lighting, and negative space.

“She could put the museum tour guides out of a job!”

Gradually you split off into pairs, you and Chris continuing on as Tim listens raptly to Denise’s highlights on Thomas Lawrence. You set a leisurely pace, commenting now and then on pieces or details that stand out to you before slipping g back into comfortable silence.

“This is nice.”

You smile down at your joined hands. As if noticing your gaze, chis raises your hand to his lips, grinning when you blush.

“Yeah. He’s way too cute.”

A certain painting catches your eye, stopping you in your tracks.

“The Nightmare “ by Fuseli.”

The painting is one you’ve seen before, and it sends a prickle of unease down your spine.

“The Nightmare “ again?”

“Why is “The Nightmare” here? Isn’t it in your house?” Nicky answered with shock.

“Ah, well. The one hanging in my home is of course a print. This appears to be the original.” Chris answered.

You shudder.

“Is everything all right?” Chris answered with concern.

“No. It’s just this painting. It’s...unsettling.” Nicky answered. “It’s so uncomfortable to look at. Fuseli clearly had a deep understanding of dreams and the unconscious mind.”

“All great artist do, I think.” Chris answered.

“Hmmm. You may be right.” Nicky answered.

“What are you guys looking at?” Denise answered. “Oh , “The Nightmare.” Yeah,this one always gives me the creeps. I wonder what inspired Fuseli to paint it?”.

You shrug.

“In the old days, people thought dreams were the result of supernatural forces.” Nicky answered. “Now we know they’re just what your brain does while you’re sleeping.”

“Which is comforting and way less exciting at the same time!” Denise answered.

Denise, Tim, and Chris begin to move on, but your eyes are drawn once again, to “The Nightmare.” The fine hair on your arms stands on ends.

“Nicky? Is everything all right?” Chris answered with concern.

You swallow hard.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m just...A little spooked.” Nicky answered. “I guess “The Nightmare “ kind of got to me.”

“Do you think some fresh air might help?” Chris answered.

You nod, following him out onto the veranda.

The two of you sit down on a marble bench overlooking the ornamental gardens. You breathe in the crisp November air.

“It’s starting to feel like fall.” Nicky answered.

You shiver on cue.

“Okay, that one was because I was cold!” Nicky answered.

“That’s easily remedied.” Chris answered.

He holds out his arm to you.

“Chris is so precious...and I am so freaking cold!”

You slide under Chris’s arm, and he wraps you up in his warmth.

“Much better.” Nicky answered.

He kisses the top of your head.

“I’m really happy to be here tonight. With you.” Nicky answered.

“Me too.” Chris answered.

You gasp.

“I almost forgot! Look what I found in my storage room the other day!” Nicky squealed.

You pull out a photograph.

“This is my sister,Clare.” Nicky answered. “Wasn’t she...beautiful. She had the most soulful eyes.”

But Chris doesn’t speak. His eyes widen, and he pales.

“Chris? Are you okay?” Nicky answered with concern.

“Ah- yes. Yes, just... taken off- guard.” Chris answered. “Your sister strongly resembles a...very old friend.”

His tone tells you all you need to know about that friends fate.

“I’m sorry, Chris.” Nicky answered sadly.

He shakes his head.

“Don’t apologize. I’m the one who made the situation awkward.” Chris answered.

He gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Clare was lovely. And I’m honored that you shared this with me.” Chris answered.

He kisses your cheek just as Denise and Time bounding over.

“Emergency change of plans!” Denise yells. “The new molecular gastronomy place down the street is holding a soft opening tonight, and my friend can totally get us in!”

“Let’s go eat some food that doesn’t even look like food anymore!” Tim answered smiling.

“That sounds...cool,but, I’m not quite in the mood for it tonight. You guys go ahead, though.” Nicky answered.

“You’re sure?” Tim answered.

“Positive. You two have fun.” Nicky answered.

They bid you goodnight and scamper off, talking excitedly about foam. You smile at Chris.

“Well, what now? Should we...go back to my place?” Nicky answered. “Netflix and takeout sounds pretty great right about now.”

“I...need to get going,actually.” Chris answered. “I’m sorry to cut the evening short, but I have some work to attend to.”

“Oh. Okay.” Nicky answered sadly.

“Raincheck, thought?” Chris answered.

“Sure.” Nicky answered.

Chris rises from the bench, leaving you colder in his absence. You stand up after him.

“Nicky.” Chris answered.

“Yes?” Nicky answered.

He leans down, moving as if to kiss you. You stare at his lips.

“He’s going to kiss me.”

You take Chris in your arms, kissing him back softly.

“I had a good time tonight , Chris.” Nicky answered.

“So did I.” Chris answered.

He hugs you tightly, seemingly reluctant to let you go.

“I don’t want I let him go, either.”

You kiss him again, more deeply this time, earning a low moan that makes heat pool between your legs. You’re both breathing heavily when you finally part. You reach for him once more, but he steps away.

“Tempting as you are, Nicky, I really do have work to do.” Chris answered.

The saucy grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes, though.

“Well. Goodnight, then.” Nicky answered.

“Goodnight, Nicky. Sweet dreams.” Chris answered.

After spending the rest of the night in a sexually frustrates funk,however, you suspect your dreams will be far from sweet.

“I’m really not looking forward to whatever my brain comes up with tonight.”

“The Nightmare “ creeps into your mind again, and you shudder.

“Ugh. Here’s hoping I don’t dream at all.”

*dream sequence *

But dream you do.

You dream of Chris who treats you cruelly, his touch brushing your skin, his kisses leaving your lips bitten and bloody.

“Chris...you’re hurting me!” Nicky yelled.

“Am I?” Chris answered.

He laughs coldly, pinning you against his chest.

“But this is what you want, isn’t it?” Chris answered. “You’re just as weak as Clare was.”

You struggle, but he holds you fast.

“She was never meant to live in this world. You’ve tired to survive by denying what you are.” Chris answered.” How is that working out for you, Nicky? Always running away?”

With one last burst of energy you break free and escape into the darkness, his mocking laughter echoing after you.

“I need to get out of here! There! Maybe that’s a way out...”

You follow the light...into a place you,know all too well.

The creature crouches over the young woman, poised for the kill.

“I need to save her! “

You try to move, to fling yourself at him. But no matter how hard you struggle, your feet are rooted to the spot.

“No! Not this again!” Nicky yelled.

The creature lifts it misshapen head, staring directly into your eyes. It’s bares it teeth at you in a ghostly smile.

“Yes...” the creature answered.

It dissolves into the vampire from your nightmare, hovering above Clare’s bloodless corpse as it beckons you near.

“Yes, Nicky. Come closer.” The creature answered.

And though every instinct tells you to run, your feet begin moving toward him.

“That’s it. You are curious, aren’t you? Come, then. Look upon my face at last.” The creature answered.

He removes his cloak with a flourish...and your heart drops into your stomach.

“No....”Nicky yelled.

“Yes. You know now, don’t you? But then, perhaps you e always known.”Chris answered.

You shake your head furiously back away.

“No. I don’t believe it.” Nicky answered in shock.

“Oh, but you do believe it, Nicky. It makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?” Chris answered.

“No. Chris.... this isn’t you, I know it!” Nicky answered.”I’m just having a nightmare! You- the real you-you’d never hurt me. Chris is a good man!”

He throws his head back and laughs.

“You are a loyal little creature, aren’t you?” Chris answered. “Pity the one of your affection is so woefully undeserving.”

“No. No, this isn’t real.” Nicky answered. “It’s just a bad dream...”

“Ah, but it isn’t! “ Chris answered. “Search your feelings, Nicky. You know what I am. What I really am.”

You shake your head again, but something about his words rings true.

“Chris... recognized Clare...”

Horror chills you to the core, and Chris laughs. He closes the distance stern you. Before you can blink.

“Yes, you,know!” Chris answered with a devilishly smile. “ you,know I’m not human, and still you want me. How very deviant of you.”

He lifts a hand toward you.

“Fuck that! I’m going to... slap his hand away.”

You smack his hand sharply. He takes a step back, staring at his hand as though he’s never seen it before.

“You’re...fighting me?” Chris answered startled.”Here?”

A lascivious grin stretches over his features.

“Oh, you are an interesting creature, Nicky.” Chris answered. “But how much strength do you have left, I wonder?”

You’re in no mood to find out.

You turn your heel, sprinting into the blackness.

“You can’t run forever, Nicky!” Chris yelled.

*end of dream sequence *

You wake in a cold sweat, your heart pounding.

“It was a dream. It was just a dream.” Nicky answered.

The image of Clare’s lifeless body swims in front of your eyes.

“No wonder my brain shut me off my lucid dreams when she died. It must have been protecting itself. I need to clear my head.”

You sit up, selecting one of Clare’s old sketchbooks from the bedside table to distract yourself. But the sketchbook is Clare’s last before her death, and the images grow progressively darker and more twisted as you turn the pages.

“This.. isn’t working as well as I’d hoped. Imagine living with all of this emotional turmoil inside you. Poor Clare...”

You turn to the final sketch, and your blood runs cold. Staring up at you is a photorealistic portrait of a familiar face.

“Oh no...this is.. this is a drawing of Chris.”

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