#like WHOOPS we spent too much time making you care about the companions that we forgot to not be racist

[eggbagelz]

I will say tho the little personal scenes with the companions are the best part of the entire game like THAT is why im playing it

[bellesque]

Stop & Smell the Flowers (Loki x Reader)

A Loki Oneshot for the Spring Time with Loki Collab Collection on AO3. Also on my AO3.

Rating: Explicit

Words: 8.9K BIG yikes

Tags/Warnings: Sex Pollen (therefore Mildly Dub-Con), Smut, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Denial, Sex in Space, and some hints of a Praise Kink

Summary: Plant samples from Alfheim and a brooding god as your only companions in a small Quinjet sounds like a recipe for disaster, but some good things can happen in ten hours.

A/N: All I can say is... whoops, my hand slipped?

THE RIDE BACK to Earth is longer than you anticipated.

The small Quinjet is a sturdy and silent thing, the engine’s muffled hum a constant as you hurtle through space. It’s a drawn out, unceasing sound; it brings your boredom to the forefront of your consciousness and warps it into a false sense of steady calm. You might even be able to close your eyes for a second, seeing as there’s nothing but blackness before you—

“Wake up,” a voice snaps from behind your pilot chair, punctuated by a sharp snap of fingers. “You will not crash this ship.”

You straighten in your seat, unfazed by the bite in your companion’s tone. You blink a couple times, squeezing your eyes shut as you stifle a yawn.

“There’s literally nothing to crash into, Loki.”

Heavy boots thud against the metal floor of the ship until they stop by the copilot chair a few paces away from you. “You never were the vigilant type to begin with.”

This time, you sigh. “Look, if it makes you feel better, I’m turning on autopilot. If you can’t trust me, trust Stark. His tech is unparalleled. We will be fine.” You punch a button on the control panel, and the low hum of the Quinjet rises slightly in pitch. Swiveling around in your chair, you turn to face the god with raised hands. “See? No hands. All good. Course set.”

Loki stares at you, his features set in an unamused scowl, before turning on his heel to the farther side of the ship.

It takes a little more willpower than usual not to allow yourself to snap back at him, but you manage. After all, you’re both pretty tired, and he’s most likely antsy because of how long you’ve been cruising through the void of space. You’re sleepy, he’s irritable.

Still, your estimated time of arrival isn’t for another eight hours, and seeing as you’re going to be stuck with each other you might as well try to maintain some semblance of cordiality.

“So,” you begin, pushing up and out from your seat, “Alfheim was pretty.”

Loki stands by the glass window that shows you nothing but the expanse of space. His reflection is so clear that the details—like the strong slope of his nose, his aristocratic cheekbones—are unmarred.

“Yes,” he answers curtly. “Home to the Light Elves. As Stark briefed earlier, if you had been paying any attention.”

You swallow the retort, letting it fizzle out on the tip of your tongue. Stark did brief you on your mission, alright. You just wish knowing how to handle a brooding, irritated god was one of the things on Tony’s agenda.

Your mission was simple enough—collect some plants and flowers and shrubs and cuttings, he said. All the planty things. It’ll be quick, he said. Two rides through the Bifrost from Earth to Heimdall’s Observatory in Asgard, and then to Alfheim, followed by a short Quinjet ride to the nearby planet-slash-moon-thing, he said. Piece of cake, won’t take too long to get there.

He failed to mention how long it would take you to come home since you couldn’t use the Bifrost for reasons that were “none of your damn business.”

“You know, you’re not usually this much of a pain in the ass,” you find yourself saying as you stand side by side.

“And you’re not usually this mouthy,” he replies. He cocks his head at you. “Are you certain the coordinates have been set for Midgard?”

“Yes, sire,” you say, unable to keep the mocking tone from your voice at bay. “I told you. Trust me. If not me, then Stark.”

You lapse into silence, watching distant planets and stars twinkle against the dark backdrop of the void, the unending vastness pulling you into thought.

You’ve been working with the Avengers for just about a year. In this time, you’ve gotten to know everyone in the tower.

Including Loki.

He’s… quite a character, to say the least. Silent. Calculating. Not plotting his next attempt at world domination, but still, many are wary of his presence. You’ve spent enough time with him to know he’s a different Loki from the one in New York, though. You’d even go as far as to say that he’s… almost kind of good. Wreaking chaos, sure, by way of annoying the hell out of Steve and Tony especially, but… good.

And you’ll even admit to yourself, just a little, that he’s nice to be around. Not right now; no, he’s unnecessarily bitchy at the moment. But when it’s just you and him in the tower while the rest are either off-world or taking a day off outside the tower, it’s almost refreshing. His presence is companionable. When you watch a movie, his comments are genuinely witty and they make you laugh. He’s more aloof—more himself, you feel, and he allows himself to actually fucking smile.

And hell, when he does, looking at you with those green eyes and that heart-wrenching, happy smile—

You huff, squashing the blooming feeling in your chest. Pivoting on your heel, you make towards the other side of the ship: the small corner by the hatch that holds your collection of plants from today’s excursion. Maybe the weird, exotic flowers will keep you from acknowledging your tiny (but growing) crush.

“Do you have plants like this on Asgard?” you ask, hoping to inject some light into the heavy and tired air that hangs between you.

It takes Loki a second to move from his stance by the opposite window, but he ends up by your side eventually. He picks up a glass jar that houses a plant with blue, stunted leaves. “No.” He brings it up to eye level, examining it and rotating it in his hand. “The plants we’ve acquired are native to the Alfheim regions, it seems.”

“What does Stark want with them?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

He sets down the jar with a dulled thunk and picks up another. The flower inside this one is pretty: curling petals with an orangey, reddish, and golden iridescence to it. It glitters in the low light of the Quinjet’s interior, and you can’t help but voice your admiration for it.

“Do you know what that one’s called?”

“No.”

“So why’d we get it?”

Loki’s eyebrows scrunch together, shifting his weight to the other foot. “Are you a child, mortal? Why must you ask such—”

You never get to hear the rest of Loki’s question; the Quinjet makes a hard, stuttering sound, almost as if it’s skidding over gravel, and the entire ship lurches forward and then sideways. The scraping sound of metal doesn’t cease as the ship continues to vibrate from the turbulence. You lose your balance, clutching at air to steady yourself, only one particularly hard jerk to the side causes you to stumble into Loki with a soft oof.

The pair of you are jostled to the floor, and the next thing you register is the distinct sound of glass shattering.

After a few seconds, the vibrations stop. Thankfully, because you were really starting to worry that dying in space was going to become an actual thing. The lights flicker before steadying and it resumes its normal hum as though it didn’t just go through the most unholy turbulence you’ve experienced. Granted, this is only your third time in space, but the unexpected collision leaves you spooked out nonetheless.

“What was that?”

It’s this moment that your mind chooses to notice that Loki’s chest has seemingly cushioned your fall, the top half of your body splayed on top of him.

Feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, you hastily clamber off him. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything, only rises to his feet and dusts off the front of his clothes. “You and I are in big trouble,” he says.

You hurry to the cockpit, which isn’t much of a cockpit considering how small the ship is compared to what Stark usually provides. A space rock just about the size of the ship lazily rolls away. “Looks like an asteroid?” you say, uncertain. “Are we caught in a belt?”

“No, it was a rogue one. The trouble I pertain to is not that, mortal. I’m afraid we’re one plant short now.”

“What?” Your head whips to the back so fast that your neck cricks, and you rush to the spot Loki points at.

Broken glass, and a flower that’s lost some of its iridescence. Some particles glitter on the metal floor, and you curse.

“There’s a spare jar in one of the overhead cabinets. Maybe we can still salvage this one.” You sigh. “What if this had some super special healing power and we just ruined it?”

“I told you not to crash this ship, and yet—”

“Shut it, Reindeer Games.” At this, you can see in your periphery how Loki’s nostrils flare just the slightest at the nickname. He hates it. Hates it because Stark uses it.

You manage to pick up the bigger pieces of broken glass without inadvertently cutting yourself and throw it into the waste bin. Loki hands you—well, more like shoves into you—another glass jar, into which you carefully place the flower. You slot it with the other plant samples and straighten up.

“There are still some smaller shards of glass around here,” you say, gesturing vaguely at the floor, “so we just need to be careful when we walk here.”

The floor shimmers in some angles: some attributed to the minute glass shards, some from the flower. Loki dips his chin in acknowledgment before resuming his perch by the window, staring out at the abyss of space as he was doing before you and he decided to look at the Alfheim plants.

A decision you’re regretting more and more with each passing minute.

You’re back in the pilot chair, scanning for any possibility of crashing into another space rock. If what you were feeling earlier was sleepiness, how you’re feeling right now is that tenfold with an extra weight of ten pounds on your head. Your eyelids are heavy and your body is beginning to feel warm. You sniffle, your nose a little congested, and a sneeze permeates the silence.

You swivel around to face Loki. The simple action of it causes your head to spin; you feel almost lightheaded, the same feeling you get when you’re sick. You steady yourself by planting your feet on the floor. “Hey. Are you feeling a little woozy?”

Loki’s eyes snap to you, concern written on his features. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“Not really. Feels like… like an allergy. From the flower.” You sneeze again. “Head’s heavy. Wanna sleep.”

“There’s a pull-out cot you can rest in.” In a flash, Loki’s helping you up, one arm around your waist. You can’t stop your eyelids from closing this time, feeling your grip on consciousness slip from you as your head lolls onto Loki’s shoulder. It’s a weird feeling. Heavy and light at the same time. You want to voice how it feels, but all that comes out is another sneeze.

“Perhaps the Alfheim flowers are a little too intense for your mortal body.”

Maybe it’s the allergies, but you swear you hear the hint of a smile in his voice. Loki drapes a blanket over you—wait, is he tucking you in?—and cards his fingers through your hair. You’re not sure if it’s real or not, but it feels nice.

“Sleep,” he says, voice distant and muddled. “I will take care of the ship.”

It doesn’t take you long to fall asleep to the Quinjet’s comforting hum.

 --

It’s hot.

Way too hot.

You blearily open your eyes, the feverish warmth that’s spread over your body the first thing you notice. The funny thing is you’re hot but you aren’t sweating. At all.

Just warm.

Excessively so.

“It’s hot,” you blurt out dumbly, sitting up on the strangely comfortable cot. The blanket falls away from you as you squint at Loki’s silhouette in the pilot chair.

The lights are a little dimmer, you think. Not as harsh and cold, blinding white too, but almost warm. You didn’t even know the ship had that feature.

Loki doesn’t answer you. You realize this a little late after marveling over the Quinjet’s new lighting. “Are you hot?” Your voice sounds foreign, different to you—a different timbre, a little more hoarse.

“Not particularly.”

Your stomach does a little flip because shit, his voice sounds different too.

You swallow, rising to your feet. “How long was I asleep?”

“I did not keep track. Perhaps an hour. Maybe two.”

He swivels in the pilot chair, and your stomach does a funny kind of flip. He’s the perfect picture of a confident, cocky prince with a sort of casual regality; he’s leaning back just a little lower with his legs spread open, one arm hanging over the armrest while the other is bent at the elbow, a closed fist by his face. Like he sits on his own throne, proud and powerful and incredibly sexy.

And you’ll be damned if you don’t admit it’s an attractive sight.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, his head falling to one side. The intensity of his gaze burns into you, and something inside you coils unmistakably. What the hell…?

“I…” your voice catches, and you clear your throat. “I did. Maybe—do—uh, do you want to take a nap this time? ’Cause I can keep watch.” You hurry to your feet, and your legs feel like jelly as you stand. It’s as if they aren’t a part of your body as they take you to the heart of the ship, the halfway point between the cot and the cockpit.

Loki stands, still staring at you, and even in the dimness of the ship you can see that the intensity with which he looks at you hasn’t waned. He reaches you, standing a good foot away, and stops.

You try to calm the wild beating of your heart, rooted to the spot from his attentions, and you fidget. Your eyes are flighty in contrast, flitting from his face to his chest to the void outside the Quinjet and back again.

He lifts a single finger up to your face, tipping your chin upwards so your eyes meet. Heat begins to pool somewhere specific now, and you’re not sure what to do about it.

Obviously nothing, your brain screams in protest. It’s like your mind is swimming, your afterthoughts delayed and your actual thoughts heady, private wishes just bubbling at the surface.

“Your face is red,” Loki comments, his voice low and soft. Like the blanket he tucked you into. No, a part of you thinks, stop this right now—

He brushes his knuckles against your cheek, regarding you with great interest. “You’re burning up as well. Shall I take you to bed?”

Surely he doesn’t mean for his words to come out as much of an innuendo as they do, but that’s immediately where your mind goes: into the gutter.

“A-aren’t you tired?” you say instead, allowing Loki to steer you by the shoulders back to the pull-out. “I can definitely—”

“No, you need to rest,” he insists. As your butt hits the mattress, Loki’s expression shifts into a thoughtful one. “Although your suit seems to be an unfitting set of clothes, considering you’re quite hot. One moment.”

Loki disappears, walking to a hidden part of the ship and you take this time to fan yourself. It’s still unbelievably hot, and the way your folds are slippery without any stimulation (except, you think with a small smirk, Loki’s little pilot chair moment was visual stimulation enough) causes alarm bells to ring faintly in the distance of your mind.

You experimentally flex your lower muscles and—oh. Oh.

“Here,” Loki says as he saunters back into view. He tosses you a dark green shirt. “Wear that.”

You stare at the bundle of fabric in your lap and realize it’s his.

And just like that, a fire is lit within you.

You bring up the shirt to your face, inhaling his scent when he turns his back, and fucking hell does he smell good. Your mouth practically waters at it, your eyes trained on Loki’s back as he settles back into the pilot’s chair.

Unconsciously you bite your lip as you wonder what his skin might look like underneath his armor.

“Don’t turn around,” you say, fighting the urge to jump him right then and there that surges to the fore. You’re tempted. You really are. And you also want him not to listen to you and turn around, watch you undress and change into his shirt.

Again, what in the hell…?

You shimmy out of your clothes and pull Loki’s shirt over you. It’s Asgardian in design, likely tailored specifically for him. You wearing it just feels so intimate. The smell that’s so distinctly him envelops you and quite frankly, it’s intoxicating.

You stand, and the shirt falls just to your mid-thighs. He didn’t bother getting you any shorts; you’re not sure if you’re grateful or angry, or maybe a heady mix of both.

Bundling up your used clothes in your arms, you clear your throat. “Thank you.”

Loki swivels around, stuttering to a stop when he sees you. His eyes rake over you, from your messy bedhead down to your exposed legs. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat quite visibly, and your pride rears its head in victory.

“No shorts, though?” you ask innocently, one eyebrow shooting up.

“Unnecessary,” he answers with a devious grin that makes your insides melt and ignite all at once.

He turns his attention back to the controls, and you lay your clothes by the side of the pull-out.

Wearing Loki’s shirt does little to cool your temperature—in fact, it’s still blistering despite the Quinjet’s air conditioning.

“Are you sure it isn’t hot?” you ask again. You know you’re asking unnecessary questions, but you want to get him talking, speaking to you in that gorgeous velvet full voice of his.

You hear him chuckle, a gush of heat rushing towards your center. “I’m afraid that’s all you, little one.”

Sighing, you flop onto the bed, pulling a pillow over your legs. Maybe if you take another nap, the heat will subside from your body.

Your arousal, on the other hand…

A thought enters your mind, fleetingly, because you immediately push it away and chastise yourself through the murky fog of your brain. Pleasuring yourself? In Loki’s presence? The absurdity of the idea. You should be feeling shame… only you don’t. Not really, at least.

You shift onto your side, squeezing your eyes tight. Sleep does not come to you. You try lying on your back, on your stomach, and then again—

“Are you alright back there?”

The normal tone Loki uses astounds you, seeing as you’re somehow a feverish, horny mess and he isn’t. It puzzles you, and some deep part of you wants to figure out why. Only your brain seems to refuse to cooperate unless you’re thinking of doing certain things.

Things you certainly don’t mind doing with Loki.

“I-it’s hot,” you explain, embarrassed defeat lacing your words. How many times have you said that to him? You probably sound like a broken record.

At this, Loki lets out a full peal of laughter, husky and with a sensual edge to it. You wish you could make him laugh, hear it one more time. Or twice. Or on loop. It doesn’t really matter.

He swivels again to face you, his sitting posture similar to the one earlier, and it does things to you. Causes an uproar that’s novel to you, a need rising within you that must be sated.

Loki makes a smooth come hither motion with his fingers, curling from his pinky to his index. A beckoning you can’t refuse. “Perhaps I can help. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m quite adept at magic. It may help the current predicament you face.”

You slide off the cot and walk barefooted to the copilot chair. He looks a little different, you realize as you amble towards him. Maybe it’s the allergies, but just as he sounds different, there’s something different about him now that you’re really looking. He’s always been a pretty face and you’ve always found him extraordinarily handsome, but right now is different. You just can’t put a finger on it, so you chalk it up to his aura changing. Or the allergies. Most likely it’s the allergies.

You’re about to sit in the copilot chair beside him, only to be stopped when Loki laughs again and wraps his fingers around your wrist. All you hear is a faint, “No, silly girl,” before he pulls you in between his legs.

Pulls you with surprising strength, it seems, because your butt lands almost unceremoniously in the crook of his groin and lap. Your knees are hooked over the opposite arm rest, which means if you shift even just the tiniest bit to the side, your hip will come in contact with a certain part of him.

It’s a dilemma, you think with a giggle, if you want to be caught in a hard place.

His arms snake around your waist, pulling you close to him, and it just registers that you’re sitting on his lap holy shit you’re sitting on his lap.

“Are you comfortable?” he murmurs, adjusting your position so he can rest his chin on your shoulder. Instantly your mouth goes dry; it’s the proximity. You’ve never been this close to him before, and being in such a… an intimate position has you tense and rigid on top of him.

“I think so?” you squeak, stilling further as Loki’s nose burrows into your hair. He parts the curtain of your hair with side to side movements, until he buries his face into your neck. He inhales, and a delicious shiver runs down your sides.

“Good,” he breathes.

You’re frozen on his lap, afraid to even let out the smallest puff of air. His face just stays there, in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply.

“Are… you okay?”

And then your heart stops, because he’s lifting his head, his fingers brushing your hair to the back and exposing your nape to the cool air. The next second he’s tracing the tip of his nose from your chin up to your earlobe, where he pauses. You’re acutely aware of his lips against your skin, just barely brushing against it. “Never been better.”

He inhales again, deeply, and another shiver runs down your spine. You were wrong to think he was unaffected; something’s changed between you as you slept, and you aren’t sure why or what it is.

“You smell…” He trails off, moving down and back to the spot behind your ear. You swear you feel the slightest whisper of a kiss there, and it takes extra effort to hold in the sigh that’s caught in your throat. “…different.”

“I have a smell?” It comes out with a halfhearted, short laugh; an attempt to ease the thick tension that hangs over you.

Loki only hums in response. This time, with the pressure on your neck and the puffs of his breathing against your skin, you’re sure Loki’s lips are on you. Not a kiss, nothing more—just a steady weight that anchors you in his lap.

Anchors you to the reality that you are in his lap.

“And you are so warm.” The way he says it, his mouth moving against your skin, it’s almost as if he’s talking to himself. His arms around your waist tighten, and your hip comes in contact with a little bulge.

Well, not very little, but…

“Y-yeah, I thought you were going to do something about that.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes.”

His hand rests on your exposed thigh, his thumb rubbing hypnotic circles into your skin. “Better?” he asks with his face still buried in the crook of your neck.

“I don’t think so.” Coherency becomes increasingly difficult to achieve; you’re too focused on the sizzle of electricity thrumming within your veins, spidering from where he touches you.

“How about…” His hand glides up your thighs, skimming over your underwear and underneath the baggy shirt until they come up to rest on your hip. “Now?”

You’re sure he kisses you this time, on that sensitive spot below your ear, and you bite your lip to stop yourself from making a sound.

“Still nothing,” you whisper, strained. “As hot as ever.”

There is no second guessing anymore: something wet and hot darts out behind your ear, and Loki’s lips press a firm, lingering kiss there as his hand skims to the center of your stomach. You suck in a shaky breath, your eyes slipping closed at the spark you feel.

“And now?” he questions, just by your ear. The conspiratorial tone and the volume he uses makes you clench in anticipation.

Instead of answering, you shift on his lap—purposefully grinding a little bit on his evident erection. You hear Loki’s breathing change just slightly, his fingers curling on your stomach.

You think he’s about to do something to break the sexual tension and turn it into something tangible, something you both can actually do to ease the ache you’re sure you both feel, but you know the God of Mischief enjoys his games. He enjoys acting unaffected when in fact he is, and you intend to play that to your advantage. Somehow.

“I’m not sure I’m feeling anything,” you say as nonchalant as possible. A plan quickly brews in your mind, and you pretend to notice something on the dashboard. You wriggle in Loki’s lap, making sure to rub him in all the right places as you tell him you swear you saw something whiz past.

The way Loki tenses underneath you brings you a small bout of satisfaction.

“Perhaps,” he starts, his voice clearly strained as you begin to rotate your hips ever so lightly against him, “perhaps a nap is what you need.”

“But Loki,” you say, exaggerated and almost whiny as you lean back against his lean chest, feeling the full extent of his arousal against your lower back, “who’s going to see if the asteroid comes back?”

You yelp as Loki stands, one arm hooked under your knees and the other around your waist. He’s carrying you, the thought floating through your muddled brain.

“Stark will handle it. Like you said. Trust him and his technology, or something like that,” he says, voice a little rough. “It’s bed for you.”

Loki lays you down with surprising gentleness, smoothing the covers around you. You think you might be able to sleep a little now that a little pent up energy has been released, but you only become shell-shocked when Loki climbs into the cot beside you.

It’s not a very large bed, mind you, which means that you’re trapped between his body and the wall of the ship. There isn’t much room to lay on your back when Loki’s in it with you, so you settle on your side while he does the same.

Loki pulls your back to his chest, completely flush against his body. “Relax,” he murmurs. “Try to sleep.”

Yeah, as if you can with something very hard poking into your backside.

For the record, you do try to sleep. You let your eyes drift closed with Loki’s arm draped over you, but even when you reach that half asleep state you’re focused on his erection behind you and his arm slowly making its way under your shirt again.

And somehow, whether it’s of your own doing or your body on autopilot, your hand slowly makes its way behind, reaching between you and placing it flat against his erection.

It’s like time stops. There’s nothing but static in your brain, the only sound the ever-present hum of the ship. As if neither of you dare to breathe. Loki’s fingers rest on your hipbone, where the garter of your underwear rests.

Neither of you move. You stay like this, for how long you don’t know, until Loki exhales a little, pressing his length against your palm.

“Can’t sleep,” you whisper, shifting to ease the budding strain in your arm. “Still hot.”

“So am I,” Loki replies softly.

You don’t think you can tense up further, but your body surprises you. “Maybe…” You don’t know why you’re allowing your question to form and where you’re getting the boldness to ask. “Maybe you should take something off.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you don’t turn around to face him. The sound of the sheets rustling and the mattress shifting is enough to tell you that he got up. Cold dread begins to replace the delicious fire that was coursing through your veins—have you scared him away? Offended him?

The mattress dips again, and Loki’s pulling you against him, in the same spooning position you were in earlier. Only… only he’s shirtless, you realize when your back hits his chest.

Shit, you really want to turn around and take a good look at his gloriously naked chest first.

You’re not sure your heart can take any more when Loki slowly guides your hand back to the evidence of his arousal. Once he places your palm on his erection, his hand is sliding over your skin underneath what you’re wearing, resting just underneath the swell of your breast.

“You know, mortal, you are very pretty,” he admits quietly, his finger dashing against your skin. “And your company is… tolerable.”

“Yeah, you’re not too bad yourself, Reindeer Games.” It comes out rushed, breathy, and a small moan of pain (or is it?) punctuates the end of your sentence as he drags a nail over your skin.

“Do not call me that. Or I will have to punish you.”

When did you decide to court danger?

“Are you threatening me with a good time?”

“Perhaps I am threatening you with the absence of one.”

Fast as lightning, Loki removes his touch from you. “You are still feverish. Perhaps you should take off your shirt.”

“You mean your shirt.” Your heart thumps loudly against your ribcage, your hands now toying with the hem of the fabric. The tone between you two has shifted so drastically, the tension so thick it’s almost suffocating. You sit up, twisting to see Loki lying on his side, his eyes dark and half-lidded.

You maintain eye contact as you grip the end of the shirt, slowly pulling it as it exposes, bit by bit, the upper half of your thighs, your underwear, your stomach, your breasts, until you pull it over your head and toss it to the side. Loki stares at you all the while, a hungry look in his eye, but does nothing.

“Lie back down,” he commands, running a finger over your bare side. “Perhaps now you will be able to cool off.”

He twirls the ends of your hair around his fingers as you do as he says, the warmth of your center now the focus of your attention as it thrums.

Loki props you against him, on your side again, his fingers dancing across your midriff, moving up until he’s tracing the tops of your breasts and ghosting over your nipples.

Your back arches almost unconsciously, pressing into him where he meets you with equal pressure.

Experimentally you gyrate over his erection, making sure to keep your movements slow and agonizing. His hands skim over your breasts until he takes one in his hand, rolling your nipple between his fingers until they pebble.

His head falls onto your shoulder as you keep with your tantalizing dance over his hips, his breathing growing ragged. He tweaks and pulls at your nipples, squeezing and palming your breasts until it’s the only thing that clouds your mind.

“Are you—are you still warm?” he asks, evidently trying and failing to keep his composure as you buck your ass against him particularly hard.

“You tell me.”

He flicks over your breast in response, your head falling back with a barely held back moan.

“Maybe you should take off your pants,” you suggest with a sigh.

“Maybe I should take off yours.”

“I’m not wearing any, remember?”

Loki stills, which makes you do the same. He shifts, gently guiding you to lie on your back. The confusion must be clear as day on your face, because Loki stares at you with those intense green eyes of his as he climbs on top of you.

Your faces are level, his eyes scanning every inch. You’re not sure where this is coming from; one minute he’s all over your breasts and the next he’s quiet and on top of you. He buries his face in your neck for what feels like the millionth time today, setting off a reaction that sends another wave of want to your core.

This time he sucks on your neck, and you gasp. Your hands move to bury into his hair, but Loki pins your arms to the sides by your wrists. You writhe underneath him as he marks you with tongue and teeth.

He peppers kisses around your neck, your throat, your collarbone as he grinds into you. Letting out a small groan, he moves to hover over your lips.

“Tell me to kiss you,” he whispers hoarsely. “Do it. Now.”

The grip on your wrists has slackened and you take the opportunity to pull Loki’s face to yours. Hungry and passionate is what the kiss is: his mouth moves quickly, in sync with yours, as though to make sure every bit of this is real and not just a fever dream. You savor it, the taste of him, leaving you dizzy and delirious with every swipe of his tongue and graze of his teeth against your lips. It’s almost rough, the way he kisses you, but it fits the urgency you feel. You don’t want to have it any other way.

He travels down until he’s suckling at your breasts, and you do everything in your power to hold in the moan that rises in your throat. All you can feel is heat and slick and the pulsing of your blood, overcome with the need to be filled to the brim by him.

You’re about to fumble with his pants when he trails a path of kisses down your torso, stopping when he reaches between your legs.

You’re practically trembling with anticipation now. Seeing Loki in between your legs, a wicked grin on his face, has you wetter than you’ve ever gotten in life. He spreads you apart, settling between them, and feathers kisses over your inner thighs.

“Loki,” you say through gritted teeth, your pussy clenching as he nears your sweet center. “Stop teasing.”

He shifts forward, kissing your hips, your stomach jumping underneath him. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he bares his teeth, scraping over your skin and biting down on the fabric of your underwear.

He slides one side down, his mouth dragging over your thigh, your underwear between his teeth; he does the same to the other side, and again he goes. All the way, pulling your underwear down with his teeth until they’re around your ankles. He discards it lazily, adding it to the growing pile of clothes, and at this point you’re nothing but a whimpering mess.

“So this is the source of your sweet smell,” he mutters as he lowers his head between your legs. You’re shaking lightly, wound tight from the excitement, and when Loki inhales the scent of you, long and drawn out, you almost want to cum right there and then.

“Absolutely divine,” he comments. Then he’s placing his tongue flat against you, your head falling back against the pillow, unable to hold in the moan that spills from your lips.

It’s like an explosion of little lights, you think distantly. Little stars bursting from one touch.

He lifts his head from your cunt with a mischievous grin. “I like that sound, little one. Let’s see how many times I can make you do it again.”

The feeling of Loki’s head between your legs, his mouth inside you, is incomparable. He dives into your cavern, his dexterous tongue causing you to sigh praises that seem to only spur him on. It’s a steady, swirling motion that drives you insane, your pelvis arching.

Then he’s moving up to swipe over your clit, and every nerve ending in your body sizzles and frays, another loud moan of his name ripped from your throat. With a grip of steel, he holds your thighs down, parted wide, as he assaults your clit with sucks and nibbles and licks.

“Loki,” you pant, hips bucking against his mouth. Your insides begin to coil in preparation, your walls clenching around Loki’s tongue. “Loki, I—”

He hums, almost like he’s questioning you, and the vibration on your sensitive parts is enough to send you over the edge.

The orgasm that overtakes you is powerful, pulsing through every part of your body as you whisper his name like a prayer. Only Loki doesn’t stop—he licks up every drop that leaks from you, and it’s enough stimulation for another powerful orgasm to build.

His lips latch onto your clit, sucking rhythmically, as his tongue swipes and swirls around the bundle of nerves.

“Loki,” you try to say, only it comes out a breathy whine, “I want to go down on you too—ah—”

He plunges a finger deep within you, curling against your G-spot in time with his sucks.

“Fucking hell, Loki,” you grind out, your fingernails digging into his scalp as you rotate your hips on his face. You can feel the steady climb to another precipice of an orgasm, as well as the tiny smirk that plays on Loki’s face against you.

Your grip tightens on his hair as he speeds up his movements; rapid, quick swipes on your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you shallowly. Your walls begin to clench at the splinters of release—

“Not yet,” he says, removing his lips and fingers from you with a dark grin.

Frustration wells up within you, but it’s shadowed by the undeniable thrill that shoots towards your center. If you’re understanding Loki right—which you do most of the time—he isn’t finished with you just yet.

He crawls on top of you like a prowling animal, the pure lust in his eyes mirroring what you feel. He captures your lips in a kiss, languid and seductive, his hands cradling your face.

The juxtaposition of the entire situation hits you like a freight train. He’s gentle when he’s holding you like this, like you’re made of glass, but the urgency with which he grinds into your naked mound detonates another explosion of emotions. One action is delicate, the other rough. Contrast bolting through you at the same time and colliding into one as pleasure.

“You’re amazing,” you sigh into his mouth, and you can feel Loki suck in a breath, pausing at your words. Spotting your chance, you roll on top of him, straddling his waist with a smirk.

Loki’s eyes open, a ghost of bewilderment etched onto his face at the sudden shift, and then when he sees your expression he transforms his own into his usual confident half-grin. As though he’s merely amused by this whole situation—but he isn’t fooling you.

“I didn’t think you had it in you, little one,” he drawls, sliding his hands up your sides.

You grab his forearms, pushing them down to his sides as you rock against the clothed tent in his pants. Loki could easily overpower you, you know that, free his arms from your not so vicelike grip, but he lets you. Lets you pin his arms to his sides just as he did to you.

Lowering your head, you run your nose along the expanse of his chest, up to his neck where it’s your turn to inhale deeply. He smells just like the shirt you were wearing, only ten times more potent, and it sends a fresh wave of heady arousal to wash over you.

“Not yet,” you echo his words from earlier, your grip tightening on his wrists as you grind down into him. You can feel Loki about to respond with a snarky remark, so you silence him by suctioning your lips on his neck. Your one track mind has only one goal: mark him with bruises that are of your doing. Claim him as yours.

You lift off him with a little pop; not a very sexy sound, but Loki seems to enjoy it with the way his hips seem to be moving of their own accord. You kiss across his throat before suctioning again on another spot right below his jaw.

This time, you play a little rough.

Loki’s hips jerk upwards as your teeth rake over his skin, his breath fanning over your hair. “Little minx,” he utters, groaning a second later as you push your center against him with a harder bite to his neck.

“Pants off, Loki,” you whisper.

He frees one arm from your grip and haphazardly waves his hand, and your swollen sex comes in contact with the flesh of his hard and heavy cock.

Just as Loki’s about to jerk up and into you, you lift your hips off of him. It kills you to do it, but the teasing, the foreplay, causes you to feel a smidge of power.

“I said, not yet,” you say, sliding down his body until your face is level with his cock.

His length throbs in front of you, and somehow, somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind you think you’ve never seen a cock as beautiful as his. Curious, you lick a stripe down the underside of it, from the base up to the tip.

Loki masks his hiss, turning it into a cheeky exhale, folding an arm under his head. “Go on then. Impress me.”

Whatever intimidation game he’s trying to play, feigning nonchalance, it’s not going to work on you. You take a moment to examine the bead of precum that leaks from his slit, your fingers at the base of his erection, and drag the tip of your tongue over it before sliding your lips over the blunt head.

You don’t bob up and down; unmoving, merely suckling and swirling your tongue around the head of his cock. His hands fist into your hair as your hand and mouth begin to pump up and down his shaft, and just like that promises and praise fall from his lips like wine.

You chance a glance at him, and are utterly pleased by the sight. Loki’s eyes are scrunched shut, barely containing his pleasure, breathing hard through his nose. To have him, a god, reduced to his most carnal needs at your ministrations fills you with gratification. You take him further into your mouth until you can feel him pulsing with almost release, and then you lift off him with a sly grin.

“Not yet,” you repeat in almost a teasing, singsong kind of way.

Loki glares at you, but it’s hardly threatening. You manage to laugh as you level your faces, kissing him hot on the mouth and guiding your slick entrance to his throbbing cock.

You hover over him, not fully seated, his cock just stretching you the slightest bit. Your self-restraint cracks with every passing second you remain unmoving, until Loki takes your hips in his hands and brings you down on top of him, seating you on top of him.

He stretches you in a way you can only describe as full. You lean forward, planting your hands on his lean chest, and rock against him, eyes closing at the feeling.

It’s nothing you could ever conjure up in your wild dreams—he fills you, grinding in time with you and sending you into a barely controlled frenzy. But you keep your movements slow, relishing the way you can feel him throb inside you. Everything feels so new, a first you’ve never experienced: each touch, movement, kiss, no matter how small seems to be amplified in the small ship. It fills you with an unfamiliar, delicious kind of fire, boiling inside you.

“Not—not bad,” Loki grunts, unable to maintain the once casual tone he used before. “For a mortal.”

You swivel your hips and rake your nails over his chest, and Loki’s mouth parts lightly. “Not bad,” you remark, squeezing your muscles around him, “Reindeer Games.”

It’s Loki’s turn to seize his opportunity, it seems, because his eyes fly open, a wild, hungry look to him as he flips you underneath him, his cock still buried in you. The shift in position drives you a little mad, your pussy clenching unconsciously around him.

“What did I say,” he asks dangerously, plowing in and out of you with slow, agonizing strokes, “about calling me that?”

“You’d punish me.” A delicious shiver runs down your spine as the words come out.

“Wonderful that you remember. Because you’re about to forget everything except my name.”

And with that promise, Loki brings your wrists over your head, pinning them above you with a firm grip, his mouth seeking yours as he begins to rut into you more senselessly now. He swallows the moan you make when the tip of his cock hits a particularly sensitive spot inside you, making sure to angle it right where you’re most sensitive.

He doesn’t cease his movements when he latches onto your breast, roughly biting and sucking until you’re whimpering soft cries and pleas and praises. His other hand caresses the curve of your hip and ass before he presses on your clit.

If you were seeing stars earlier, right now you’re seeing entire galaxies explode behind your eyes. The sensations are overwhelming, your legs spread wide open, and just when you think you’ve felt it all, Loki takes you by surprise and pulls you both into a kneeling position. He bounces you on his cock with unrelenting speed, and your arms find their way around his shoulders as you approach orgasm yet again.

You subconsciously flex your walls around him, biting down on his shoulder to prepare you for an orgasm—only Loki slows to a stop, gently laying you back down on your back.

The release that built inside you ebbs away, and you clench around Loki, a silent signal for him to continue. Only Loki pulls himself out of you, resting atop you with his face buried in your neck, suckling another bruise into your skin.

“Loki,” you breathe, his hand cupping your breast, “Loki, please.”

The god has the nerve to smile against you, you feel it. “What did you say to me earlier?”

“You said it to me first, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Loki lifts his head, his eyes boring into yours, blown with desire and yet… something has shifted. Something else is there.

“You are extraordinary,” he tells you, brushing hair away from your forehead. “You have always been the object of my attention, ever since you walked into the board room on your first day.”

Your throat closes with the genuine admission, and you swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah, well, I always thought you were pretty neat. Maybe we can talk later and finish what we started?”

Loki chuckles, his eyes crinkling, and presses a kiss to your lips. “Smart woman.”

It’s almost as if the tender moment doesn’t happen at all, because Loki’s arms snake underneath you to bring your hips closer to his, plunging into you and reaching a deeper spot that makes both of you groan in earnest. Whatever just happened, you can probably mark it for later with a good sit-down conversation. Right now your focus is on his cock inside you, and you don’t hesitate to tell him how good he’s making you feel.

“Hands above your head,” he commands.

You oblige, and his head immediately dips to your breasts. He’s kissing, licking everywhere he can reach, while your hands tangle in his hair, his shoulders, his muscled back. Your back arches, his cock thrusting mercilessly into you, burying himself to the hilt and brushing against that sweet, sweet spot over and over.

You don’t know how you’re ever going to come back from this. Loki buried within you, your cunt stretching to accommodate him, perfectly slotting into each other. His fingers rub against your clit, adding to your already overloaded senses and fuck, it’s as if all the effects from the foreplay and your heat come crashing down in one big tidal wave.

The speed at which Loki’s pounding into you is almost ungodly, unreal. Your mouth hangs open, your orgasm building with extraordinary intensity—

Almost as quickly as it builds, you’re tipped over the edge, a broken wail of his name accompanying the spasms in your lower body. You’ve never had an orgasm as shattering as this one, your cunt fluttering around Loki even as you slowly come down from your high.

“That’s it,” Loki says, jaw set. “Very good, little one.”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down—he continues to wreck you, the sounds of your coupling obscenely filling the air. You want him to feel the seismic pleasure you just did—so you clamp around him, rotate your hips in little circles in time with his thrusts.

“You’re absolutely amazing,” you tell him, watching how he slowly unravels with every new praise. You tell him how good he makes you feel, how good he is, perfect and incredible and oh, the things you would do to—

Loki bends down and kisses you ferociously, licking every part of your mouth and biting on your lips as he bucks, going rock hard and cumming inside you. His movements slow, just a fraction, as you let him ride out his high.

“Glorious woman,” he mutters, his eyes still closed as he kisses over every inch of your face.

You’re about to return with a compliment of your own, but are cut off when Loki grinds into you again.

“A-are you still hard?” you ask, a giggle rising to your throat whose tail end turns into another moan.

“I’ve lost count how many times I’ve made you make that wonderful sound,” he says, hips stirring back to life as you feel a fresh bout of slick moisture gush down your legs. “I think that’s quite a success.”

And then he’s flipping you over, on your stomach, pulling your ass up and sliding his still-hard cock back into your dripping folds, reaching depths you didn’t even know you had, evidently ready for another round.

Through your half-lidded eyes, you make out the faint outline of stars—whether they’re from the pleasure you feel or actually there, you don’t know.

-- -- --

You’d think overstimulation would best you, but your entire afternoon—evening, morning, you can’t really tell, space is just completely dark—has been you and Loki all over each other all over the ship.

You can’t tell how long it’s been, but you can feel the ship beginning to descend into Earth’s atmosphere.

“Hey. Hey, Loki—ah, yes, there—”

You’ve also lost track of how many orgasms you’ve had.

You writhe underneath him, searing hot ecstasy blistering in your core as Loki sucks on your clit, his teeth just lightly scraping over it, his fingers smoothing over your inner thighs.

“You taste so sweet, little one,” he murmurs against you, licking through your folds.

“Don’t distract me.” You swat at his head weakly. “I think we’re here.”

“Haven’t touched the ground,” he says, shrugging, making to dive back into your well-spent cunt.

You stop him before he can seduce you into letting him taste you again, and again, as he’d been doing all day.

Whatever warmth you were feeling earlier has completely subsided from your body, and even your mind feels clearer. As soon as you came down from whatever it was, all that was left was a blissful afterglow that you still feel until now.

Surprisingly, you and Loki haven’t had any awkward, dead air—granted, he has been buried in your thighs and yours in his most of the trip. You thought maybe as soon as the strange fever subsided, you’d both be back to whatever it was before this, but apparently not. It seems to have opened up a door, an opportunity, one you both mutually want to walk through together.

“We still have time,” Loki purrs, caressing your folds with his thumbs.

“You’re insatiable,” you sigh, and Loki takes this as a sign to delve back into your warmth, his tongue gliding into you for the umpteenth time today.

“You love it.”

 --

You and Loki disembark the Quinjet, you with shaky legs and him with a sort of spring in his step. You’re not sure what to tell the others when you see them, a tinge of worry sneaking into your bubble of sexual satisfaction.

As soon as you walk into the board room, you’re met with the expectant eyes of the Avengers, studying the pair of you with varying expressions.

And then Loki’s sliding his arm around your waist, bringing you closer to him, and the room erupts into shouts of “Called it!” and “No!” and you can’t help but laugh at the raucousness of it all.

“I’m glad we couldn’t take the Bifrost coming back here,” you tell Loki quietly.

“As am I,” he whispers back.

“Yeah, about that,” Stark cuts in, stepping forward, “yeah… you totally could have used it.”

[jaehyunfirstlove]

Highway to Heaven - Ch. 3

Your best friend Johnny wants to go on a road trip. The only catch? He wants to bring his roommate, Jeong Jaehyun, someone you just couldn’t stand.

Genre: e2l, fluff, angst, (eventual) smut

Warnings: alcohol use, shirtless Jaehyun ;)

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2

A/N: There are some drunken shenanigans (but not the smutty kind) so if this makes you feel uncomfortable please do not read.

The next morning you did not feel well rested at all, courtesy of your bed mate who moved constantly in his sleep. You’d be woken with either a knee in the back or a hand in the face, and at one point he even mumbled in his sleep, and you thought he was actually talking to you so you spent a good minute trying to figure out what he was saying.

Naturally you were crabby and since it was your shift to drive, your first stop was at Starbucks for a good strong coffee. Your companions had the good sense to stay out of your way, and the rest of the drive was blessedly quiet. You didn’t even turn on any music, feeling a migraine from lack of sleep coming on. By the time you reached the beach at Santa Cruz your head was pounding and all you wanted to do was lie on the beach and rethink your life choices.

Johnny and Jaehyun, however, were like two kids who’d been let out on the last day of school. Once you’d put the car in park they jumped out and bolted towards the water, hollering the entire time, shedding shoes, socks, and shirts as they went. You mentally prayed that they would stop there and thankfully they did, splashing in the ocean in just their shorts. You trailed behind, dragging a beach blanket and umbrella.

“Come into the water, Y/N, it’s so refreshing!” Johnny beckoned.

“No thanks, I know by ‘refreshing’ you mean ‘cold’,” you countered, setting up the blanket and umbrella in the sand, “you guys have fun, I’m going to pass out.” You put your sunglasses on and sat on the blanket, sparing them a glance before you planned to nap. Except that the sight of a shirtless Jaehyun made you pause.

You’d seen Johnny shirtless before so you were immune to it by now, and Jaehyun wasn’t as built as Johnny but again there was something about him that pulled you in. His shoulders were broad, something you hadn’t really noticed when he was wearing clothes, his chest defined, and the clear lines of his abs were evident as he played around with Johnny in the water. You tried to swallow but your throat was dry, willing yourself to look away but you couldn’t. He looked your way and smiled, the setting sun forming a halo effect around him. It felt like time stopped at that moment, but you just blamed it on your migraine giving you hallucinations. You shook your head at the same time Johnny grabbed Jaehyun and dunked him in the water.

---

That night was camping on the beach, and you and Jaehyun started the campfire while Johnny set up the tents.

“You’re good at this,” Jaehyun commented, as you deftly lit the tinder and fanned the small flames into a roaring fire.

“Did I tell you Y/N’s a pyro?” Johnny chuckled, fighting with the tent poles.

You just shrugged. “I was always in charge of the campfires when I went camping with my family. I guess I had the steadiest hands and I wasn’t afraid of fire. Johnny is, though.” You side-eyed your friend.

“Hey, don’t give away all my secrets,” Johnny wagged a finger at you, “besides, it’s perfectly normal to be afraid of fire.”

“Mm,” Jaehyun nodded, “is that why you’re setting up your tent thirty feet away?”

“That is NOT the reason, I have a new sleeping bag that’s rated for very cold temperatures that I wanted to test.” Johnny huffed.

You snickered, “Well, I’m telling you now that I am definitely not sleeping with you tonight, I still have bruises from the one-sided boxing match you engaged in with me last night.” You rolled your neck and Jaehyun laughed.

“Guess it’s you and me tonight, John,” he winked at Johnny, who winked back at him and blew him a kiss.

You made vomiting noises as you watched them. “Get a room!”

“We have a tent!” They said together, collapsing into laughter.

---

You roasted hot dogs over the fire for dinner, and paired with a few beers you were starting to feel drowsy again. Johnny had already retired to his tent, and Jaehyun was quietly poking at the fire with a stick.

“Hey,” you started but just as soon stopped. Your tongue felt too big for your mouth, you were pretty sure you weren’t drunk, but sometimes when you looked over at Jaehyun there were two of him. That definitely would be trouble, you thought, then giggled.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, looking at you curiously.

“Oop! Was that out loud?” you were startled at the sound of your own voice, your eyes bulging, your hand clapping over your mouth. Jaehyun broke out into the widest smile you’d seen from him yet.

“Y/N, are you drunk?”

“Are you kidding?” you slurred, confused again as to why your voice sounded that way, “Absolutely not! And I am insulted that you would think that!” you went on. Your face felt hot, and it wasn’t from the fire.

“Sorry, you just sounded like it. And your face-” he began to point at you, his finger making a circle in the air around your face.

“Don’t!” you pointed right back at him, your blood boiling, “You don’t get to talk about my face! Who do you think you are anyway! Bad boy? Huh? Player!”

He flinched at your words, and even with your mind clouded you could feel the tension in the air. He went back to poking at the fire, and you were struck with the sudden urge to vomit.

“Jaehyun, I think I’m gonna throw up,” you managed to warn him, before you turned away and emptied the contents of your dinner into the sand. He jumped up from where he was sitting, cradling an arm around you and holding your hair back as you heaved. He held you like that until you were done, passing you some tissues and a bottle of water when you seemed to be better. You sat back, holding onto his arm to steady yourself.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern clear in his eyes. When you nodded a strand of hair fell into your face, and he reached over and tucked it behind your ear. That simple gesture made your heart flip in your chest, but before you could do anything about it, your world went black.

---

“Should we bring her to the hospital?”

“Nah, she’ll be fine, I’ve seen this before. One time in college, she got drunk at a party and barfed all over this guy she had a crush on.” Johnny snickered at the memory, “She just needs to sleep it off.”

“I don’t know, Johnny, she was all pale and then she passed out. I carried her to her tent but I felt bad about leaving her alone in there.”

You were slowly starting to regain consciousness, forcing your eyes open you recognized you were in your tent. You could hear Johnny and Jaehyun talking outside.

“Owww,” you moaned, clutching your head as you propped yourself up on your elbows. That simple motion made your entire body ache.

“Y/N?” you heard the tent unzip, Jaehyun’s worried face appearing in the opening. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been run over by a freight train,” you croaked, coughing as your throat felt like sandpaper. Jaehyun handed you a bottle of water. You almost chugged it in one go but Jaehyun stopped you, urging you to slow down.

“Slowly,” he touched your arm lightly with his hand, and even though the contact was brief, you felt warmth spread throughout your body.

“Thanks,” you said sincerely, looking him in the eye. He tilted his head slightly at you before he smiled, that beautiful dimpled smile that was starting to bewitch you.

“You’re fine, Y/N, stop milking this already! Let’s get going, we’re losing sunlight here!” Johnny was bellowing from behind Jaehyun.

“Give her a minute, Johnny,” Jaehyun turned to him, putting out his hand in a calming gesture. Johnny just shrugged.

“Alright but don’t take too long, I want to get to that diner before it gets too busy.” He disappeared, presumably to pack up his tent.

“What time is it, anyway?” you asked Jaehyun, rubbing your eyes.

“Almost eleven,” he answered.

“In the morning?” you yawned. The corners of Jaehyun’s mouth twitched, he was trying not to smile.

“Yes. We let you sleep in. Well, I let you sleep in. Johnny wanted to wake you at seven.”

“Oh god, thank you so much,” you were starting to feel more awake, but your body still ached, “He’s right though, that diner gets crazy around noon. Let’s go.” You tried to stand up but your limbs wouldn’t obey you.

“Do you need help?” you could tell he wanted to, his arms were already outstretched, but he still waited for your consent. You wanted to say no, you hated feeling like you needed help, but nothing was going to happen if you remained stubborn. You mentally cursed yourself for drinking that one extra beer that you knew you shouldn’t have.

“Yeah, thanks,” you nodded, and he leaned down and lifted you gently. You hated yourself for thinking it, but his arms around you felt good. You could feel the strength in them, but also the gentleness and care with which he handled you. Once you were on your feet you nodded at him, thinking you were okay, so he let go. You almost crumpled to the ground but he caught you, his reflexes undeniably fast.

“Whoops,” he said, arms enclosing you, his face just inches from yours. You were so close to him you could smell the mintiness of his breath, could see the reflection of yourself in his irises, could feel the heat radiating from his body. It was only a split second though, before he righted you, not letting go this time. “Just hold onto me, if you need to.”

This time, you did, clutching his elbow as he walked you back to the car. Johnny ended up packing everything else up, shaking his head and clicking his tongue at you as he passed.

“No more beer for you!” he rebuked. You stuck out your tongue at him, but even that motion made you woozy. Jaehyun placed you carefully in the backseat, making sure you were comfortable before getting into the driver’s seat.

“Don’t drive too crazy, okay?” you pleaded weakly.

He looked at you in the rearview mirror and smiled. “Promise.”

[nazyalenskyism]

Sweeter Things

A/N: Here’s a mini @grishaversebigbang fic from Kaz’s P.O.V. Please check out the amazing artwork this fic is based on below by the fantastic artists I was lucky enough to work with on this! Hope you enjoy!

Find the beautiful art for this fic by @wellwatersurprise​ & @iri-lynx here!

Summary: Kaz discovers a few things about himself and his fellow Crows thanks to an outing to Ketterdam’s most expensive café.

Ao3: Sweeter Things

Kaz tapped his cane against the pristine marble tiles, punctuating each passing second displayed on his pocket watch with a sharp rap. Nina Zenik was late, again. He leaned back against the wall, propping a foot against the ghastly gilded wallpaper, resting his head against a window frame. From the stories he’d overheard Nina telling Inej, he’d assumed that the Ravkan army generals who she feared had instilled a sense of punctuality in her but evidently, being on time to a meeting she planned was not a skill of hers.

When she finally drifted through the door, her bright red blouse with its flowing sleeves billowing in the breeze, it was more than a quarter hour after their scheduled meeting time. 

“Kaz!” Nina beamed.

“Zenik,” He ground out.

They followed the server to a small booth tucked in the side of the restaurant, Nina looking at the menu for all but three seconds before she ordered. For both of them.

“I didn’t come here to eat.”

“Well I did,” Nina sniffed. “Being seen in public with you is horrible enough, I need something to ease the pain.”

He’d never had waffles before, and he certainly didn’t want to try them for the first time while sitting across from Nina of all people. Did Ravka not have the dish? Why was she so entranced by glorified pancakes?

She frowned at him, as if she could sense what he was thinking. Maybe she could. As much research as he’d done, he didn’t know the full extent of her Corporalki powers. “Keep up appearances, Kaz. This place is notoriously difficult to get into, people wait months for a table. If you don’t eat your food like someone who has been waiting ages to try it, you will be raising suspicions.”

“No one knows me here, this isn’t the Barrel, Zenik. What do I care?”

“The new owner of the place is soon to be married to a high ranking member of the Dime Lions, so unless you want someone whispering to their lover about an oddly behaving rat with greasy hair in a perfectly tailored suit, you better eat up.”

Kaz had never wished the rumors that his glare could kill were true more than he did in this moment. Nina Zenik was a nuisance in a class of her own.

“What did you need to--”

“Oh,” she sighed, cutting him off completely, “we can’t talk about business when there’s a chance the servers might overhear while bringing us our food. We’ll have to wait until we eat.”

Fantastic.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Nina’s few feeble attempts to initiate a conversation died out when he refused to respond, and apparently for the first time, Nina Zenik wasn’t in the mood to talk herself to sleep. Finally, some quiet, he thought, letting him consider why she’d invited him here for this meeting in the first place. Before he would think too much about it, two steaming plates were deposited before them, and before he’d reached for his cutlery, Nina was already digging in. He took his time, and when he finally raised the fork to his mouth, he thought he was about to lose his reputation, here in the middle of the Finance District.

Great Ghenzhen’s gavel, they were delicious. Kaz reached for his coffee, hoping the bitterness of the dark roast would help him regain his composure. He disliked sugary things for a reason, because he’d loved them as a child. The once light aftertaste of sugar on his tongue was now acerbic, reminding him of money they’d never had, spent on frivolous things like melted chocolate and spun sugar. Sweet things were not meant for Barrel rats like him, they belonged in the hands of Merchers who had grown too comfortable, forgetting that the fall was always easier than the climb, especially when they hadn’t been the ones clawing to the top themselves. He finally looked up from his plate to see Nina half-finished, and a waiter walking away from their table. Had he been that entranced with the food that he’d missed someone visiting the table? His companion tilted her head at him, her gaze assessing him before she finally spoke.

“Inej likes the double cinnamon waffles with the orange syrup.” Kaz stared at her. “Jesper’s favourite is plain waffles with apple syrup and a side of eggs and bacon.” Kaz kept staring at her. “Incase you liked what you tasted and wanted more.” He narrowed his eyes, she was more observant than she let on, though the mile-wide smirk on her face was enough to make sure those words never reached her ears.

Kaz said nothing, simply took his fork in his left hand, his knife in his right and slowly cut into his breakfast, maintaining eye contact with Nina the entire time he popped the bite into his mouth, chewing slowly. He reached for his mug, taking a long swig before putting it down. “They taste awful.”

Nina scoffed, “grow up, Kaz.”

“Why am I here, Zenik?”

She shrugged, “why do you think you’re here?”

“Because you arranged this meeting to talk about an important topic, which you didn’t want overheard in the barrel,” Kaz growled, “that’s what you said yesterday.”

“I was wrong,” she said simply, taking the last bite from her plate. “The information is irrelevant now.”

“ Nina, tell me what it is.” The knife in his hand was feeling like a good motivational tool.

Her eyes crinkled stubbornly, “are you helping me get my prisoner out of jail?”

“No.” The answer was always no.

“Then I have nothing more to offer you today.” She slipped from her seat, smiling at the server who placed a large bag on the table, “thanks for the breakfast but I have to get back. My break’s over.” Without another word she flounced over to the hostess, undoubtedly flirting her way into another tin of their spiced syrup and then she was disappearing down the street with her giant bag of waffles in tow.

Kaz scowled in the direction she’d disappeared off into. Then he scowled down at his food. A few minutes later he scowled as he flagged down a server for a menu, and he scowled as he placed far too many Kruge on the table. Kaz scowled all the way home, curse Nina Zenik.

                                                          ***

“Ghafa, Fahey,” Anika called from the doorway, “there’re parcels here for you.” Inej and Jesper shared a look, who was sending them packages here? Inej had never been sent anything, and if people who took a liking to Jesper wanted to give him something, they usually used it as a way to get another meeting with him. Jesper’s long legs got him to the entryway first, and he let out a whoop of delight as he picked up the bags from the ground. There were two, one labeled “Jesper,” the other labeled “Inej,” in an unfamiliar scrawl. The smell emanating from them was heavenly. 

“Waffles,” Jesper moaned clutching his bag to his chest. “Who sent us waffles?”

“Nina?”

“These are from the most expensive cafe in Ketterdam, I don’t know if she could afford it.”

Inej frowned, she knew someone who had that type of money. “Come, food like this deserves to be eaten in a place with a view. I know the perfect rooftop.”

As they passed through the alleyway towards the Zemeni Embassy she glanced up at the top floors of the Slat, at his office. She thought she caught the edge of a black coat flapping in the window, but then it was gone and all she could see was the static layout of the room. Inej caught back up with Jesper, letting his animated tales of his latest escapade wash over her, her thanks sent to the Saints instead of someone who didn’t want them.

                                                               *** Kaz settled back in his chair once his sharpshooter and Wraith had passed, his pen flipping through his fingers. He could still hear their cheerful banter from the other end of the alley and he allowed himself a single moment to close his eyes, dreaming of a world where he could join them. Then his eyes snapped open and he turned back to the books. He didn’t live in a fantasy world, he lived in this one and no amount of whimpering was going to change the fact that he would always be the one watching from afar. And that was the way  he liked it.

[crystalirises]

Even Gods Bleed

Hello! So this is a prompt given to me by chaoticbandito in ao3 and I have their permission to post it on Tumblr :)

Also, slight explanation Quackity still has some beef with Techno here but Fundy is not part of the Butcher Gang and instead lives with the SBI (why? Because I said so.).

Tommy is rescued from exile instead because Phil can be a good dad in this prompt XD. Lastly, the differently formatted one lines (bold or italics) are meant to be the voices.

Did I forget Ranboo? No. He's sleeping, I swear!

Yes, I forgot about Ranboo because I am a fool ;-;

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

Techno let out a tired breath of air, glancing down at his younger brother who was busy tending to their sheep companion. Ghostbur glanced over at him, a toothy grin on his face as he gave Techno a little wave. A trail of blood was left in their wake as they stumbled towards the cabin they're entire family lived in. Techno wondered when Quackity would finally realize that attacking him was fruitless… and to think the duck hybrid had tried to drag Ghostbur into it. Techno growled under his breath, wishing that Quackity would just get the message and leave them all alone.

"Are you sure Quackity will be alright? I think you killed him with too much force this time." Techno grunted at the question, slightly irritated that Ghostbur had completely forgotten what had just occurred a moment prior. He casted his blood red eyes at his transparent younger brother, feeling all sense of annoyance disappear as he looked into those warm brown eyes. Ghostbur needed to forget, best not let him remember Quackity threatening to kill Friend in front of them. Techno would give up a life if it meant Ghostbur could never remember his trauma. "Friend says thank you, by the way. I don't know what for but I'm so glad you two are getting along. You and Sally used to fight a lot when she…"

Ghostbur stuttered to a pause, an eerie silence following, only interrupted by the occasional loud gust of wind. A blizzard was in the air, he could sense it. Techno simply sighed, knowing what came next. "Oh. Hi, Techno!"

"Hello, Ghostbur." Techno winced, gritting his teeth as though speaking took too much of an effort. He shrugged it off, too focused on getting his younger brother home before any other nuisance decided to show their face. The sun was beginning to set in the distance, the harsh chill of snow biting at the tips of his ears as he took in another deep breath. He'd never thought he'd hate the cold as much as he did right then. "We're headed home."

"Oh? Where did we go before?" Ghostbur's airy voice barely registered, his mind stuttering to a stop as he strained to remember what his brother just said. Ghostbur floated into his view, his eyebrows drawn together. "Techno?"

'Uh oh…'

'Do we tell him?'

'Duck's fault'

'TechnoPain'

'awwww concerned Ghostbur…'

'snow is cold'

'DO WE TELL HIM???'

'no, you nerd'

'Blood…'

'let him find out—'

"Techno?" The voices ceased their chatter, their whispers disappearing into the back of his mind as he simply gave Ghostbur a small nod. Ghostbur placed a hand on his shoulder, eyes narrowing as he searched for something. Techno patted the ghost's hand before trekking back towards the cabin. The sooner they get home, the sooner Techno could retire to sleep. Although why he felt the need to sleep was beyond him. After a few minutes, the pair stopped a few paces near the entrance. Ghostbur still hovered behind him, gaze strangely fixated on Techno's side. Techno gave him a short glance before reaching out towards the nearly frozen doorknob. Darkness had begun to seep into their surroundings, the brutal tundra air beating at his exposed skin. Techno shivered, clutching his blue coat with his free hand. "Techno, why didn't you—"

He threw the door open, cutting off the ghost's sentence as he stumbled his way into their warm home. He waited as Ghostbur and Friend made their way inside, closing the door with a soft thump behind them. Techno didn't stay behind to listen to whatever it was Ghostbur had wanted to say. Quickly draping his coat on the coat hanger, Techno walked deeper into the cabin, intent on making his way to bed. He wanted to sleep. His body ached for it.

"Hold on a second, mate." A familiar chuckle reached his ears as a pair of injured white wings blocked his path. Phil emerged from one of the rooms, a soft smile on his face. "Dinner should be ready soon, would you like—"

'potato soup again?'

'hmmmm no dinner tonight…'

'this should be fun'

'oh whoops'

'potatoes have ruined our lives'

'Phil'

'Tell Phil'

'Philza'

'Dadza'

'DADZA—'

Phil was not a man who was scared easily, having spent nearly half of his waking days nursing his one remaining life. No, he was not a faint hearted man. Once, he was a king. An angel whose very presence struck fear into all those who heard the flap of his wings. He was Philza Minecraft, after all. Yet, as he watched his eldest son topple to the ground, his breathe stuttered to a stop. He stood there frozen for a moment, heart beating madly in his chest until he finally found it in himself to move. He crouched down beside Techno, his hands hovering above his son's all too still form. A metallic scent reached his nose, his eyes flickering about until he saw crimson seeping out of Techno's side. He heard the crack of feathers, his wings morphing into sharp steel at the thought of anyone daring to even hurt one of his sons. Phil tried to keep himself calm, revenge could wait. He had a son to take care of, "Fundy! Tommy! I require a bit of assistance here, please!"

He hears the rush of footsteps from above as he tried to press his shaking hands against the wound. Ghostbur floated into view, his pale ghostly face turning nearly transparent as he took in his brother's unmoving form. Phil wished he could comfort his son but he couldn't, not when he himself was too busy trying to bite down the panic and rage that threatened to spill from his chest. How dare… how dare they try to take away another one of his sons? Phil bit down the bottom of his lip, forcing his mind to concentrate on Techno. His poor son who looked too peaceful, felt too cold to the touch. Phil was going to rip into whoever had the fucking gall to come to their territory and attack one of his sons. He gritted his teeth, nearly cracking them as he tried to quell his fury and horror.

'Killza…'

'Killza…'

'Killza…'

His blood was wet with blood, reminding him of a time where he had been in this situation, where had to watch one of his sons die by his blade. Phil held back his sorrow. Techno wasn't going to die. Phil won't be losing another son anytime soon. It was a deep cut on the side, but Techno will survive it. He will survive it. Techno wasn't going to lose one of his lives like this. Not if Phil had anything to say about it.

Tommy and Fundy finally reached him, their faces stricken with surprise as they saw the limp form of Technoblade. Phil bit back his dry chuckle. Of course they were surprised, no one had ever seen Techno so vulnerable before, but Phil had… once. They quickly snapped out of it, reaching out to help Phil as they all made their way towards Techno's room. They struggled to place the pig hybrid onto the bed, but after a while, they finally did it.

"Tommy, can you get me some bandages and a healing potion." Phil's voice was but a whisper, yet he heard Tommy leave the room anyway. Phil placed a hand on top of Techno's head, petting his son's soft pink hair.

"He'll be okay, right? He isn't…"

"He'll be fine, Fundy."

"... Technoblade never dies…?"

"That's right." Phil smiled at his grandson's words, that old phrase bringing a bit of comfort to him as he glanced over at Fundy. He placed a hand over Techno's, his fingers cold to the touch. Fundy didn't need to wait before grabbing the folded blanket, placing it over Techno to keep him warm as they waited for Tommy to come back. Fundy twitched, picking at the sleeve of his shirt, his gaze never leaving his uncle's form. Phil knew how sensitive Fundy could be at the sight of… probable death. "Thank you. You should probably go check on Ghostbur, I'll handle it from here."

Fundy gave him a small nod before rushing out of the room, nearly bumping into Tommy who had brought more bandages and healing potions than necessary. The blonde tried to mask his fear, but Phil knew his sons, knew their small gestures and what they meant. Tommy's bright blue eyes were blown wide open, his fingers twitching as he made his way to Phil's side. Phil gently took everything from his son's hands, holding onto one of the healing potions as reached out towards Techno. As he slowly helped Techno drink the potion, he could hear Tommy pacing behind him, his sneakers scuffing against the wooden floor. "I'm going to kill the son of a bitch who did this. Ohhhh, when I get my fucking hands on them— I mean, h-how dare they come in here and hurt Techno? What fucking—"

"Tommy, I'm going to need you to calm down. We'll talk to Techno in the morning and strategize, but for now you can help Fundy with Ghostbur." Phil slowly sat back down, empty bottle in hand as he turned to face his youngest son. Tommy looked like he wanted to argue, his hands curled into fists as he glared at the wall. If there wasn't an impending blizzard, he had no doubt Tommy would be rushing to fight whoever had done this. "Tommy, please."

"Is Techie going to be okay?" Tommy turned to him, the shine of tears in his eyes as he rubbed a hand at his mouth. His poor son… they'd recently just saved him from exile. "He's going to be okay, right dad? He's Technoblade!"

"He'll be fine, Tommy."

"Promise?"

"I promise. Now, go ahead. I'll stay here."

Tommy hesitated for a minute, his brows creasing together before he finally stomped off into the hallway, screaming profanity at an invisible enemy. Phil shook his head, taking one of the bandages as he focused his entire attention to Techno. The wound was beginning to heal, the potion's effects fixing the damage done against his son. A scar would remain but he knew Techno wouldn't mind it, scars already littered most of the piglin hybrid's skin, what was one more to him? Phil began to dress the wound, knowing that Techno would still feel sore tomorrow regardless of the potion. He nearly cursed as he dropped the bandage, his hands still shaking from the sudden scare he had just gotten.

New L'Manburg was dangerous, far too risky and too paranoid than any nation he's visited. To come to their home under the pretense of hurting one of their own was an unofficial declaration of war. Phil reached for another roll of bandages, wrapping up the wound the best way he knew how. A part of him thought of how he shouldn't be so well-practiced in dressing wounds, thoughts of the times where he's had to help his own sons flashing through his head. Though he knew quite well that at least two of his son's were grown adults, he couldn't stop the undeniable guilt of knowing that they'd been exposed so badly to the cruelties of the world. He'd lost one son to death, and yet it felt as though he'd lost all three.

Techno was plagued by voices.

Wilbur was dead . His poor son is gone .

Tommy was haunted by his exile.

Phil laid his head against the mattress, a hand still holding on to Techno's. He was going to keep his family safe. He'd let them heal here… in their cabin. Phil wasn't going to let them break. Never again. He was here, and he'll die before anyone dared try to hurt them.

He stayed and fell asleep by Techno's side, his hand's hold never wavering even as he woke the next day. As he glanced up, a pair of warm, blood red eyes greeted him. A smile found its way to Phil's lips.

"Good morning, Techno."

"Good morning, dad."

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

;-; I've never even written Phil or Techno ;-;

[nad-zeta]

Blind Date with Theo

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Pairings: Theo van Gogh x reader 

Genre: Slice o life

Warnings: Mentions of Alcohol and also mild swearing☺

Words: 1500

Comments: So this is my first ikevamp prompt thingy lol its probs ganna be shit cause you best know i didn’t proofread before posting lol(˶◕‿◕˶✿) Also sorry to all the dutch people for butchering the language! Hehe lol so after trying my luck multiple time with @readerinsertfanfiction blind dates,🦋 I still didn’t get my man (Damn those dice!) so I decided to write my own self indulging thingy lol! 😳😳😳

Hehe so I am hella excited for Theo’s route, and I just had to participate in this Theo route countdown! Thanks, @delicateikemenmemes for setting up this fun lil party hehe so it goes without saying I am posting this as part of the #Theo Route Countdown Party! Whoop whoop so without further ado....... my interpretation of the prompt Theo and King ❤😳☺

｡.*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ:。’ .*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ:。’･ﾟ｡.*:・’ﾟ: ｡.*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ:。’ .*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ

Sunbeams came streaming into the younger van Gogh’s room. The man groaned as he rolled over to shield his eyes from the morning sunlight illuminating the room. He let out a tired groan as his eyes cracked open to see a scrap of paper containing a neatly written note laying wait on his bedside table. 

Sitting up slightly, he reached over and squinted his eyes, trying his best to quickly scan over the contents of the page through blurred vision. He let out a tired scoff as he crumpled up the paper and let it fall to the floor. 

He laid back down, and he rubbed his temples letting go of yet another irritated scoff, as memories of his previous night out, had come flooding back to him.

He and Arthur were out together, to their usual pub, drinking and venting about the events that had unfolded throughout the day. All was going well when suddenly Arthur decided to be a little shit and propose a bet. He wore a mischievous grin as he declared for all to hear, “whomever passes out first, loses and has to do whatever the winner says for an entire day.” 

Theo eyed Arthur with caution as he contemplated his odds at beating the mystery author. The last thing the man needed was to lose a bet to the flirt. Not even to mention the fact that he has been so busy with work recently, that he hasn’t even spent any time with his dearest pet. 

Shooting Arthur a devilish smirk, he confidently spoke up, “you have yourself a deal, you four-eyed pervert.” 

The night progressed, and the drinks flowed between the two friends, however, little did Theo know that Arthur had a rather naughty trick up his sleeve to ensure success. Arthur had never lost a bet in his life, and he most definitely wasn’t planning on giving up his winning streak now. 

Theodorus sat up in his bed and groaned as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He looked over to see his dearest companion peacefully sleeping at the foot of his bed. His expression softened upon seeing the cute way the retriever’s legs twitched as he slept. Reaching over, he gave the pup a clumsy pat, all while wearing a tender smile. “Looks like you will have to help me make good on a deal, King.” 

Upon hearing his name roll off the tongue of his beloved owner, King shot up and tacked Theo back down onto the bed, showing his face with loving kisses. It was in these rare moments that Theo truly allowed his tough exterior to melt away and reveal his true self. He laughed as he pushed the retriever’s face away from his own, trying to catch his breath. King nuzzled his nose into the palm of Theo’s hand, trying to push past and shower his face with even more kissing licks. 

Suddenly the retriever’s attention was stolen by the slither of crumpled paper laying on the bedroom floor. With lightning speed, he hopped off of the bed and started playfully attacking the piece of paper, tearing it up, to make a scattered mess. Theo couldn’t help but affectionately smile down at King as he pulled his finger through his hair, contemplating just how the lightweight shit bag friend of his, might have been able to out drink him. 

He clenched his jaw and rolled his eyes as he finally got up to prepare for his fate, as loser of the wager. “Curse that rotten good for nothing thot for scamming me.”

After a long drawn out sigh, Theo slithered onto the floor and reached over to the trunk situated beside his desk, to pull out a soft-bristled brush. The second the playful pup spotted his favourite red brush he was sprawled across Theo’s lap, belly exposed, ready for some attention, “You really are an attention whore, aren’t you.” 

King's tail happily swished back and forth as Theo bushed his soft golden fur and showered the lovable creature with attention. Despite not having spent much time with his dear companion, he made a point of it, to at least brush the retrievers silky fur once a day in the mornings. Knowing from experience that the pup would seek attention otherwise from the man, in far more destructive ways. Something his chewed-up leather shoes could attest to.

Theo walked along the Boulevard with King excitingly strutting beside him. King’s long, fluffy tail swished in the air as he excitedly looked around the new environment. Soon the pup’s tail started wagging profusely as they neared the local dog park. Despite having walked around half of Paris with King, it was the first time the pair had visited this particular dog park. 

Catching the whiff and sight, of all the new interesting sights and smells in the unknown environment, the retriever’s excitement only grew tenfold. At this point, the pup was so ecstatic to play with the other animals, that he was practically walking Theo instead of the other way around. 

King pulled at his owner to quicken his pace, “oi King, slow down, you are going to pull my arm from it’s socket.” The pup never relented once, continuing to push forward with Theo in tow. 

Once inside the park, Theo leaned down to release the leash and allow King to run free and expend all his energy. “Try not to cause too much mischief today, buddy.” He ruffled the pup’s fur as he unclasped the leash. The second King was freed, he leapt into the air running off to some unknown direction

Theo could only scoff at his pet’s impatience, although, after watching his beloved companion for a few moments, he couldn’t help but let go of a hearty chuckle. The sight of the retriever bouncing around the park exploring its every corner was simply too cute. 

Soon the slight smile that was resting on Theo’s face morphed into his set point scowl, as he spotted the woman he was supposed to meet, on this blind date. 

Cursing Arthur once more under his breath, he approached the woman. Out of all the things to be asked of the man for losing the bet, this was by far the worst. 

As he neared the woman to introduce himself, King came sprinting back to Theodorus, to show him a cool new stick he had found. 

The retriever ran at full speed bounding into the air to slam straight into Theo’s back, causing the man to fall forward. There was no way to stop gravity once in motion, and Theo found himself tumbling straight into the woman’s arms, sending the pair of them falling back onto the soft grass. 

Theo stared down at the woman mortified, while his beloved companion decided to ease his master’s anger by showering both his owner’s- and the face of the new stranger with small kisses. Theo narrowed his eyes at the dog, who playfully nipped and licked at the poor woman’s face, while letting go of a little whine in apology. 

Before Theo could scold the impertinent pooch, both his and King’s attention was suddenly stolen by the woman trapped beneath the young art dealer. 

She seemed to be in a fit of laughter at the whole experience, trying her best to free herself from King’s loving face kisses. 

Thankful for the distraction King bounded off into a new direction while Theo was left blushing from the embarrassment. He clumsily got up and muttered a slight apology as he offered the woman a hand. 

She smiled a bright sunny smile and shrugged as she continued to chuckle nervously. She gestured for the two of them to sit down on a nearby park bench to which Theo simply nodded, as he tried his best to regain composure. 

He was surprised at the spunk of the woman who sat beside him, chatting away without a care in the world. He had tried his best to deter her with his sharp tongue and scowling attitude. Yet she continued to smile and engage with him, meeting his savage words and comments with a charming wit of her own. 

By the time the sun had started set, Theo was almost sad to leave the company of this mysterious woman. He leisurely walked beside the her as they decided to do one more slow lap around the park together, before saying their goodbyes. 

Suddenly the woman breathed an “oh no” and used Theo as a human shield, upon spotting two excited pups sprinting their way towards the two owners at full speed. Without warning, the Retriever and Labrador duo shook out their sopping wet fur right beside the owners to shower them in an inevitable rain of muddy pond water. 

The pair burst into laughter, as both of them were now soaked to the bone, and left to smell like wet dog and dirty river water. 

After parting ways with the woman and her pet, Theo couldn’t keep that shit-eating grin off his face. Even King was wearing a broad smile of his own, having finally met a pup who could keep up with his high energy curiosity. 

“What do you say bud, should we meet up with those two again sometime?” Seemingly as if understanding his master’s words, King’s tail whipped through the air as he let out an excited bark in response. “Oké dan staat het vast.” 

Since then, whenever Theo and King would visit the dog park, they would each in their own way, excitingly approach the gates in anticipation of the fun day that lays ahead. 

｡.*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ:。’ .*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ:。’･ﾟ｡.*:・’ﾟ: ｡.*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ･’ﾟﾟ:。’ .*:・’ﾟ:｡.*:ﾟ

Hope yall enjoyed this ☺❤🌻also this is low key part 2 hehe ☺

Part one will be out on day 3 of the countdown! So the day after tomorrow!🌈

[scythian-andromache]

is it really a road-trip if you don't stop at a 7-Eleven?

A ‘The Old Guard’ gen fic that is a companion piece to this fic, but can be read solo

Also available on [AO3]

Summary:  In the middle of a road-trip, the Old Guard Immortals make a stop at a 7-Eleven. A lot of bickering ensues, but that's what happens when you take road-trips with your family.

***

It’s been two hours since they got into the shootout, which brings their Days Without An Incident count (previously at four) back to zero.  

That was on them, a stupid mistake that’s put something of a damper on their road-trip (end goal: Grand Canyon, but who knows if they’ll actually make it there before something goes horribly wrong). Since then, they’ve been driving steadily westward. It’s nearly two in the morning, but Andy is (still) driving, and the rest of them are in various states of dozing—or as much as one can doze when Andy’s driving.

“Fuck, we’re getting low on gas.” Andy says this out loud like it’s a surprise, like there isn’t a gauge on the dash with the sole purpose of keeping the driver apprised of the gas levels.  

“This is the last exit for thirty miles,” Joe says absently, eyes closed and feet propped up. They’re also, by all rights, past the acceptable merge point.

In response, Andy swerves across two full traffic lanes and cuts off the only other driver on the road to pull off the exit ramp, not bothering to stop at the stop sign and careening across the road and into the 7-Eleven’s parking lot.

Booker lets out several extremely creative swears in a mix of French and English. “Jesus, Andy, there are traffic laws; please follow at least one of them,” he groans.

“My headlights are on,” says Andy, like that settles it, and Booker swears again.

“If not for us, then for you! You’re not invulnerable anymore!”

Andy rolls her eyes. “My driving has never gotten a single one of us killed.”

Booker makes a face that clearly indicates he’s skeptical of that answer, but whatever he’s working up to is interrupted by a new voice in the conversation.

“Nile could take over for a little bit,” suggests Nicky, blearily clearing sleep from his eyes.

“Nile doesn’t even have a license right now,” Booker shoots back, exasperated.

“Nile doesn’t even have a birth certificate right now,” grumbles Nile from where she’s squished between them. “The only thing I’m legally classified as is a problem.” Quỳnh laughs from where she’s laying—apparently not asleep—in the very back, among their duffle bags. No seatbelt, but far more room than Nicky, Nile, and Booker have, all crammed in together on the bench seat not really meant for three.

Nicky, meanwhile, ignores Nile’s comment, looking directly at Booker as he asks combatively, “And whose fault is that?”

“Oh, come on,” says Booker. “I haven’t had time to forge a new identity for her!”

Nicky says something under his breath in Italian and Booker flings open the car door and stalks toward the bright beacon of the convenience store.

“I’m getting snacks, Joe,” says Nicky, and follows. Joe gets out and opens the hatch to check their supply of baklava—not that the 7-Eleven off I-40 is the spot to replenish it—and Andy exchanges a few words with Quỳnh, while Nile sighs and starts pumping gas. After a few moments, Andy and Joe head inside too.

“You don’t want anything?” asks Nile, peering into the car to check on Quỳnh.

“Joe will buy more snacks than he needs in case Nicky wants them, and then I will steal them from them both,” says Quỳnh, a mischievous smile on her face, and Nile can’t help but laugh. They had a rough start, her and Quỳnh, but they get along pretty well now.

“Fair enough,” Nile says, as she returns the pump to its hook.

“Maybe a pair of earplugs,” Quỳnh muses, as an afterthought. “To drown out their relentless bickering. The only thing I miss about the ocean is the peace and quiet,” she deadpans, and Nile almost chokes on her gallows humor.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Nile says, and pulls the car around before heading inside herself.

They’re all still bickering when she gets inside—of course they are. Immortals, with more years between them than the populations of whole towns, and they’re still children. She heaves a long-suffering sigh—it’s self-care, okay?—and says, “We’re all gassed up and ready. Everyone got their snacks?”

“Not quite,” says Joe, and then tells Booker—in English, this time—to let him drive. Damn, they’re still on that?

Nile lets them be, looking around a little for some earplugs for Quỳnh, until she hears their voices raise, and Booker practically yells, “—and we got stuck behind Soviet borders for a MONTH.”

Shit. She glances over at the cashier, who looks entirely too interested in this particular conversation. For all their talk of laying low, they can be pretty bad at it, sometimes. Sighing again, she sashays over to the counter, throws on her most charming smile and says, in an effort to disrupt whatever train of thought is mentally calculating how they could possibly have been detained behind Soviet borders, “Hi! I was wondering if you had any earplugs?”

They do not have earplugs, and she tries to keep him distracted, but it backfires a little, because she’s forgotten she’s still wearing the same clothes from the shoot up—they all are—and the cashier (Andrew, his name-tag says) has noticed.

“Costume party,” she says, a lame excuse, but the best she’s got, and she’s about to talk about how their theater friend does really extravagant murder-mystery parties when the rest of them decide they’re done bickering, and drop all their shit on the counter.

Andy gives the cashier the iciest look Nile’s seen from her in at least three days, and the poor kid hops to, ringing in enough candy to send their bodies pre-diabetes until they reboot again.

Joe, Nicky, and Andy all head out, leaving her and Booker to finish up the transaction, and then Booker—that absolute dipshit—drops a hundred euro note on the counter instead of USD.

“Idiot,” Nile hisses in French, elbowing him and fishing money out of her out wallet. She pockets the euro note (serves him right) and grabs their bags.

“Keep the change,” she says to the cashier, and uses her free hand to pinch Booker’s arm hard (“Ow!”) and steer him out of the shop. They slide into the back seat of the waiting car (Andy, unfortunately, is still driving), and it skids off before the door is even fully closed.

“Y’all need to work on your subtlety,” says Nile, glancing back at the gas station, where the cashier is standing in the door, staring after them. “Or at least have your arguments in French. That kid was listening to everything.”

Andy waves a hand dismissively—unfortunately, it also happens to be the hand that was holding the wheel and the car swerves—and says, “We’ll send a text to Copley. He can wipe the footage. What’s one more convenience store after a bloodbath?”

“Yeah? You also gonna wipe that kid’s brain?”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere, and he’s a nobody,” says Booker.

“I was a nobody,” hisses Nile. “You can’t just…discount people like that. That kid could become the next Kozak or the next Copley, or someone just like them could see him as collateral damage when they try to find us.”

“You are right, Nile.” It’s Nicky who says it. “It is easy to let people blur together, to believe them inconsequential, but it’s a poor mentality to have. We will be more careful.”

“That’s all I ask,” says Nile, softly. The car lapses into silence for a few moments until Joe asks for his Twizzlers, and all of a sudden there’s bickering over who bought what snacks.

Quỳnh somehow ends up with a pair of Twinkies and the Flaming Hot Cheetos, and just gives Nile a little wink over the back of the seat when Nicky says, “Booker, did you steal some of my Twinkies?”

Booker makes an indignant noise in the back of his throat, flashes his bar of chocolate, and says, “You couldn’t pay me to eat that garbage!”

Nile laughs into her iced tea, and then looks up and accidentally makes eye contact with Andy in the rear-view mirror. She’s got an amused smile playing around her mouth, everything in her expression telegraphing her fondness, and also her exhaustion.

“Let me drive for a while,” Nile says, over the argument happening between Booker and Nicky (“Don’t call them garbage, a Twinkie is just a petite madelaine with a little cream in it.” / “How dare you even utter Twinkie and petite madelaine in the same breath!”)

“You don’t have a license,” says Andy, although it’s a weaker protest than it had been before they stopped at the gas station.  

“Oh, come on. Like that’s gonna make a difference. Like you’re really gonna show a license to the police if they pull you over for a traffic violation.”

“I—”

“You need sleep, Andy. Pull the fuck over.”

To the astonishment of the whole car, Andy does. Well, except for—

“Ha!” whoops Nicky gleefully, leaning around Nile to get a better look at Booker. “Pay up!”

“Nile stole my euros,” says Booker grumpily.

“No. Uh-uh. Don’t make this about me,” says Nile, as everyone shifts around to accommodate the change in drivers. “I know you have more. And besides, I spent $100 at the store.”

“You were the one that told him to keep the change, and besides, a hundred euros is ten dollars more than a hundred dollars.”

“It was $87 and I was just trying to get us the fuck out of there. And consider it a dumbass tax, for trying to give him euros in the first place,” says Nile, and the car erupts in cackles.

“Everyone good?” She checks the rear-view mirror as she pulls back onto the highway: Andy has climbed into the very back to stretch out (snuggle) with Quỳnh; Joe and Nicky are shifting around in the back seat; and Booker is sitting shotgun next to her.

“I’m not,” complains Nicky. “Booker still hasn’t paid me.”

Booker says something under his breath, but digs his wallet out of his pocket and fishes a fifty euro note out, passing it back to Nicky.

“Grazie,” he says, waving the note to Joe like it’s a trophy.

Booker huffs. “Prego, è stato un piacere, va’ all’inferno!”

“No, I don’t think I will,” says Nicky pleasantly. “I have a papal indulgence.”

That draws raucous laughter from both Joe and Quỳnh, and for all that he puts on the air of being grumpy, Nile sees Booker’s smirk from the corner of her eye.

They all settle down pretty quickly after that; it has been a long day, after all. They’re the only car on the road, and the miles disappear into the inky black night quickly as they fly down I-40. The next time Nile glances into her rear-view mirror, she sees that Andy and Quỳnh have tucked themselves into each other, and Joe is leaning into Nicky, arms half around him as they doze together.  

Only Booker, slouched in the seat next to her, remains awake. “You can go to sleep, Book,” she says, easy.

“Nah,” he says, “someone must stay awake with the driver.”

She doesn’t take his statement at face value, but she doesn’t challenge him on it either. “Well,” she says lightly, “then you’re the DJ. Find us something good.”

Booker leans forward and turns the radio on low. The opening strains of a Depeche Mode song drift from the speakers, and Booker hisses. “English bastards with a French name,” he says, but tellingly doesn’t change the channel. He must secretly like this song.

As the song fades out and the opening chords of another song thrum, Nile looks over to find that Booker, too, has drifted off, but Nile finds she doesn’t mind. She’s surrounded by her ridiculous family, finally taking a break, and she’s got this. She turns her attention back to the highway, focusing on the thrum of the engine and the soft strains of the music and the peacefulness of an empty road, as they move ever closer to their next adventure.

***

fin.

***

~Twizzlers are halal! ~grazie = thanks ~Prego, è stato un piacere, va’ all’inferno! = (roughly; I am not a native speaker) “yeah, you’re welcome, my pleasure, now go to hell” (PS: Italian has all kinds of fun, creative, extremely dirty swears. Soooo even though Booker technically says "go to hell", it's fairly mild. Nicky's still salty at Booker but not salty enough to take it seriously.) ~There really was a papal edict offering indulgences to those partaking in the crusades. Nicky 100% exploits this.

***   

[max-is-tired]

On Top Of The World (On Top Of It All)

Pairing: Analoceit

Characters: Virgil Sanders, Deceit Sanders, Logan Sanders, Remus Sanders, Roman Sanders, Patton Sanders, Character Thomas (mentioned)

Words: 4.365

Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit & Remus, swearing, kissing, one very light innuendo and light graphic talk by Remus, there’s a fight but the characters have agreed to it and no one gets hurt

Notes: Let’s start with a big round of applause for my amazing boyfriend @afulldeckofaces who commissioned this big boy -he asked for pining Loceit and Confident Virgil, and who am I to deny these two beautiful concepts?

Writing this was so much fun, and I hope you guys will love it at least as much as I enjoyed working on it!!!!

Commission me!!  Buy me a coffee!!  Join my Discord server!!

When Logan and Deceit initially got together, it really hadn’t been a surprise to anyone -apart from maybe Thomas, but he had since stopped questioning most of the things that went down in his mind. So when they told him he simply blinked, shrugged in that specific way people do when they are way too tired to try and actually think about whatever the hell is going on and smiled at the way his two sides leaned on each other, genuinely happy for them.

Point was, everyone had seen it coming, recognized their hopeless pining for what it was despite the two sides’ vehement denial (“denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, dude”) and collectively breathed a sigh of relief when the two finally got their heads out of their asses and actually talked about their feelings for once in their life.

(Roman was just a tad bitter that both Deceit and Logan had refused to see reason for so long despite his best efforts to act as the perfect Cupid he was, and also that Remus had only won their little bet because gay panic was one hell of a way to make Deceit blurt out the truth. So what?)

What no one had exactly seen coming -apart from Remus because he was Deceit’s go-to when he needed to ramble/vent about something and therefore was aware of most things regarding his love life before anyone else, mostly to his brother’s dismay- was the small, minuscule crush the two were starting to develop on Virgil.

Which really, could you blame them? He was calm, snarky, and if Logan had to be honest, he had been harboring a tiny, infinitesimal infatuation for the anxious side since the time they had their first debate, back in the mindscape’s palace when Thomas had been dealing with cognitive distortions.

(For Dee, it was more complicated, having had feelings for Virgil since before their falling out only to feel them rekindle once they had started to grow closer again, side to side with the burning flame that were his feelings for Logan. Accepting that those feelings were still a thing had been an ordeal, to say the least, but having Logan at his side as they worked on figuring it out had helped immensely.)

So yeah, both Deceit and Logan were kind of crushing on Virgil. But that didn’t mean they were going to act on it, despite Remus’ constant suggestions that they should “try and tap that booty.” After all, it’s not like Virgil would be interested, and the feelings were completely, one hundred percent manageable.

Right? 

(Spoiler alert: they were wrong. So, so wrong.)

+++

It all started one particular afternoon, when Roman barged into the living room with a very worried look on his face.

“Please tell me someone has seen Remus at least once since this morning,” he questioned immediately, his gaze traveling from the kitchen, where Patton was currently backing some cookies, and the couch, from where Logan and Deceit were staring back at him with twin looks of both confusion and annoyance.

If Roman had to be honest, it was kind of creepy to see, and he was the one with an actual twin.

“I can’t say we have,” Logan finally answered, looking about ready to go back to his book.

“Neither have I, sorry Ro,” Patton called from the kitchen doorway, looking at him with a worried frown. “Why, did something happen?”

“No, but it might soon,” Roman answered, looking more troubled by the second. “Last time I saw him, he said he was going to the Imagination to work on a project. I have no idea what he’s working on, but the last time he spent this much time holed up there he ended up setting loose an entire army of bright green rats while proclaiming himself their Rat King, so I think you can guess why I’m a tiny bit worried right now.”

Deceit sighed, sharing a glance with Logan before turning towards the prince.

“I guess I’ll go check on him,” he said, standing up.

Logan gave him one look and immediately stood up himself, settling his book on the coffee table as he readjusted his tie.

“I’m coming with you. If he really has something planned, I might be able to help you reign him in.”

“Sounds good,” Deceit nodded, giving his boyfriend a small smile before taking his hand and turning towards Roman. “The Imagination, you said?”

Roman gave them a nod, while Patton looked at them in worry.

“Be careful, alright?” he called after them, watching as the two sunk out of the room.

Then, Roman seemed to realize something, turning towards Patton with a confused frown.

“Wait, where’s Virgil?”

+++

Between all the sides, Deceit, Virgil and Roman were the only ones who had actually set foot in Remus’ side of the Imagination before.

Over the years, the view had never changed much. A dark, ominous forest. Creatures that looked normal but not quite. A night that never ends, with a blood-red moon as the only companion. A tall, far-away tower, always visible in the distance but never seeming to grow closer.

This time, however, when Deceit rose up with Logan’s hand held tightly in his, the world around them was completely different. They were standing in what appeared to be a big, unassuming square circled by various buildings, the fumes and smells associated with cities surrounding them even without any people or cars passing by.

It was eerily silent, and Deceit didn’t like it one bit.

“I thought Remus’ domain would bear more similarities with Roman’s fantastical kingdom,” Logan commented, looking around with a hint of curiosity.

“It usually does, even if leaning much more on the ‘scary forest where literally everything could kill you’ side of the spectrum,” Deceit answered, studying their surroundings with much more suspicion. “In all the years I’ve known him, he’s never changed the landscape on his side of the Imagination.”

“Oh please, I’ve done it plenty of times,” a very familiar voice suddenly called from above their heads, “just never when you were around!”

Deceit and Logan looked up, trying to spot the source of the voice. Remus grinned back at them, hanging upside-down from what appeared to be-

“Wait, is that the floating cloud from Dragon Ball?” Deceit asked, staring in confusion at the cloud Remus seemed to be sitting on.

“Hell yeah! Do you like it?”

“... I’m almost afraid to ask this, but is there a reason it’s pitch back instead of the original white or is it just for the aesthetic?”

Remus wiggled his mustache, obviously excited by Deceit’s question in a way that made the side immediately regret ever speaking in the first place.

“White is overrated, and also this one can shoot lightning bolts!”

As if to demonstrate Remus’ words, the cloud immediately started crackling with energy, lightning zipping through the air and hitting the ground on the other side of the square.

“Woohoo!” Remus cheered, cackling like a madman at his own destruction.

As for Deceit, he fought to keep his expression neutral, squeezing Logan’s hand once it looked like his boyfriend was about to go try and investigate.

Logan rolled his eyes but relented, keeping his curiosity in check. For now, at least.

“Care to explain why exactly you changed the scenery, then?” Deceit asked, “I didn’t peg you for the city type.”

“Oh, it’s not for me, it’s for Virgil!” Remus grinned, straightening upon his personal cloud and snickering at the two sides’ growing confusion.

“Come on up, I’ll show you,” he offered, guiding the cloud down to give the two a chance to safely board.

Logan didn’t need to hear it twice, immediately mounting on the floating and very solid cloud -his boyfriend was a little more cautious, having had to deal with a lot of surprise features in Remus’ creations.

“Up we go!” Remus cheered, and suddenly the cloud was rising into the sky, making both Deceit and Logan hold on for dear life.

“Remus, where the hell are you taking us?!” Deceit frantically asked, watching the ground get farther and farther away.

Remus simply answered by gesturing excitedly to a nearby building, bringing their attention to a very familiar purple shape standing on a rooftop.

“Is that Virgil?” Deceit asked, squinting, “wait, what is he-”

Before he could finish his question, Deceit watched in horror as Virgil suddenly started sprinting towards the edge of the rooftop, feeling Logan stiffen at his side as he opened his mouth to shout something, anything that would stop the anxious side before it was too late.

But then, he felt his cry die on his lips as he watched with wide eyes Virgil leap gracefully from one rooftop to the next, rolling and leaping to his feet with the grace and flexibility of someone who has done this over and over.

“Oh my god,” Deceit whispered, feeling Logan peer down from beside him as they watched Virgil leap and jump from building to building with whoops and cheers of joy and the biggest smile anyone had ever seen on his face.

“He’s beautiful,” Logan murmured, attracting Deceit’s gaze on himself -he was staring at Virgil with wide eyes, a soft blush covering his cheeks and his eyes twinkling in a way Deceit had ever witnessed only when Logan was either talking or looking at the stars.

“He is,” he hummed in agreement, feeling a small, soft smile stretch on his face despite his best efforts to fight it down.

Behind them, Remus giggled in obvious delight as he watched the two become more and more smitten by the second.

“He’s been asking to use my part of the Imagination to practice for years now!” he chirped in explanation, “he does this once or twice a week, and in exchange, he gives me pointers on how to be that flexible.”

He grabbed his foot from behind and easily raised it to rest on his shoulder as a demonstration, wiggling his mustache throughout the entire process.

“There was no need to show us, Remus,” Deceit grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. Logan kept staring, raising an inquisitive eyebrow as Remus wiggled his foot at him.

“Are you implying that Virgil might be as flexible as that?” he asked.

“Oh, he’s much more flexible than me,” Remus shrugged, letting his foot fall back down, “seriously, sometimes I can’t help but wonder if he actually has a backbone or not. Wait, do you think I could get more flexible if I got my backbone out?”

“I do not advise trying, no,” Logan chided half-heartedly, blinking at the creative side as he tried to process his words.

“Oh god, I’m going to die,” Deceit muttered, hiding his flaming face in his hands as images of Virgil showcasing his… flexible abilities filled his brain.

Remus started cackling at their expressions, rolling around the cloud while clutching his stomach.

Ignoring him, Deceit and Logan exchanged a flustered glance, before turning around to stare at Virgil’s figure still bolting and jumping around the buildings under them.

It looked like this crush of theirs was not going away as quickly as they’d hoped, was it?

+++

Okay so, Virgil was flexible and apparently did weekly parkours over city landscapes Remus conjured just for him. So? Logan and Deceit could still deal with that and manage not to die of gay at the mere thought of just how agile and flexible their crush was.

Then, Roman decided it would be a good idea to challenge Virgil to a duel.

Granted, the proposal was meant mostly as a joke, a direct answer to Virgil threatening to kick Roman’s ass if he didn’t stop singing random Disney songs at full volume as everyone tried to relax.

But Virgil had easily accepted it, surprising literally everyone in the room as Roman looked at him as if he had grown two heads.

“What, Princey?” Virgil had asked, a lopsided grin stretching on his face, “scared you’re gonna lose to little old me?”

And so there they were, Roman and Virgil standing at the opposing sides of the arena the creative side had conjured while the others watched on from the sidelines -Patton had been very worried initially, but both sides had assured him that one, none of them were planning to injure badly the other and two, no sharp weapons would be used, so the father figure had eventually relented and followed the others on the stands.

“Who do you think will win?” Patton asked as he sat down, fidgeting with his cardigan.

“While I cannot deny that Virgil’s fight or flight instincts will probably be helpful in such a fight-” Logan started, looking at the two sides standing in the arena with twin wooden staffs in their hands- “his opponent is far more experienced than him in these kinds of things. Therefore, I suppose Roman will come out as the winner.”

Deceit nodded in agreement, wondering why Virgil had thought accepting this duel would be a good idea. Sure, the guy knew how to pack a punch -Deceit had found that out the hard way when he’d accidentally startled the anxious side during one of his panic attacks- but Roman quite literally fought bandits and Dragon Witches for fun. He obviously had the upper hand.

Remus watched the two sides lean forward, fighting down a snicker as his mind traveled to the numerous sparring match he’d had with Virgil when they both needed to let out steam.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

As if reading his mind, Roman suddenly bolted forward, staff held securely in his left hand as he prepared to strike down on his opponent. Quicker than anyone could see him, Virgil rolled to the side, easily avoiding Roman’s blow as he immediately leaped to his feet.

The fanciful side didn’t seem to be deterred by Virgil’s obvious agility, turning around to strike again and again with a type of ease only an experienced fighter can hope to achieve.

They went on like this for a while, with Roman delivering one strike after another and Virgil parrying and dodging every single hit, eyes reduced to slits as he focused on his opponent’s movements and nothing else.

As they watched, everyone had slowly started scooting forward in their seats, no more words being shared as they observed the two sides meeting and clashing only to pull away again. It almost looked like a graceful dance following a song only they could hear, their bodies moving in tandem as they both fought for the upper hand.

Then, Deceit felt the hair at the back of his neck stand up to attention, almost on instinct squeezing Logan’s hand as he leaned forward in sudden anticipation. He didn’t know why, but he felt as if something was going to happen very soon, and he did not want to miss it.

As if on command, Roman moved to attack once again, and a grin suddenly appeared on Virgil’s lips. Without missing a beat, the anxious side moved his body just a little to the left, hitting the inside of Roman’s arm with his staff as he slipped his foot just behind the other’s and kicked his legs off from under him.

Roman let go of his weapon with a pained yelp, falling flat on his ass as his balance was so suddenly thrown out from under him. Cursing under his breath, he started to reach for his fallen weapon only to find himself face to face with Virgil’s staff, hovering just in front of his face and blocking his movements.

“I don’t think so, Princey,” Virgil chuckled, giving him his signature lopsided smile as he slipped his weapon to tilt the creative side’s chin up.

“I’d say I won, don’t you agree?”

Roman gulped, looking up at him with wide eyes before answering with a small, trembling nod.

The sides sitting on the stands weren’t fairing much better, staring in absolute disbelief as the arena slowly disappeared from around them and Virgil helped Roman up -at least, everyone but Remus, who was too busy cackling his ass off at their surprise to care much about anything else right now.

“You guys were incredible!” Patton cheered, bolting forward to drag the two panting sides in a hug.

“Thanks, Padre,” Roman laughed, returning the hug as best as he could, “I was not expecting out resident emo to be such a valiant foe, but I’m positive a rematch will set the results right.”

Virgil snorted, patting Patton’s back with one hand as he arched his eyebrows at Roman.

“I’m down to beating your ass again anytime you want, Princey,” he teased, a shit-eating grin tugging at his lips as Roman let out his certified Offended Princey Noises™.

Patton gasped, turning his head around to stare at Virgil.

“Vee, language!”

“Sorry, Pat.”

Logan and Deceit watched over the scene from the sidelines, still trying to recover from what they had just witnessed.

“Uh, Virgil, if I may-” Logan called, attracting the side’s attention to himself as he nervously adjusted his tie- “where did you learn to fight like that?”

That was… something Deceit really wanted to know too, if he had to be honest.

Virgil shrugged, gently pulling away from Patton’s hug to properly look at them.

“I just… always knew how, I guess? Being fight or flight and all that,” he answered, looking at the two sides with the same lopsided smile he’d been sporting while tilting Roman’s chin up with his staff and-

Yup, it was official. Logan and Deceit were way too gay to deal with this shit.

+++

After that, it didn’t take long for things to finally come to a head.

It was a series of episodes, piling up one after another as Logan and Deceit fought more and more to frantically keep their crush in check.

A perfect example was that one time Roman somehow convinced all of them to join him in a quest, something he’d never quite managed before.

After crossing the entrance to the Imagination, all of them had found themselves wearing clothes that were starkly different from the ones they’d had had on a few seconds before.

Namely, Deceit’s robe now had much more flair to it, a wizard staff suddenly clutched in his hand as a long, black cloak with his symbol stitched on it hung loosely around his body.

Deceit hummed as he took in his new attire, feeling the weight of a sword hanging from his side as he begrudgingly had to admit that Roman hadn’t done a half-bad job with their clothes -something he remarked with stark clarity as he took in Logan’s much more practical shirt, jacket and pants that hung in a very flattering way on his lean figure.

Then, Deceit made the mistake to let his gaze move towards Virgil and all coherent thoughts suddenly screeched to a halt.

Virgil was wearing what looked like ranger robes, the dark hood of his battered cloak shadowing half of his face as the anxious side examined the slick bow he was now holding in his hands. Hidden under the cloak, Deceit could see the metallic glint of a black armor protecting Virgil’s body, the hilt of a sword peeking out from one of his sides.

In the back of his head, Deceit found himself thinking that maybe, Roman always calling Virgil their Dark and Stormy Knight was more accurate than they’d previously accounted for.

Taken as he was in admiring Virgil’s new outfit, Deceit failed to notice the way the others were getting ready to start their journey, slowly advancing down the path in front of them. He only noticed when Virgil shot him a strange look, arching his eyebrows as if silently asking if everything was alright.

Fighting down the blush threatening to rise to his cheeks, Deceit gave a terse nod, hurrying to catch up with the others before they noticed. In his hurry, though, the deceitful side failed to pay attention to his own cloak, now reaching to his feet instead of just covering his shoulders. As one might expect, he ended up tripping on it, a small curse already on the tip of his tongue as he flailed his arms around to hopelessly try and stop his fall.

Deceit closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, preparing himself to a relatively painful meeting with the ground -only to feel a pair of strong, warm arms wrap around his waist, stopping his fall midway through.

“Dude, you okay?” Virgil asked, looking torn between worry and amusement as he held the other side close to his chest.

Deceit blinked, looking at him with obvious surprise in his eyes as he took in their sudden vicinity. Then, he grumbled something under his breath, pushing at Virgil’s chest until he was finally free from his hold and stalking forward with the anxious side’s low chuckle trailing behind him.

And if the blush on his cheeks was due to more than simple embarrassment, well, that was nobody’s business but Deceit’s.

Logan’s turn to become a flustered mess had come not even a week later, as he walked down the hallway with a book in his hands and everything in his mind but looking where he was going.

All the warning he got was the sound of quickly approaching footsteps, followed by someone cursing under their breath and a hand suddenly wrapping around his forearm.

Before he knew it, Logan had his back pressed against the wall, a very familiar purple shirt filling his vision as he heard two sets of pounding footsteps bolt down the corridor and Remus’ cackling laughter fill the air.

Once the two brothers were finally far enough for them to be able to safely move, Virgil pulled back, letting out a sigh of relief as he rested his hands on the sides of Logan’s head.

“Thank god,” he muttered, glaring towards the direction the twins had disappeared in, “I was almost sure they were going to run you over without a care in the world.”

Then, he looked down, finally noticing the stunned expression on Logan’s face as he held his book limply in his hands.

“Uh,” he muttered, frowning, “L, you good? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Logan shook his head, looking to the side with splotches of red covering his cheeks.

“No, I am-” he cleared his throat, raising one hand to nervously adjust his tie as he tried to look everywhere but in Virgil’s eyes, “I can assure you, I am perfectly fine.

“Are you sure? Wait-” Virgil squinted at him, leaning forward to take in his red cheeks and suspicious behavior- “Lo, are you sick and trying to hide it again?”

“Oh, would you look at the time!” Logan suddenly exclaimed, looking redder by the second as he slipped away from under Virgil’s arms, “I would love to chat some more but I have some important work that needs to be done, goodbye Virgil.”

“Logan, wait-”

Nope, too late, the logical side had already sunk out of the corridor, probably to hide in his room. Virgil sighed, dragging one hand down his face.

Well, it looked like he was going to need to sick Patton on him and hope for the best.

+++

Their final showdown, so to speak, went down during an inconspicuous afternoon, with Deceit and Logan hanging out in the deceitful side’s room. The two were curled on the bed, having initially planned to take a nap only to end up doing what seemed to have become their favorite past time as of late: gushing about Virgil.

“That raccoon has no right being as hot as he is, I swear,” Deceit grumbled, hiding his face in Logan’s chest.

“I know, dear,” Logan hummed, stroking his back. “Virgil is… very aesthetically attractive, and our debates are always great fun.”

“Nerd,” Deceit snorted, looking up at his boyfriend with a small smile. “Do you think he might feel the same?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” Logan admitted, a pensive frown on his face. “I do hope so, that’s for sure. Having him as our boyfriend would be… nothing short of wondrous, I suppose.”

“Then why don’t you just ask me?” came a very familiar voice, startling Deceit off of Logan’s chest as the two sides whipped their heads around.

Virgil stared back at them with his usual lopsided smile, leaning on the doorway as he looked at them in clear amusement.

“You guys forgot to lock the door,” he explained.

“Ah,” Logan said, cheeks turning redder by the second as he kept his eyes trained on Virgil.

“You know,” Virgil started, walking deeper into the room as he kicked the door closed behind himself, “I couldn’t help but notice how strangely you’ve both been actin, lately. So I thought I’d come to talk to you guys about it, you know?”

“I go to Logan’s room, but you guys are not there. No big deal, if you weren’t in one room then the other would probably be the correct one. Imagine my surprise as I stand in front of Deceit’s room, seeing it half open as I prepare to knock, only to hear you guys say my name.”

“How-” Deceit cleared his throat, trying to fight down the red staining his cheeks. “How much have you heard?”

“Enough,” Virgil shrugged. “So, are you going to ask me or what?”

Silence fell as Logan and Deceit looked at each other, sharing a silent conversation before Logan reached to squeeze Deceit’s hand and took a deep breath.

“Virgil, we were wondering if you would… be amenable to the idea of joining our relationship?”

Virgil’s grin widened considerably, a laugh escaping his mouth as he quickly erased the few feet left between him and the two sides and leaned forward, kissing them both silly.

“I would very, very much enjoy that, you dorks.” 

(From just outside the door, Remus let out a silent cheer, shimming in place before bolting towards his brother’s room. He had ten hard-earned bucks and a victory to rub on Roman’s face waiting just for him, after all.)

[ijwrff]

Google x Reader-Soulmate AU

For Kat. Who has yet to come across a red string of fate au. So I decided to make one. Here you go @nerdqueenkat​

In a world where everyone was born with a red string of fate connecting them to their soulmate, you seemed to be the odd one out. Apparently whoever was watching over you never got the memo, and you were left seemingly without a soulmate. Not everyone’s soulmate was also theirs, a rare occurrence, but it did happen. Some people were even born with multiple soulmates. Maybe one of them took yours. 

Whatever the case, growing up pretending to be just like everyone else was hard. At first you thought it was some big joke, and you were the victim of circumstance. You and some friends had planned to have a soulmate party, where each time one of you turned 18, you spent the night walking around the town and seeing if you could find them.

It never worked, things couldn’t be rushed simply because you wanted to. But it was fun. On the bright side, when it happened you were surrounded by your closest friends. Were it not for the sympathy and astonishment on their faces, you would have thought they were all in on some elaborate ruse to get kids to believe in soulmates. 

It was only when all your friends slowly started meeting their fated soulmates that you started to feel the weight. You were going to be alone forever. 

Seeing someone else was a possibility, but it never seemed right. They would always find their soulmates and eventually leave you behind. You didn’t want to wait around with someone, fall in love and just have your heartbroken because of some spiritual mishap. 

Years had passed, and you had grown used to the idea of not having someone there. You could always stay with friends, but there was always a small part of you that had some form of hope. There was no telling why until you woke up one day and a glimmer of red caught your eye. 

It had to have been a half hour of you staring at the string tied around your finger before you noticed...it was tugging. That was only supposed to happen when they were close...right? But why now? 

A flicker of fear settled in. What if it was a mistake, what if you wished for it to happen so much that you’ve tricked your own mind into simply seeing what you want to see? 

You rushed out the front door, not bothering to say goodbye to your roommate and set out to search for your soulmate. If you had one. 

After so long of trying to believe the opposite...the fact that you could have one out there was almost too much. There were so many emotions mixing together that you couldn’t tell one from the other. 

In the end, you came to the front of an electronics store. You soulmate had to work there, or be buying one of the latest appliances. You walked in sweating, not realizing how much the run to the store took out of you, but you were too excited...or perhaps nervous to care. 

Looking around, you locked eyes with a few patrons of the store, all seeing you glance between your finger and somewhere in the store and smiling in understanding. There were no rules against searching for your soulmate, but sometimes people wandered into places they shouldn’t be all in the name of finding them. 

As your string started to move, shifting farther away you began to panic. They couldn't leave now! You were so close! Weren’t they looking for you too?

Rushing out of the store, you followed the string as it moved, locating the source to be in a truck that must have been parked outside of the electronics store. It was a company truck, could your soulmate be the driver? 

You tried racing after it, but you immediately regretted rushing out of your apartment without considering the distance you would have to travel. It was out of your sight before you knew it, leaving you disheartened at best. 

The next several weeks went on like this, your soulmate definitely had to be on one of those trucks. They moved from building to building, place to place. You determined they must work in electronics, as they only seemed to end up in places where appliances were either sold or manufactured. 

Luck didn’t seem to be on your side, and every time you would arrive it seemed they were leaving or moving to another location. 

It took some convincing of your concerned roommate to give it a break for now. They were worried about how much you’ve exhausted yourself over the last several weeks trying to find your soulmate. They didn’t blame you, they had already found their soulmate. They would have moved in with them already had they not decided upon moving slow in their relationship. It’s not common when you know the person you're with is to be with you forever, but it does happen occasionally. 

You and your roommate had come to a compromise, they were set to be on a small break from their job in less than a week. In that time they’d spend a day or two of their break driving you around and looking for your soulmate. You hadn’t heard much from your other friends lately, all of them being busy with work and their own soulmates, but it didn’t bother you. 

There was rumor around the group they were all planning some kind of surprise for you when you found your soulmate since you never properly got to have the “party” they all did for theirs. You attempted to pester a couple of them about it for details, but they never budged. 

Your roommate wasn’t even on their break yet when you woke up one morning to the sound of your doorbell. Shuffling out of bed you went to get it but your roommate yelled at you to stay in your room. Was it time for your “surprise” already? You tried to listen in on whatever was happening outside your bedroom, but whoever was here was being very quiet. 

The door almost hit you in the face when it swung open, showing all your friends that yelled “surprise” at the same time. 

You couldn’t have looked more confused when they held out a small box. It looked to be around the size of a laptop, but you already had a working one, so this couldn’t be it. 

What you did see...was somehow there was a red string coming out of it. Tied tight, going right through the box and directly to your finger. 

It was official, the universe hated you. Your soulmate was a box, or at the very least something small enough to fit in one. What a life you live…

“Uh...not to be rude but what exactly is it?”

One of your friends stepped up, patting you on the shoulder as a kind gesture and explained, “well, we all pitched in and ordered this before we knew you had a soulmate! It was an early access thing, and we figured you could use a little company!” The grin on their face implied you were supposed to understand what that meant. You didn’t. 

“That’s...cool? But that doesn’t tell me what it is…” There was no way it could be an animal, not a moving one anyways. It better be damn good if you went through all the trouble of trying to find it because of your stupid broken string. 

Another friend grinned, clearly proud of their gift, “well! We’re glad you asked, it’s called a Google IRL, it’s like a robot that can do basic tasks and chores! Kind of like a walking Siri or Alexa!”

Your expression was more than displeased, not needing some...company created AI as a companion. Well, apparently you did. But how could something small enough to fit in that box have a soul anyways?

“Well aren’t you gonna open it?” Your roommate chimed in, clearly waiting to see if you’d change your mind. They of all people knew how lonely you could get seeing them all run around with their soulmates, and because of their pet allergy, a small, fuzzy companion just wasn’t an option. 

You sighed, already accepting that your new string was a complete joke, and went to open the box. You were on the ground before you knew it. Whatever popped out of the box was clearly heavier and bigger than you initially thought if it was capable of knocking you over. 

Needless to say, a full grown man was not what you expected to see when you looked to see what came out of the box. One who looked almost as startled as you did. 

Sending a glare over the man’s shoulder as your friends all began to “whoop” and whistle at your current predicament, you wanted to bury yourself in blankets and never come out. Luckily, they seemed to get the memo and left you to your privacy with this...thing. 

“Hello…” His voice was much deeper than you were expecting, and didn’t sound as robotic as any other digital voices you heard. It almost sounded like a real person. 

“...hi...can you maybe...stand up?” Having your possible soulmate trip and fall on top of you might be an ideal scenario in some books, but not yours. Not after all you’d been through and done to convince yourself that they...he...didn’t exist. 

The man blinked, almost looking confused for a brief moment before replying, “...is that an order?” There was no ulterior motives behind it, only sheer confusion. It was honestly a bit endearing, but you were far from comfortable. 

How can something that weighs maybe five pounds in a box weigh so much more when he’s not in the box? And what kind of space alien tardis nonsense allowed a full grown man to fit in such a small box anyways! This whole scenario had your head spinning, and responded with the only “yes” you could muster. 

As soon as you said the word, he was standing up, looking around your room as if to gather his surroundings. Standing up and brushing yourself off you looked at the man, “uh...do you have a name?” 

He tilted his head, looking at you with an analytical stare, “putting to memory that questions double as orders.” That made you scoff, this was going to be a lot more work than you initially planned on. And you spend the last several weeks running around town aimlessly. “I am referred to as my serial number and or Google IRL, which would you prefer?”

Squinting, you didn’t want to know how long the serial number of some...android would end up being, so you replied with “is just Google okay?” 

“Are you asking for my opinion or if the name is acceptable within my coding?” 

It took a few seconds to register, and you only ended up being more confused, “both?” 

“Do you always say everything as a question?” 

“...no.”

The awkward silence in the air was somehow more deafening than any noise you heard before, and you were at a complete loss of what to do. Had he even noticed that his soulmate was in the room with him? Do you point it out? What is the protocol for this kind of situation? 

“Permission to ask if something is bothering you?” 

“...didn’t you just ask?”

“No, I asked for permission to ask.”

“...you’re my soulmate so I don’t think you should have to ask permission if you’re just going to ask something.’ That seemed natural to say...right? 

Either way, Google looked a bit surprised for a moment before looking down to his hand, then following the short string to your own finger. He looked back up at you with a stare that seemed to go right through you. It was almost unnerving. 

Without a word from either party, a small screen popped up in front of you, seemingly projected from Google himself. 

‘Allow root access. Give Google admin privileges.’ Followed by an ‘ok’ and ‘cancel’. 

While his stare was unnerving...surely he wouldn’t hurt you. Could he hurt you? You’ve seen Terminator. It was definitely possible. 

But after spending most of your life believing he wasn’t even real...and considering he was apparently made in a factory you supposed he wasn’t until recently, you decided it couldn’t hurt. 

Clicking the ‘ok’ button you barely had a second to register what was happening before you were pulled into...a hug? It was awkward, and definitely didn’t feel as warm as a hug you would get from a regular person...but it wasn’t bad. 

“No one believed me…” the sad tone of his voice made your heart break, and you raised your arms to hug him back if only to comfort him. “None of the others had one...they said we don’t have souls. We aren’t even alive...they said it was a fault in my wiring.” You rubbed his back, feeling his grip on you tighten at the gesture. 

“I went through so many tests...they convinced me you weren’t real.” If your heart was broken before, now it was completely shattered. You knew what it felt like to not believe you were worth love. 

“Before...you were...made...I guess, I had no string. I was the only one without it. Everyone thought that...I just didn’t have one. That you weren’t real either.” He stilled at your words, clearly processing what you had told him. 

He pulled back, and you were almost reluctant to let him. He scanned your face, more emotions on his own than you had so far seen, almost to see if you were telling the truth. 

Google leaned in, wiping away tears you didn’t know were there, and held your face in his hands. For a robot...or whatever he may be, his touch was as light as a feather, a stark contrast to how tight he was holding you before. 

What seemed to be an attempt at a reassuring smile graced his face, and he leaned forward to put his forehead on yours. 

“I’m sorry for making you wait.”

With a smile, you said words that you never thought you would. Something that you had only uttered in your dreams. Before your string appeared, you would have never been able to say the words and mean them. Today, upon only knowing him for what seemed like minutes, you knew you would say them with certainty. 

“You were worth the wait.”

@serenitydusk​

@tiny-yan-anon​

[sparrowkingsley]

For the Milkshakes

"You're just like Indiana Jones, Lo."

Laurel wrinkled her nose at that, "You think I'm like some old man running around with a whip?"

"No, but now I'm imagining you using a whip! You would be totally bad ass! But I meant you're like him because he literally goes around the world to discover long lost legendary treasures and that is exactly what you do. Seriously are you ever going to actually finish one of these movies with me? Please! You'll totally get what I mean if you just watch them!"

Laurel let a hum as she reached over her friend to grab another part for the old time courier they were working on putting back together. Indie couldn't hold back a giggle as she watched Laurel stick out her tongue in concentration as she started to set up the wires to reconnect.

"Are you just gonna laugh at me or are going to help me finish this, Heywood?"

"Sorry, sorry- oh wait be careful with that or you'll end up-!"

Suddenly a spark sent them both jumping away from the device.

"Oh frack, is it fried? Oh please tell me I didn't just wreck the whole thing."

Indie examined the parts closely, "It's a little shinged but no worries we can still totally make it work."

Laurel let out a sigh of relief, "Good. My moms totally confiscated all my good ones so we have to get this old piece of junk to work, I just, I really need it to work. Ray and your dad have the jump ship for some bro trip and Gideon is on high alert thanks to my last failure trying to steal the Waverider so this is the only option I have."

"Don't worry, we got this okay. Whatever it is I got your back, Lo."

They fell silent for a few minutes. The two working harmoniously together like always. Together it was like they could solve any problem. Together nothing felt impossible. Soon they were grinning down at the fixed courier and the two let out a series of whoops as they hugged each other in their excitement.

As they pulled apart Laurel said one word, "Swords."

"Swords?" Indie asked, utterly confused.

"Swords are a much better weapon, Heywood. Whips are fun, flashy even but swords? Swords are just perfect. Now let's go! I'll buy you a milkshake!"

"Wait what? I'm down for milkshakes obviously but where are we-hey! Wait for me Lo!"

***

Laurel tapped her foot anxiously as her and Indie stood outside the diner. This was definitely the right place. She had spent a lot time trying to find a perfect moment like this one. Any minute now.

"Ugh can't we wait inside? You promised me a milkshake so you better not back out on me."

"Have I ever not bought you a milkshake after promising you one?"

"Well no. Sorry I'm just really hungry now. Like seriously how can you just stand there when there is literally such good smells hiding behind those doors?"

"Not much longer, Heywood. In 3, 2, 1, And here we go."

Then there she was rounding the corner. It's not like she had never seen her before. Her momma Sara had pictures of her all over the house. She had also met her counterpart from another Earth but this? She never thought she would ever be able to see her like this.

"Holy frack, Lo' that's your, isn't that your A-!"

"Come on, Heywood. We gotta go in now."

She was standing behind her now. It took everything in her to stay quiet and keep a distance between them. For so long she had wanted to meet her. Now here she was. She had to find a way to talk to her.

"Table for four?"

Laurel blinked as the waitress came up to them but found that she couldn't find her ability to speak. Her head swam with sudden panic as she realized she had unconsciously stepped far too close to the women in front of them.

"Does it look like these children are of our responsibility? Clearly these two are not near worthy enough to be our dining companions."

"Nyssa, don't be rude. I'm sorry it's just us two. Obviously these kids behind us are here together on a first date and are eager to get to their table, right? It's okay. You can go ahead and seat them first. We don't mind."

"I can speak for myself, Laurel but very well. Yes, seat the young ruffians before us then."

Indie muttered a quick thanks and took Laurel's hand as the waitress led them away. The two of them hid behind their menus as they desperately tried to avoid looking across the room at the person that Laurel had literally just brought them to see. Indie even went ahead and ordered for them both as Laurel drummed her fingers against the table relentlessly. She had totally blew it.

"Um so that's your Aunt. And the person with her is who I think it is right?"

"Nyssa al Ghul, yes."

Indie fanned herself dramatically as she literally began to fangirl, "Oh holy frack, oh frack, oh frack! She is like so pretty. Can I say that about her? Oh my god I can't believe your mom use to actually date her. She is like an actual warrior queen in the flesh."

"Ugh really, Heywood? Please don't make me think about my mom doing, ugh now I thought about it and I'm going to need something much stronger than milkshake to get that image outta my mind. Thanks for that."

"Sorry but not sorry because she might legit be the second most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on."

"I mean if you say so? I don't really see it. So who's the first?"

"Ummmm oh look! Here's our food and milkshakes! Yay fast service!"

Indie quickly sipped her milkshake to cool herself as her face flushed fiercely. Thankfully Laurel wasn't paying attention to her at all. She was focused on dipping her fries in her own shake as she tried to casually glance over to where her aunt was. Hopefully Nyssa was comfortable enough at the moment not to except someone to be spying on her. This whole thing could go really bad if she caught the attention of the assassin again.

"So are you going to try to talk to her? And if you do how are you going to do it? What are you going to say? Are you sure you're not going to totally wreck the timeline if you do?"

"Nyssa and her are going to have an argument in just a few minutes. I'm going to go over and grab some extra napkins or something. And idk exactly what I'll say but I think I can wing it? I hope I can wing it. I have like a five minute window before she needs to go after Nyssa. I can do this. I have to do this."

Without realizing it her drumming had increased and she was basically shaking the table her foot was so shaking so much. Gently Indie took Laurel's hand and Laurel turned to look into those waiting warm eyes. Amber eyes that instantly helped the tension ease away from her and helped Laurel ease back into a steady breath.

"You got this, Lo. And when you're done I'm going to be right here waiting for you. I believe in you, Laurel. Nyssa just stood up by the way. Time to make your move."

Expertly Laurel quietly made her way over to the counter just as Nyssa made her way out the door leaving her Aunt standing alone.  She cleared her throat as she clutched the napkins she grabbed in her hand. As her Aunt turned to her Laurel was relieved to find her voice this time.

"Are you okay? Sorry, you just seem upset and I know it's not my business or anything but just thought 'hey maybe I could help someone in need?' Especially since you offered to let us be seated before you and everything. Thanks for that."

Oh frack that was bad. That was bad and dumb and rambling and embarrassing. For a moment all she wanted to do was turn around and accept defeat. Then her Aunt smiled slightly at her instead. The fear slipped away as excitement took over. She did it! The Black Canary herself was actually going to speak to her. Finally she was going to have the chance to talk to the Aunt she was named after.

"Honestly, I'm not okay. I upset my friend and well she had every reason to react the way she did."

"What did you do to upset her?"

"I kept something from her. Something I knew would hurt her and who knows if or when she'll forgive me for it."

Laurel took a deep breath and before she knew what she was saying the words slipped out, "You know my mom has always told me you have to be strong to do the right thing. You have to face the pain you cause and own it. Redemption isn't a destination, it's a journey. Sounds like you just took that first step to mend your friendship and that is totally awesome and brave."

"Your mom sounds pretty smart if you ask me." She reached out her hand, "I'm Laurel Lance. It's nice to meet you."

Laurel took her hand, "I'm Sharpe, um Sara Sharpe."

The handshake froze and for a moment her Aunt just held her hand in her's.  Laurel wished that this moment could last longer. She knew it was a moment she would never be able to let go of. Even though slowly their grip fell away from each other.

"I'm sorry, I just, Sara was my sister's name. I lost her not so long ago and this may sound strange but you kind of remind me of her."

"Oh well that's cool I guess. Not that you lost your sister! That I remind you of her! I mean hopefully that's cool. Is it cool that I remind you of her?"

Her Aunt let out a small laugh, "Actually yeah. It is cool. Anyway, it was so nice meeting you, Sara but I need to go try and further my redemption with my friend."

"Good luck."

"Thanks and good luck with your date."

Then her Aunt was out the door. Laurel felt the dopey grin on her face as she bonded back over to her friend. She hugged Indie tightly before sitting back across from her. She was practically glowing with her giddiness.

"I did it! Oh my god did you see how awesome that was. Look, look! My hands are shaking from how totally awesome that was! Can you believe it? I met her, I actually talked to my Aunt Laurel! That was totally bitchin' right?"

"So totally bitchin'! I'm proud of you, Lo'. I mean saying your name was Sara may have been a little too on the nose but hey, you did it!"

"Omg, I know I literally just said the first thing that popped in my head and of course it just had to be a combination of my moms' names. But honestly maybe my best mess up ever cause I don't know, we had a moment. I had a moment with my Aunt Laurel!"

Indie smiled as happiness filled her own chest at seeing her best friend's pure joy. Ever since she had broken up with Josh, Laurel had been kind of out of sorts but now she really starting to bounce back to her former self. She would literally follow her anywhere and do anything to make Laurel smile like she was now. Indie really would.

"Hey come on. Let's get a couple shakes to go and get out of here. I know we probably shouldn't but I know the perfect spot where we can totally watch my Aunt swoop in and save Nyssa from Oliver and the League. Come on, Heywood. Trust me it will be so worth seeing."

Indie quickly agreed and soon the two of them were strolling through Star City. Sipping on black and white milkshakes as they made their way to catch a glimpse of assassins. Things were never boring when Laurel had a plan.

"Oh Heywood, know what was weird? My Aunt thought we were on date for some reason. Weird, right?"

Indie blushed, "Oh um yeah, so weird. Too weird. Who would ever think we would ever go on  a date? Like a date date I mean. Obviously we go on friend dates cause we are beat friends and all that so yeah! Friend dates only. Anyways, um so what are we going to tell your moms when they found out we have timed jumped without permission again. Temporal residue and all that is going to make it real obvious when we get back."

"No worries, Heywood. If they ask I already have a the perfect reason for why we jumped."

"Oh really? What is that exactly?"

Laurel smirked, "Simple. We tell them, we did it for the milkshakes."

[alistairmoonshine]

My Best Was Not Good Enough

TITLE:  My Best Was Not Good Enough

AUTHOR/ARTIST: @alistairmoonshine

PROMPT DAY #: Day #4 Hurt/comfort

SUMMARY: "If Life could give me one blessing it would be to take you out of it," Those words would ring through Jaskier's mind for over a year as he tried to learn and deal with a life away from Geralt.

WORD COUNT (if applicable): 9316

BOOKS/NETFLIX/2002 SHOW/VIDEO GAME: Netflix

TRIGGERS/WARNINGS: Jaskier gets drunk, he kinda almost dies? Not really sure if that would be triggering or anything. Also this is 19 pages so it isn’t short

RATING: E

ADDITIONAL NOTES: @geraskierweek

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands,” those words echoed through Jaskier’s mind as he felt himself tear up as he tried to choke back the sobs. He sniffed and fidgetted,

“Yes, well I’ll… I’ll get the rest of the story from someone else,” Jaskier murmured back and gave one last look at Geralt before he was turning and walking away and down the path. Once out of sight, Jaskier felt his body wrack with sobs and he fell to his knees crying in loud choking sobs. He cried so hard he felt bile rise and he vomited onto the ground as his body wretched loudly.

How could this have happened? 22 years… 22 fucking years he spent following Geralt in the most dangerous of places. 22 years of singing the praises of a man who was so unlovable and yet he had tried to change the view of every single person on the continent. Granted, that didn’t always happen but he had noticed the changes over the years. People were less likely to kick Geralt out of town. Sometimes they came to him willingly with problems. Maybe not ones he could always fix but they sure came to him. All because Jaskier sang Geralt's praises.

What did Geralt do to thank him? He yelled at him and made Jaskier feel as if he was nothing but a burden on Geralt. First, the man had said he was a horrible traveling companion and now this? It was almost too much. At that thought, Jaskier stood and took a deep breath as he tried to tamp down any feelings of remorse. No, only anger would blaze within his heart now. Not after what Geralt had done. Oh no…

Geralt had heard the sobs and the retching but he didn’t move from his spot. It was too painful to have Jaskier near. He cared for the bard and had always done so, but it was better if they were separated. Witchers don’t make emotional connections. That was what he was taught and he had made one with Jaskier even if it was only friendship. Geralt cocked his head when he heard the retching stop and the sound of Jaskier stumbling to his feet as he sighed and sniffed up the last of his tears. That made Geralt relax slightly, ‘Good,’ he thought to himself. ‘Now he can move on from this,’ that was all what Geralt wanted of course. For Jaskier to move on and live a happy normal life. Not one full of heartache and pain. Not one where you didn’t know if you would eat or sleep in a comfy bed. Jaskier deserved oh so much more than a witcher’s life could give him.

~ ~ ~

A year had passed and Geralt had finally found Ciri. They were on their way to the broken down ruins of Kaer Morhen. It would have to do if Geralt was going to train Ciri to become just like him. She was young, and impressionable but also fierce and her scream seemed to wrack anyone within a mile radius. Thankfully, he had only experienced that scream once in the six months they had been together.

“Are we almost there yet?” Her trill of a voice rung out on the large gelding she rode next to Geralt who grunted lightly and looked towards her,

“Almost.” He said softly as he patted Roach gently on the nethers. “A week’s more ride. I got word to Vesemir and he will be there to meet us,” Geralt stated and Ciri groaned ever so loudly as she leaned against the black horse.

“A week? You know we would have made it a lot sooner if you would have just followed a straight and narrow path there. You keep weaving us in the forests and small back waters towns to kill imaginary beasts.”

“They aren’t always imaginary. I killed two werewolves and a griffin within the last month,” he said as he picked up the coin pouch and shook it at her lightly, “you wouldn’t be eating or have new clothes if it wasn’t for me killing,”

“You could do for some new clothes,” she replied snottily as she turned away from him and stiffened up. Geralt rolled his eyes again at her and kicked Roach closer before he grabbed her reins and pulled the gelding so they were face to face,

“Take notes. If you are to defeat Nilfgaard and come back as the rightful queen of Cintra you will be doing exactly what I am doing,” he hissed lightly, “you will become strong, your magic will be honed in and you will learn to control it much better. Cirilla you are a powerful and fierce little girl. You just lack the common skills. Calanthe can take most of that blame but we will right it, got it?” Ciri sneered and kicked to try and get away as she made a face at Geralt,

“Don’t take my grandmother’s name in vain you… you…” She didn’t know what to say so she huffed and turned away from Geralt who let go with a sigh.

“Don’t come crawling into my bedroll when you are freezing at night then,” though his words held no malice or truth. He actually loved having the small 13 year old curled against his chest and sometimes she would wrap her hand around his shirt or knot it in locks of silver for a bit of comfort as they slept and huddled close to keep warm. 13 was the age of marriage but Geralt did not see Ciri in that way at all. No, this was his adopted daughter almost.

She was young, and innocent and Geralt had 90 years on her. So, he would comfort the young teen and try to teach her the best that he could. Even if it was only for a little bit after all.

~ ~ ~

The year was a blur to Jaskier. He spent most of his time drunk off his ass and singing bawdy tunes in lively taverns. The man was bedding anything and anyone he possibly could get his hands on. Sometimes that meant a romp in a nice bed or against a wall in an alleyway. Jaskier didn’t care. Why would he? He was 41 years old and his whole life was spent following an ungrateful man who only wanted him out of his life. So, of course Jaskier was out of the witcher’s life now; for good.

“‘Ey! Oi!” Someone called as Jaskier strummed his lute singing about some fair maden, “you there troubadour sing that one about that witcher an’ the coin!” Someone called and Jaskier made a face at the drunk man as he slowed his strumming,

“I’m sorry I don’t sing that one anymore. There are plenty of bards who are still singing the praises of the white wolf. I am not one of them!” He said as he went back to strumming loudly and humming as he did so. He felt the first smack of something and looked down groaning at seeing the bread. It had been the man requesting he sing toss a coin to your witcher and he glared as another piece hit him, “oi fuck off!” He screamed and dropped the lute. It clang and he cursed himself. It was the beautiful lute Filavandrel had bequeathed to him on his first adventure with Geralt. Hell, it was the lute he actually composed toss a coin to your witcher on!

“Toss a coin toss a coin!” Shouts started and he groaned and started up the very familiar yet heart wrenching melody.

“When a humble bard… Graced a ride along with Geralt of Rivia… Along came this… Song…” He crooned and the crowd quieted. He got back into the groove and started to sing loudly as he danced along the floor. Soon, everyone was laughing and singing along with the chorus and throwing coins at the bard who would gladly collect those at the end of this song. Then, maybe he could drown himself into some more liquor and women? Who knew what the night would bring him!

Once the song ended, he quickly collected the coin and filled his purse up before he put his lute away and settled at a chair, “wine!” He called and there was a loud whoop as the barmaid quickly brought him the wine. He grinned with his ever charming smile and leaned forward, “thank you,” he murmured and placed an extra coin in her hand as he looked up at her with wide blue eyes. She turned bright red and giggled faintly. The girl was probably half his age but what did he care? He didn’t look anywhere near 41 (no one could figure that out either) and on top of that, he was handsome if he said so himself.

She skittered off as he sat back with the glass and took a long swig of it as he sighed. The warmth of the red wine tingled down his chest and into his stomach. Oh it would not take long for him to get drunk off of this. Maybe he could seduce that pretty little barmaid into his bed?

Jaskier pushed the long grown out locks away from his face. The mousy brown hair almost curly at his cheeks. It was a lot longer than he liked but he had no need nor want to cut his hair. In fact, his own face now matched his chest. It was covered in a thick layer of curly dark brown hair. He hadn’t ever let himself become unshaven and yet here he was looking rugged and dark not the baby faced troubadour that had followed Geralt to the end of the world and back again.

Jaskier had put on a bit of weight as well. Not much, just from all the alcohol he consumed on a daily basis had given him that gut. He didn’t care, why would he? People still fell at his feet to fuck and be fucked by the great Jaskier! Even without Geralt, he still was able to bed just about anyone and it wasn’t often he was threatened with death. That was a nice change. He literally could walk in to a town and fuck anyone without anyone so much as batting an eye; if he was careful that was. Can’t go fucking the alderman’s wife after all. Jaskier snickered at that idea and held up his empty mug for more.

The beautiful barmaid was quick to refill and he put another coin in her hand and let his fingers linger. She was a bright red and she grinned at him shyly, “I have a room. Maybe we could… get to know each other better? I will gladly serenade you with any song you wish my love,” he almost purred and she giggled even louder,

“Oh… oh that does sound amazing. My shift ends in a few hours. Maybe then?” Jaskier hummed and leaned forward again his breath ghosting over an ear,

“Room 206.” he said calmly as he sat back and she flounced off again as he drank his wine and adjusted what was growing in his pants. Oh, tonight was going to be quite fun after all.

~ ~ ~

Geralt woke to a piercing scream and sat up from the camp they had made. Ciri lay next to him but had screamed herself awake. This was quite normal and he sighed as he gathered the teen up and pulled her into his bedroom. “Shh… Sh…” He wasn’t the best at comforting but she didn’t seem to care. Hands dug into his shirt and twisted frantically as she tried to find purchase of some sort,

“I saw him.. The man with the bird hat,” she admitted softly and sniffled, “he killed you and he, he took me!” She cried as her body shook.

“He isn’t here,” Geralt stated bluntly as he rubbed his rough and calloused hands along her face and cheeks and up into her scalp lightly scratching and rubbing to try and calm the frantic child down, “no one can hurt you. Roach is on watch,” he nodded to the mare who just sighed and huffed at them as she paced tied to her spot. “Do you want to sleep with me?” He asked and Ciri gave a light nod as she settled down with Geralt who slowly leaned back and let her lay upon his chest.

Her breathing slowly went shallow out and she was fast asleep again. Geralt was wide awake though, his eyes wide as he looked up at the top of the tent; listening to the horses breath and the way Ciri murmured in her sleep as she wrung his shirt between rather strong fingers. He smiled and rubbed down her lower back in comforting circles as he too fell back into a deep sleep.

~ ~ ~

The next morning, neither talked about the nightmares or dreams. Neither talked about Ciri almost begging to sleep in Geralt’s bedroll as if she was a little girl. Geralt would never deny her nor would he ever bring it up to embarrass her. She had been through so much in a years time that it would not be fair to her. “We will be stopping at the next town,” he explained to her as they finished packing and mounting up onto their horses, “they may have a contract and we can actually have a bath and eat a proper meal yeah?” Ciri nodded,

“Mmm, anything besides rabbit and venison,” she said with a happy nod as they trotted along the woods. Geralt just gave her a light smile as he followed right next to her.

“Come on Roach,” he said quietly to the horse who neighed in response as he rubbed her side gently. Ciri smiled at him and silently sped up knowing Geralt would follow whatever pace she kept.

It was the end of the day when they finally entered the small and quaint town. People went silent when they saw the golden eyed witcher and the girl with the piercing green eyes and almost white blond hair as she rode proudly on her horse as if she was already a queen. Geralt loved that the most about her. She had no fear nor did she show any weakness. She truly was Queen Calanthe’s grandchild.

They stopped in front of the one inn, and he got down helping Ciri off her own horse. He left her standing in front of the inn with their bags as he went to stable the two horses. He paid a few coins to the stable hand to make sure they got a good rub down before he came back and picked up one. Ciri grabbed the other.

Geralt opened the door to the inn and felt the silence drop over them as if it was a blanket. He cleared his throat and nodded to the bar and Ciri nodded as she went to go to the bar and cheerily asked for a meal and some ale for Geralt. Geralt searched and soon found a dark corner and settled knowing Ciri would find him shortly. She came back holding two large bowls looking quite proud of herself.

“They will be bringing you ale soon and milk for me!” She said happily as she sat the stew down with the crusty bread. He hummed and happily took a bite of the bread before he dug into the stew. Geralt could hear the talk pick back up as everything seemed to go to normal as a scared looking barmaid came to his side and sat down the ale,

“Here you are, sir witcher. It is our best,” she bowed her head and cleared her throat, “M-may I ask if you are Geralt of Rivia? The white wolf?” Geralt sat down his spoon loudly and looked up at her as Ciri made a face and continued to eat,

“Why?” He hissed and she turned bright red and jumped back,

“N-no trouble I promise ye’ sir!” She cried and bit her lip as she worried it through her teeth. “You see, there is a bard in town… J-jaskier?” She said softly, “Well, he got caught up with the wrong woman and got her pregnant you see,” she explained, “it was the sheriff's daughter,” the girl said quickly, “they plan to… to hang him tomorrow.” She looked at him and his eyes were wide as he stared at her.

“Where is he?” Geralt asked and she gulped,

“H-he’s locked away right now. I don’t know what you could do for him.” she said softly as she looked to Ciri who was staring between Geralt and then to the barmaid curiously. “I just thought you would like to know. He cries your name when he's sleeping.” at that, she flounced away and Geralt groaned,

“Jaskier… I’ve heard you mumble that name in your sleep.” Ciri said softly, “that is that bard that used to sing that song?” Geralt glared at her slightly as she turned bright red, “just curious don’t look at me like that. I am not the only one who has nightmares Geralt of Rivia!” She snapped and went back to her food.

Geralt picked up his own spoon and continued to eat, but his thoughts were on Jaskier. He had to save the stupid bard from himself again! Granted, it had been a year since he had to save Jaskier from some cuckold who was out to cut off his cock. Geralt sighed a bit and stood as he walked to the counter. He made small talk and pushed a few coins and pointed towards Cirilla. The barmaid that had talked to him had nodded and he walked back.

“You will be going to a room.” He stated quietly, “you will take a bath and you will wait for my return. I will be back before day break got it?” Ciri’s eyes went wide,

“Don’t leave me!” She cried and stood, hugging him. Geralt cursed as this was not helping his image. No, why would a big scary witcher; the Butcher of Blaviken let a small girl hug him?

“This is no different if I were to go off to kill something.” Geralt murmured and kissed the top of her head lovingly, “stay sharp, you have the dagger I gave you yeah?” She nodded and looked up at him with tear filled green eyes, “no later than dawn.” Geralt repeated as she pulled away and sniffled,

“Please don’t leave me.” she said softly, “Come back please? I don’t wanna be alone again..” Geralt sighed and hugged her tightly again,

“Never would I leave my child surprise, got it?” She smiled up at him and nodded happily. Geralt pulled away as the barmaid walked over with a key,

“Come little one. I will draw you a warm bath okay?” She nodded and picked up her pack as Geralt grabbed his. She followed the barmaid out of the room and up the stairs to the room Geralt had rented for her.

Geralt sighed as he glared at everyone there as if to say ‘you touch her you die,’ and everyone got the hint well as he started out of the inn. He had to make his way to the jail to save Jaskier. That was all that was on his mind. Save Jaskier, get Ciri, and get the fuck out of this small town before his own head was on the chopping block!

~ ~ ~

Jaskier groaned as he sat in his own filth and leaned against the hard and cold stone wall. He had been locked up for a week now after he had supposedly gotten that cute little 22 year old pregnant. It wasn’t his fault she was so damned good and when he tried to pull out she stopped him! What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t exactly stop an orgasm as it started. Jaskier banged his head back harder and groaned at the delicious pain.

Jaskier had no hope of rescue. No, who would come for him? His family had no idea where he was. He was too far from Oxenfurt for anyone who actually cared to hear of this, and Geralt? Who knew where the fuck the witcher was and if he actually cared? If Geralt had heard of this he would probably just say it was a good thing and good riddance to the bard.

That made his heart ache again as he tried not to cry. No, he was not drunk enough for these feelings. Jaskier sighed as he despaired to the idea of dying here, alone and sad. That was it for him, death.

~ ~ ~

Geralt found the jail easily enough and tried to bully his way in, “just let me see him,” he hissed, “Why are you killing him hmm? What did he do?” The guard sneered,

“He impregnated the wrong girl! He knocked ‘er up and left ‘er!”

“Well, we all know bards aren’t the smartest or the most loyal to who they bed,” he snapped lightly as he stepped closer, “that is no reason to kill him. There must be a mage or witch you can get a potion to rid her of such issues?” The man looked at him with wide eyes but tried not to be bullied as he stepped even closer,

“Does it look like we ‘ave a mage?” He sneered, “we barely ‘ave an inn! Now get along or we will be tossin ya in there to die along side the bard!” Geralt sighed and slowly formed the sign for Axii and let the sign touch his mind,

“You will give me the keys and I will let the bard out. There will be no violence and we will leave here immediately.” He said softly as he saw the sign take over the man’s mind. The man blinked and started to look for the keys on himself before he said,

“‘Ay sir witcher, don’t have no keys,” he mumbled and Geralt felt himself curse as he also started to look over the man. For sure, he had no keys. Geralt pushed past him and went into the small office and started to dig. No, no keys here either!

“Who the fuck doesn’t give the guard keys!?” He nearly screamed at the guard and kicked his knee out as the man fell with a cry. “Fuck,” he cursed and started to think. He would just have to wait until they were ready to execute him. Yes, he would lay in waiting with Ciri ready to ride out the minute he grabbed Jaskier. That would have to work. “Fine,” he hissed and let the sign go as he quickly left the man in pain on the ground screaming from a possible broken knee.

~ ~ ~

Geralt made his way back to the inn and Ciri had already bathed and was in a new set of clothes. When he entered, she was cowering but when she saw it was him; she flung herself and he wrapped his arms around her as he caught her. “See? I’m back,” he soothed as she looked up,

“Where is the bard?” She asked curiously and Geralt sighed,

“The damned guard didn’t have a key. We are going to go to bed and wake before the sun.” He explained, “we will have you on Stepper waiting with Roach and our things and I will grab him when he’s in the process of being moved to be executed alright?” Ciri nodded and curled up on the one bed. He slowly crawled in after her and fell asleep. Though, it was light because he refused to sleep past dawn.

~ ~ ~

Geralt woke with a gasp and sat up. Ciri was curled with her back against his side snoring lightly and looking so pleasant. He brushed a piece of blond hair from her face and bent to kiss her cheek as she twitched a bit, “time to wake,” he murmured in her ear. She huffed and yawned as she rolled over,

“It’s so early.” she complained but was already up and starting to gather their things. She was pretty organized and neat such as Geralt and Geralt thanked Melitele that she was.

They descended the stairs of the silent inn. It was still early enough no one was awake. Even when they went to grab the horses, the stable boys were fast asleep in piles of hay. Geralt had to shush Roach who wanted to neigh and whinny at seeing him. Stepper pranced in his spot as Ciri quickly threw the blanket and saddle up as she deftly buckled it. She had become quite efficient in the last six months with Geralt. Geralt had to stop and watch with pride.

They lead the horses out of the stables and Ciri quickly stepped onto the large horse, Stepper as Geralt tied Roach’s reins to Ciri’s saddle, “stay, Roach,” he commanded as she tried to pull away but stopped at that as Ciri soothed the chestnut mare. “Alright, I want you waiting on the outskirts of town in the tree lines.” He nodded towards the road, “south east. We will have to be quick or I will be killing when I do not wish to kill alright?” Ciri nodded silently,

“You will come for me, right?”

“Don’t be silly, you have my horse,” he tried to make it sound like a joke and Ciri thankfully got the dry humor and smiled before she kicked Stepper forward. The horse huffed but moved easily enough with Roach following not too far behind.

Geralt only had a small dagger within his belt. His two swords had been tied to Roach’s saddle for he sensed he would have no need for a sword in this fight. Geralt could almost always incapacitate a normal man with his bare hands.

The witcher moved almost as if a ghost through the silent and quiet roads of the small town. He found the jail and hid behind it as he listened. He could hear shouts and cries and laughter as it seemed they were roughing Jaskier up one last time. He winced and had to stop himself from lunging in already.

Though, he heard laughter that sounded like Jaskier as if Jaskier was laughing at the pain. He could hear the faint, “that’s all ya got!? Come on! You horses arse!” Yes, that was definitely Jaskier. Geralt cursed lightly,

“You have no self perseverance.” He said out loud. He heard a loud crack and winced. That had to have hurt for he did not hear Jaskier again.

“Damned bard, doesn’t know when te’ shut eet,” a man said in a rather thick accent. “Come we need te’ hang ‘im before that damn witcher comes back,” he hissed as he heard movement and nodded to himself. They were going to move him. Geralt could feel the warmth of the sun as it started to rise ever so slowly. A rooster crowed three times and he quirked a smirk at that.

There was a loud squeak Geralt recognized as an unoiled metal door. He pressed himself closely to the side of the building as he heard the door bang open and they brought out a half unconscious Jaskier. Geralt steeled himself for a fight and sneered; baring teeth as he saw the sorry state Jaskier was in.

Jaskier had shackles on his ankles and rope keeping his wrists together. His clothes were tattered and bloodied. His face was bruised and swollen with dried blood from a bloodied lip and bloody nose.

“Fuck,” he hissed quietly under his breath as one man held the rope and another followed behind Jaskier. Geralt’s golden eyes darted and he was thankful to not see anyone else. At least if there was blood shed, it would be two no more than that.

Geralt was silent as he fell into step behind the three without so much of a sound. Geralt was big, but he could be light on his feet. He had to be when it came to killing monsters. It didn’t take much for Geralt to grab the man behind Jaskier and put him into a sleeper hold. He shushed him as the man went down quickly and quietly. He dropped the body to the ground before he looted the body. He smirked at taking the small coin pouch and found what he hoped was the keys to the shackles upon his friend’s ankles.

He fell back behind them and walked silently thankful neither turned around. Though, Jaskier soon tripped and was on the ground crying softly as Geralt stopped and looked upon him with such empathy. His own heart was slowly hurting in his chest as the second guard turned to curse at Jaskier. Though, his eyes went to Geralt standing there silently, holding a set of keys,

“You! You fucker!” He snarled as he dropped the rope and moved to attack. Geralt easily dodged the blows and moved about. He dipped below and used an elbow to jar the man to the side before he grabbed him and wrestled him down. It was quick and painless as he snapped the man’s neck with a loud crack.

Jaskier had sat up and was sitting on bare knees as he stared at Geralt through horrified blue eyes. Geralt dropped to his knees and grabbed his friend’s face between now gentle hands,

“I’m so sorry,” Geralt murmured gently as he rubbed his cheek with a thumb. Jaskier looked away defeated as Geralt continued, “I don’t deserve your forgiveness. You don’t have to forgive me but I won’t let you die,” Geralt admitted softly, “you won’t die today, I promise.” Jaskier felt a scream rip through him as he pulled away and started to sob as he brought his bound hands to his face and sobbed uncontrollably.

This was what he wanted, this feeling. He had wanted this and here Geralt was. He had saved him from dying. A weight had lifted from his shoulders as he wailed and sobbed. Geralt was unsure what to do but sit there with a hand on his shoulder. Though, he looked around and cleared his throat a bit, “Jask, more guards are coming. We need to go, now.” He hissed and used the dagger to cut the rope off. Jaskier rubbed his sore and chafed wrists as Geralt fumbled and found the right key to let his ankles out.

“Can you run? “He asked and Jaskier shrugged. At that, Geralt didn’t care as he tossed the bard over his shoulder and started for the path he had told Ciri to wait on. Jaskier didn’t argue or complain as they made it quickly to the horses. “When I say run, I mean it.” he said to Ciri who nodded and held onto the reins tightly. Geralt untied Roach and tossed a limp Jaskier up onto Roach.

He climbed up and held Jaskier against his chest as he felt an arrow whiz past his head. “Run!” He screamed and Ciri easily kicked Stepper into running. The reason the horse was fondly called stepper was because when he wanted to go, he went.

Roach was no slouch and followed behind just as quickly as Geralt used one hand to steer and one hand to hold onto the limp bard. They rode like that until they were far enough that no one had followed. “Woah woah!” He called and Ciri reined back. Stepper reared but she held fast as he soon settled. Roach just huffed as she slowed to a stop. “We need to assess the damage.. Jask can you walk?” Jaskier nodded and slowly climbed from the horse, albeit a little unsteady.

Geralt got off the horse and rummaged until he found a few healing salves, “can I bandage you?” Geralt asked and Jaskier said nothing as he nodded ever so faintly and closed his eyes. He was silent as Geralt started to rub the healing salve over his body. The aches were leaving and the bruises would heal. Blood was wiped off of his sore face and Geralt cursed under his breath at how badly Jaskier had been beaten.

Once he was mostly clean, Geralt pulled out a pair of his own clothes, “until we can get you more.” he said nodding to the troubadour’s torn clothes. Jaskier was numb as he finished undoing the buttons and didn’t seem to care that a girl was watching with curious eyes as he stripped to underwear. He shakily pulled on the black tunic. It was rough but it smelt of Geralt and Jaskier sighed as he took a deep breath and almost fell right there just from that scent. Geralt helped him into the trousers and buttoned them. They were only a few centimeters too short and the shirt was large and loose due to Geralt being built a lot more. The pants stayed up though and that was nice.

“Alright, we are going to ride until dark and set up camp.” he murmured softly, “you can ride Roach with me. Is that okay?” Jaskier just numbly nodded as Geralt climbed back onto the mare and pulled Jaskier behind him. Jaskier quickly wrapped lithe arms around his friend’s waist and laid his head against Geralt’s back. Geralt gave a faint smile and Ciri smiled to,

“Nice to meet you. He used to dream about you,” she said and Geralt gave her a look, “what I would wake up and you would be mumbling his name and saying sorry and you messed up,” she shrugged innocently and Jaskier looked at Geralt quietly with curious eyes.

“We can talk when we settle down,” he said softly and Jaskier just nodded as they started to ride again. It was best to get as far away as possible just in case they wanted to pursue the three.

~ ~ ~ It was almost dark when Geralt finally called for a stop. They were next to a spring fed river and with it being so hot during the days he knew it would be quite warm still, “alright we will make camp here. Ciri, can you set a trap?” She nodded and jumped off Stepper, tying him off with deft hands before she grabbed the supplies from her pack and started to trudge the woods for a perfect place for a trap. Geralt got off Roach and helped a still quiet and limp Jaskier.

Geralt found a log and heaved it to a spot and pointed. Jaskier sat with no qualms as Geralt started to gather up twigs and leaves for kindling. It wasn’t long before he had a fire started and Ciri had came back to announce her trap was set. She started to help set up camp as she always did. Though, green eyes kept looking at the older man that seemed as if he was a shell of a man now.

“Geralt? He doesn’t look so good,” she finally murmured into his ear and Geralt sighed,

“I think it is shock. I will try to bring him around. Get the tent ready I am going to take him to bathe. No peeking,” he teased and she snorted,

“We’ve bathed together plenty of times!” She said and he chuckled as he grabbed two towels from one pack and pulled Jaskier up ever so gently,

“Let’s go take a bath…” Jaskier just hummed and followed easily behind Geralt to the river. Jaskier let Geralt undress him before Geralt slowly stripped and pushed Jaskier into the warm waters. Geralt sighed, “not a bath bath but it's better than nothing…” He said softly and Jaskier just hummed and started to wash without prompting. That made Geralt feel better as he too started to clean himself off with the grime of the traveling. He hadn’t gotten to bathe like Ciri did at the inn.

Once they were clean, Geralt pulled Jaskier out and dried the man off before he put more healing salve all over the scraps, cuts and bumps he had. He cursed under his breath at how marred that once smooth skin was in just a year. Jaskier dressed as Geralt dried himself off and pulled his own clothes back on.

When they entered the campsite, Ciri was skinning two rather large rabbits and grinned up at Geralt, “I’ve gotten good!” She chirped and looked to Jaskier and cocked her head faintly to the side, “you hungry?” She asked Jaskier who looked at her and then back at Geralt and Geralt gave a nod as he plopped down next to her,

“Starving,” he said hoarsely and she grinned at his first word being to her. Geralt smiled as he took one of the rabbits to finish skinning before they both were spit roasted and thrown onto the blazing fire.

They all sat in relative silence as the rabbits cooked. When they were done, Geralt filleted pieces and handed them out on crude plates he had procured in the last six months of traveling with the young girl. When Ciri got hers, she moved to go into the tent to give Jaskier and Geralt alone time, claiming tiredness. Though, Geralt knew better.

“Jaskier…” He murmured faintly as Jaskier picked at the rabbit eating it slowly, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to do or to say.” He said softly, “you mean so much to me and I was stupid. I was stupid to force you to leave me.” Jaskier twitched and looked up behind lidded blue eyes,

“I...I just wanted to do my best for you,” Jaskier said softly. “I wanted to be your companion, your friend, maybe even your lover.” Jaskier felt his cheeks rise in heat as he cleared his throat, “you hurt me so bad,” he choked faintly,

“I wanted to do my best and yet my best wasn't good enough was it, Geralt?” He asked and Geralt felt his heart thud loudly and rapidly.

“I-it was good enough. I promise you Jaskier.” Geralt replied gently as he moved so they were sitting closer. Jaskier was leaning his back against the log and Geralt fell to the ground next to him. He let his leg touch Jaskier’s and Jaskier did not pull or shrink away. “I was so hurt by Yen, and I took it out on you. I didn’t want you to suffer anymore traveling with me,” Geralt said softly, “but I can see now you were suffering without me.” Jaskier snorted as he sat the plate down of uneaten rabbit.

“I suffered more without you than I did with you,” he said softly as Geralt hummed and nodded,

“I realise that now. I also realise I can have a companion and care for them as well as protect them,” he nodded his head towards the tent where he could tell Ciri was leaning and listening.

“I loved you, Geralt,” Jaskier finally admitted, “I fell madly in love with you. Why would I give you my twenties and my thirties?” He asked as he stared at Geralt, “why I followed you everywhere and anywhere? You took my love and stomped it out on that damned mountain you know that?” Geralt huffed lightly and nodded,

“I know that now and I was wrong, can you ever forgive me?” Geralt had sat down his half uneaten plate and moved a hand to Jaskier’s knee. He was thankful Jaskier did not pull away but soon his own hand was shakily grasping Geralt’s as he grasped it tightly; lacing their fingers together. Geralt smiled and brought the hand up to kiss it gently, “I can’t promise to be the best but I can promise to love you fiercely. I want you to come with us; come to Kaer Morhen please?” Jaskier’s lip twitched and he nodded as he leaned closer to Geralt,

“Of course you and your child surprise?” He asked as he looked over and winked at the girl who tried to hide from the two men’s eyes. Geralt nodded and Jaskier took that moment to turn and quickly bring Geralt’s lips to his own. Geralt was surprised but happily tossed his arms around Jaskier and gave back just as good as Jaskier had given. Their tongues meshed and they kissed tenderly next to the fire light. Jaskier moaned and straddled Geralt’s lap and ground down as Geralt ground up but he pulled away and panted, “not here, not now.” he said as he looked up at his bard’s disappointed face, “we have a 13 year old girl listening and watching. I rather our first time be in a nice big bed.” He said truthfully and Jaskier nodded but pouted as he settled to just sitting in his lap and he huffed a sigh,

“Okay I can live with that.” he said softly and then cursed, “my things! My lute!” he cried, “oh they still have them! What will we do!?” Geralt groaned softly,

“I can go back.. Just me.” he said as he looked at Jaskier and to Ciri. “you two keep riding for the next town. Ciri do you mind riding double with Jask?”

“No,” he meek call came from the tent,

“Good I will leave at daybreak and meet you in the next town over. Ciri are you okay with that?”

Ciri poked her head out and looked at the two men, “he won’t leave me will he?” She asked nodding to Jaskier, “and you will come back right?” Jaskier looked at her fondly and smiled,

“My dear, I won’t leave you at all. I have wanted to meet you for so many years,” he cooed and slowly crawled off of Geralt’s lap and moved to her and pulled her into a tight hug. Ciri relaxed mostly because the scent she smelt was all Geralt and it was her comfort. She nodded against his chest as Geralt moved closer and wrapped them both into his arms.

“I won’t leave either of you. Now, let’s sleep so you two can get on the road and I can head back.” he grumbled faintly and Jaskier grinned,

“Can I share your bed roll?” He asked and Geralt rolled his eyes,

“If she doesn’t beat you to it,” Jaskier gasped loudly,

“Is my place in your heart being replaced by such a sweet girl!? Oh what will I do!?” Geralt just grunted,

“Not like that. Shes… shes like my daughter,” he admitted and Ciri flushed before she dove into her own bed roll. Thankfully, Geralt’s was big enough for the two adult men and they easily fell into a deep sleep.

~ ~ ~

Geralt and Roach were gone before the other two had stirred. He had left a large coin purse so they could purchase a room. Ciri woke against an unfamiliar chest and gasped as she sat up but then noticed it was the sleeping troubadour and slowly settled against him until he woke with a yawn and smiled as he stroked her hair, “morning princess.” he chirped and she smiled happily,

“We should head out that is what Geralt would want,” she said quietly and he nodded,

“Of course, come let’s pack up shall we?” They made quick work of the campsite and were soon both on Stepper and riding for the main path to get to the next town over.

~ ~ ~

Jaskier had gotten them a single room with two beds so they could wait for Geralt. They expected him to be only a day but one turned to two and then three. Every day, Ciri became more and more distraught, “what if he doesn’t come back? “She cried on the third night as she wiped her eyes, “he left us he won’t come back!” She was now wailing and Jaskier had pulled her into his arms and settled on the bed trying to comfort the teen against his chest.

“Now, now there! He just probably got held up, maybe he got a contract?” He asked gently. “Why don’t we go down stairs and get something to eat? He should be here any time I promise you. He wouldn’t leave us.” at least, that was what Jaskier was trying to rationalize as well. Would he? Did Geralt think he would be better suited to care for Ciri?

Jaskier was able to prod the younger girl down the stairs and he quickly called for ale, milk, and food. They settled in a dark and quiet corner and started to eat and drink. Ciri still looked miserable as Jaskier tried to comfort her.

The door swung open and everyone stopped as the gold eyed witcher stepped inside. He looked bloodied and his eyes were blown. Everywhere he looked, everyone shrunk away quickly. Jaskier saw this and grinned as he stood, but Ciri was already flying at him and clinging to him as the man dropped the bags and lute to the floor. “You did come back!” She cried and he sighed softly and kissed her head,

“Got held up. Food.” he said roughly to the bar keep who nodded as Geralt fished the items off the floor and walked, holding Ciri to the table with the bard. “Got your things.” he grunted softly and Jaskier smiled gently,

“Thank you.” he murmured softly, “see? Told you princess!” he teased the girl who smiled and sat back down. Geralt sat next to Jaskier as a plate of food and a mug of ale was brought to him. He took a big swig and dug in as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

Once Geralt was done, he asked for a second room for Cirilla so he could bathe and maybe talk to Jaskier alone without the 13 year old eavesdropping. She fought the idea of having to sleep in a room by herself, but thankfully it was right across the street and Geralt promised if she got scared she could crawl into bed with him and possibly Jaskier.

She acquiesced and they made their ways to the respective rooms. Once Ciri was in her room, and their door had shut, Jaskier had his hands all over Geralt. “Are you hurt? Do you need to be rubbed down? Anything I can stitch?” The bard asked gently and Geralt shook his head as he put strong hands on his friend’s shoulders.

“Just a bath,” he rasped quietly and Jaskier nodded. Geralt pulled away and quickly went to the tub. The water was cold so he lit it with igni and slowly undressed before he slipped into it. The water smelt of roses and chamomile and he knew that Jaskier and Ciri probably had bathed in it before. He didn’t care too much. A bath was what he needed.

Jaskier dropped to his knees and put his hands on his friend’s shoulders and massaged lovingly before he leaned closely, “we missed you… I missed you,” he admitted and Geralt huffed and leaned back a bit,

“I got caught up with the guards. It wasn’t pretty let’s put it that way. Got some nice coin out of it,” he smirked lightly,

“Geralt! You did not become a brigand and steal from them!?”

“Not like they were going to use it,” Geralt grumbled lightly. “We can rest here for the night and start on for Kaer Morhen tomorrow alright?” Jaskier nodded at that and sighed as he started to help wash Geralt’s back gently. Geralt happily leaned forward and moaned softly at the touches. Jaskier felt his face heat up and he cleared his throat gently,

“Geralt.. I have a confession,” he said softly as he pulled his hands away, “you may tell me to leave or send me on my way again but I can’t hold back any longer. I’m not a young man anymore as you know…” Geralt looked over at him over his shoulder and waved a hand for him to continue, “my point being is: I am in love with you. I always have been. Something about you drew me to you and I was never able to get away,” he said softly and sighed a bit. Geralt just sat there in stunned silence as he watched Jaskier, “S-say something please,” Jaskier almost pleaded as he felt his chest tighten at the idea of Geralt rejecting him again.

Geralt turned in the tub and surged up. His lips crashed against Jaskier’s and they shared a rough kiss that was all teeth and moans. Jaskier groaned as he was pressed against the floor next to the tub with a very naked and very soaking wet Geralt on top of him. Geralt lessened the kiss and it became gentle and loving as he ran strong hands up and down the bard’s body.

When it almost became too much, he pulled away and panted slightly as he looked down at the bard who looked as if he was shocked. “Bed,” Geralt murmured softly and Jaskier nodded and scrambled for the bed quickly. The tunic he wore that was Geralt’s came off and he undid the pants but did not pull them off. His boots got kicked to the side as Geralt stood and shook out the wet hair. He walked silently to the bed, still naked before the bed dipped with his weight.

He dropped down next to Jaskier and pulled Jaskier to his naked chest as he laid down. Jaskier leaned against it before he was pulled up again for another rough and loving kiss. Jaskier moaned quietly as he pressed himself against Geralt. Geralt pulled away and murmured against kiss swollen lips, “I am so sorry Jask. I never meant to make you feel that way. Can you ever forgive me?”

“Oh you silly Witcher… I already have,” Jaskier stated and grinned as he dived back in for another heartwarming kiss. Geralt flipped them so Jaskier was beneath him. Strong hands were running all over his body and Jaskier was sighing happily into the ministrations.

One hand soon cupped between his legs and Jaskier flushed as he felt a surge of arousal hit straight at home. The hand massaged and rubbed until Jaskier was grinding back and moaning loudly for more. Geralt soon ripped the pair of trousers off and down his body and smirked at the naked form of his now lover.

“Lovely,” he breathed and Jaskier flushed as he tried to hide almost in embarrassment. Geralt pinned the arms away and bent to kiss him again as he rubbed his own growing erection against Jaskier’s. Jaskier gasped and moaned softly at that as Geralt ground down and groaned against his lips.

“Jaskier, I want you to fuck me,” Jaskier’s eyes flew open and he almost sat up but bumped against Geralt and fell back,

“W-what?” He asked loudly, “F-fuck you? You?” Jaskier stared at the well muscled chest, the lovely patches of fur that ran down and all those damn scars. The fact his cock was rather large and pulsing against his thigh and he gulped. Granted, Jaskier was unsure if he could take something so large. It had been years since he had bottomed. “Are you sure?” Geralt nodded and rolled over and laid down, legs open,

“Very,” he breathed softly as he smiled up at Jaskier, “please?” Jaskier groaned and nodded as he quickly bent down to take what he could of the thick piece of meat into his mouth. Geralt just moaned softly and let Jaskier work his magic.

Jaskier was incredibly skilled with his tongue and it made Geralt drip with precum as he felt the man bobbing his head roughly up and down. Geralt placed one hand in his hair to help steady and let Jaskier work. It wasn’t long before Geralt was pulling Jaskier off his cock and panting, “gonna cum if you keep this up. Rather cum around your cock.” Jaskier moaned at that and nodded,

“Oil?” He asked and Geralt groaned as he rolled off the bed and dove into his pack. Soon, he pulled out a small tin with some salve that was great for sore muscles. This would do perfectly. Geralt crawled back onto the bed and laid out on his back, legs open. Jaskier fought with the tin for a minute before he finally got it open. He grinned nervously but soon was scooping some and covering his fingers in the thick substance.

One finger went between his lover’s legs and down his crack. Geralt tensed slightly but soon relaxed when said finger started to massage his hole slowly. Geralt groaned and bit his knuckle lightly as to not be too loud. Jaskier massaged and worked the tender hole until it was finally pliable. At that, he pressed his finger into the first knuckle. There was little to no resistance so it was easy to press it all the way in.

Jaskier moved said finger in and out slowly watching Geralt for any signs of pain. There was nothing but signs of pleasure as Geralt actually moaned and panted out loud as he pressed back against the finger. Jaskier groaned and pressed in a second. Geralt hissed but it was a hiss of pleasure not pain. Jaskier slowly scissored the two fingers and kept working him open before Geralt swatted at his hand, “I’m ready damnit. I don’t need as prepping as normal people.” Jaskier nodded and pulled his fingers out before using the last of the salve to slick his hard cock. He pulled back his foreskin and moaned softly as he slowly settled over Geralt’s hips.

This would be a first, Jaskier had never bedded someone quite larger than himself. Granted, they were almost the same height but Geralt easily out weighed him and was much wider than Jaskier’s own form. Jaskier took a deep breath and slowly pressed forward and his cock breached the round and puckered hole easily. Geralt gasped and keened as his head threw back. Wisps of white framed his face and Jaskier had to bite his lip to keep from shouting ‘fuck’ into the air.

Geralt leaned up and caught Jaskier into another kiss as Jaskier started a slow and steady pace. His hips rocked in and out of Geralt and Geralt just moaned against the lips before he broke away to look at him with lust filled eyes, “you can fuck me as hard as you like, bard. You won’t injure me.” That made Jaskier groan loudly before his hips shot forward harder and he started a brutal pace.

Geralt fell back against the bed and moaned loudly as he felt Jaskier speed up. Jaskier grabbed the witcher’s legs and was able to put them on his shoulders and almost bent the witcher in half as he fucked down into his willing body. Geralt was a mess, crying out and moaning and encouraging the bard on before Geralt was fisting his own cock.

Three hard fists and he was screaming his orgasm as large white ropes shot out and covered his chest, hand and stomach. Jaskier moaned at the site and felt his own body stutter before he was shaking and cumming deep within Geralt; moaning as he released.

When he was finally done, he let down his lover’s legs and slowly pulled out with a groan. His cock was softening and overly sensitive now. Geralt’s was limp and still pulsing as cum oozed and pooled in his navel. Jaskier lay down and rest his head against the witcher’s chest and shoulder as he relaxed. “That was amazing,” he murmured and Geralt put an arm around him and hummed,

“Hmm, yes yes it was.” He said softly and smiled down at Jaskier. “So, will you stay with us in Kaer Morhen?” He questioned softly,

“For sex like that? Of course!” He laughed softly and Geralt chuckled as he rubbed soothing circles against his lower back,

“Good. I need you.” Geralt murmured and Jaskier flushed slightly,

“And I need you.”

[charlettebffxiv]

Prompt #2: Sway

“Put your back into it! Long arms like those shouldn’t struggle with a thin trunk like that!” Bobocufu’s voice was high-pitched, almost childlike, and even the most demanding of statements she made sounded partly joyous. Charlette had a theory that it was because of this the lalafell was such a demanding leader. “The hearth needs wood if they’re going to be ready in time for All Saints!” they had received quite a large order, the town's carpenter Winneth having been tasked with carving decorations specific to this twelvemoon’s celebration. A hundred-and-fifty logs of walnut wood and barley a sennight to collect them by the deadline. “C’mon you three! Swing hard, strike true, clean cuts and quickly, before the Shroud decides it would rather keep these trees and sends woodwrath our way!”

Since being handed over to Bobocufu and the contingent of the Botanist guild that made its home in Willow’s Heart, Charlette has known little more than back-breaking work. She never expected caring for the wilderness and harvesting its bounty would be so incredibly demanding. No, when this was being bestowed onto her as penance for her misdeeds during her quest the Elder’s made it sound like it was a kindness, a gift! “Immerse yourself in the peace of the forest, Charlette. Let it be a time to reflect on and recover who you are.” High Archvisit Aemeric’s words had stung, the entire ordeal of her meeting with the Elder’s feeling like a cruel joke after the Twelvemoon she had already endured. But part of her couldn’t help but accept it, believe some of it and make an honest attempt to do just that. But why has it been so difficult? The question floated through her mind as she made the final swing of her axe and the aged walnut tree toppled over to the whoops and cheers of her fellow workers. “Thassit! Get ‘em down and get those branches off, we’ll give Winneth her order days in advance and give the green here new land to fill.” Bobocufu’s jubilance called out louder than the swing and thud of the axes at work, it begged the question of what she was more excited about; completing the order early or seeing a new swath of life fill a dead clearing. Perhaps that’s where Charlette needed to go? Maybe if she saw the Elder’s intentions and understood Aemeric’s point a little better, she could find that kind of joy in this work.

Then maybe they would let her go after the rest of those tomes…

“No dreaming Charlette.” a hand patted at the back of her shoulder, a Wildwood elezen with bright-blond hair smiling at her as he whispered to her. “Before the little-bully sees you staring into the wood again.” she nodded her thanks, looking down at the old tree she had felled, it’s life spent, its wood having turned a darker brown due to burrowing insects and parasitic mistletoe leeching away its life force. It didn’t take long to cut away the branches and remove the wilting leaves, Charlette and her companion working away at separating it into even logs, timing their swings to land one after another, like builders hammering in pillars for a foundation. THUD, thud, THUD, thud, THUD, thud…

“Maxim…” the blond elezen looked up at the sound of his name, the question in Charlette’s tone pulled at his curiosity. “That is my name.” he joked, the dead-look Charlette gave him only making Maxim giggle louder. “What is it?” it sounded almost like he was bracing himself for something. “Why are you a botanist? Why did you take up this profession instead of joining the hunters with your brothers?” he leaned back from the gouge he had been hacking to roll his shoulders and wipe sweat from his brow, taking the time to think before he answered. “Because I’m terrified of your mother.” The Bellamy matriarch had a reputation for being a strict and uncompromising leader for the hunter’s of the village. But she knew that was not the reason. “Honestly, why choose this over everything else you had in front of you. Hunting, crafting, adventuring. What was it that drew you to botany above all else?” she was picking for any kind of insight she could find. Maxim turned back to see where Bobocufu was, the lalafell currently helping their midlander companion haul logs onto the chocobo-driven cart. Once he seemed satisfied they were safe, Maxim leaned toward Charlette the two of them like gossiping hens, bent over their woodwork. Whatever he was going to say must have deep meaning to him for all this caution. Surely. Maxim took one more look over his shoulder, the conspiracy of it all building until finally... “I’m in love with Bobocufu.” Charlette shoved him away, pushing his shoulder with a disgusted “Uugh…” Maxim trying to protest the truth of this through chuckles he did not really try to hide. “Tis true! Despite our age difference she is the one! Ever since I first saw her peering through the tall shrubbery, grass stains on her tunic, mud across her face I was smitten!” For all his flaws, Maxim was good at levity. Hand on heart, he pleaded for his ‘love’ between looks to make sure the subject of his joke couldn’t have heard a word of it. “I just wish for the day I can bounce her on my knee at our bonding ceremony! Having her complain all the way down the aisle about wasted flowers and time.” Despite how it frustrated her, Charlette couldn’t help but smile. He reminded her of Franklin, of the jokes and tricks her entire generation of trainees at the Archive had to suffer due to being in the same group as Franklin. A flutter had made itself known in her chest as those memories came back, and it grew as Maxim pulled a laugh from Charlette, his need to sway her mood into the light added strength to the wings of that feeling.

It was just too much…

Charlette felt it threaten to wash out, the flutter had turned into a whirl of sadness, anger, confusion. All of it and the struggle to keep it down bringing a stiff edge to her voice. “We should get back to it.” her first swing, THUD, hit the wood so hard her axe dug too deep leaving Charlette to angrily yank at it. Maxim, confused by her sudden shift, walked around and offered to help by way of reaching for the handle. “Careful, it will come out too fast and hit you-...” she raised a hand up at him, cool words cutting his down. “I don’t need your help.” Maxim backed away with hands raised as Charlette clasped it with both hands, lent her full weight back into the tug and pulled the axe free. It swung backwards and came dangerously close to hitting her on the nose before she tightened her grip and gained control of it again. Maxim looked at her, lurching his head toward the axe with wide-eyes, the words unspoken but clear; I told you so. Charlette huffed out a frustrated breath and bowed her head. “Sorry, I just...  “ brushing sweat-damp strands of her hair from her face she shook her head, Maxim walking around to his side of the trunk without a word and picking up his own axe. “It’s okay. I think I can understand… a little bit. You don’t want to be out here. Not like the rest of us.” his voice had become sheepish to some degree, careful. “But… if I can give you some advice. Let us help you, in our way.” he dipped his head toward the others working in the clearing, each of them struggled with something, but all of them had a friend to help. “Y’know, like how old Bobocufu is never too proud to let me pass her the tea leaves from the top shelf.” he clasped his hands in front of him, a faux-dreamy sigh like a teen in love escaping him “I do so love it when my dearest needs me.” Charlette shook her head, picked up her axe and returned to their work, but not before given Maxim what she could “I’ll try…” Because maybe that’s where she will find herself again, as Aemeric had suggested. In new people to rely on.

[artificialqueens]

At last we find each other (Branjie) - Thorpe

A/N: Long time, no see! So basically I’m staying on brand. It was “Those long van rides”’s first birthday on the third, and the best way to celebrate fics is with more fics, don’t you think? So here it goes, my 5+1 story, that would not grace your screens for a couple months more if it wasn’t for Pinkgrapefruit, Freyja, and, most importantly, Dane. Neither it would without the most amazing beta this fandom knows, Meggie. I’m so excited to be able to show you my work again, so without further ado - enjoy xx

Five times Brooke Lynn and Vanjie didn’t meet, and one time the did

In fairytales, if two people are meant to be together, their paths will cross eventually. That’s how fate works. 

But life is not a fairytale.

1.

They were at yet another pageant. Vanjie still couldn’t believe how many of them could be organized in the span of a single month - all mixing into one feast of colours, sequins, and foundation too orange to match anyone’s skin tone. They used to be busy before, but with Alexis’s career taking off, “busy” was an understatement. It was only for the good, though. More bookings meant better money and people catching interest in him as well - two things no young queen would complain about. He was enjoying a brief moment of a break before they had to get ready for their performance, all the hustle and bustle of the contest beginning to wear his ever-so-cheerful persona off.

The talent show segment had just begun and Alexis was going in as one of the last girls. Good - they’ll end it with a bang. Vanessa felt a rush of excitement just at the thought of what they had prepared, jumps and twirls and drops he was ready to slay. He was backstage of the venue, peeking through the slit between the glittering silver of the curtains from where he was leaning on the wall. It was hotter than concrete probably should be, but then again - with strong lights everywhere, poor air conditioning, and pressure so high it was clawing at the ceiling - everything there was too hot for comfort. He didn’t have the time to get a good look at the other contestants since their arrival - there were way too many of them, and he was hungry, so once he clapped and whooped as his drag mother charmed the jury, he went on to look for the buffet. Judging from what he could see now, he hadn’t lost much. The curvy redhead on the stage did have some good moves, Vanjie had to admit that, but watching her struggle with her wig constantly getting tangled up in the embroidered material of her sleeves was far more entertaining than the performance itself. Yeah, Alexis had this title sewn up, whichever it was. He chuckled under his breath. Almost on cue, one of the other back-up dancers came looking for him, gesturing to follow her.

“Alexis wants us to go through the routine once more,” she said over the high pitched voice of the host announcing another contestant, her expression reflecting the exasperation  Vanessa felt. He rolled his eyes.

“Hoe’s crazy, she a drag queen or cardio instructor? Hope ya have that mug all set, I tell you that! Mama gon’ whoop your ass if you get on that stage looking busted.” Cackling louder than he should, he uncrossed his arms and used them to push himself off the wall to stand straight. As he was following her down the corridor, he heard the audience cheer louder and more enthusiastically than before. Curious, he tried to look back, but was already too far to see a tall blonde entering the stage in pointe shoes, so he simply shrugged and rushed to keep up with his companion.

2.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Brooke sounded more than skeptical, brows furrowed, as he took in the sight of his friend. Steve was sitting on the bathroom floor - body sluggish against the wall and face the shade of pale that borders on greenish.

“Yeah, must have eaten something off. You and your damn seafood,” he mumbled, probably aiming for a querulous tone, but coming off tired at best, his eyes closed and temple resting on the cool tiles.

“Oh, hold on, bitch, don’t blame me. It was you who came up with the idea!” His mocked offence was soon alleviated by gentle hand coming to rub one of the sickly looking man’s shoulders as he crouched next to him. “You want me to get you anything? Water or something?”

A small ’Water would be nice’ was directed towards his back, as he got up not waiting for the answer, determined to come up with something that would help his friend. He frowned at how weak it sounded and tried to remember some the home remedies his mum used to prepare. Citrus, maybe, or was it for cold? Muttering to himself, he looked at the cabinets with puzzled expression, trying to figure out where the glasses could be. He found them on his first try, realizing Steve’s Chicago apartment was organized just like his old one back in Toronto. He smiled at the memories of all the evenings they spent there, only to wake up in a state similar to Steve’s present one on the next morning.

“I didn’t find anything with ginger, but this will do.” Coming back to his friend’s misery den, he used his chin to point at a mug of chamomile tea he was carrying on a small tray. “And water with lemon, it should help… I think.”

“Won’t be worse than it is now, eh?” Steve lifted the corner of his lips in a crooked, but warm smile. Brooke let out a little laugh and sat by his side, carefully placing the tray on the floor within arm’s reach. “Don’t get all comfortable here, you better start getting ready if we want to make it to the show.”

“Actually, I thought we’d pass on Roscoe’s tonight, you know? You’re not quite killing it on the dance floor right now.” Canadian queen bumped shoulders with the shorter man, raising an eyebrow at him with a smirk when he huffed.

“With a little help of my lovely nurse Hytes here, I’ll be back in shape in no time.” Not bothering with a response, he just glared at the still awfully pale face. “Don’t look at me like that, Brock. You didn’t come all this way to sit in my bathroom. We’re going out.”

“Listen up, bitch. What I came all this way for was to see my best friend. If I cared about clubs I might have just as well stayed in Nashville.” Both his voice and eyes were unusually stern, warning against raising any protest. Soon his face softened as he placed a hand on top of the other man’s one and squeezed it. “I’ve missed you. And if freezing my ass out on those hideous tiles means spending time with you, you can bet I’m down for it.”

“You really are the best, B, you know that?” Steve turned his palm around and squeezed Brooke’s in return, looking up at his friend.

“I do,” the blonde followed back quickly, sly smile widening to an amused grin as the bearded man shoved him playfully. They both leaned back in comfortable silence, Steve sipping his tea, and their hands still interlocked loosely. After a bit, Brooke remembered something. “Who’s performing tonight, anyway?”

“Uhm, some of the local girls, regulars mostly. But there’s someone new, from Florida, I think. Heard she’s a great dancer, really turning it out.” Steve noticed his friend’s sparking interest at his words. “You’re sure you wanna miss out on that?”

“Positive. If she’s really that good I’ll probably get to see her somewhere else, too.” Brooke nodded before helping himself up. “Now, I wasn’t joking about freezing out. We’re either moving to the couch, or I’m building a pillow fort here, you decide.”

3.

The bouncing of his own leg started to annoy him, but it’s not like he had much else to do. For what felt like the millionth time, and probably was pretty close to that in reality, Vanessa let his eyes wander over the departures hall of the Tampa Airport. Children playing tag - or another game that required running around the two huge metal flower pots and screaming like little banshees - on his right, an older woman lifting her crossword to the harsh white lighting and squinting her eyes behind big glasses before writing in another answer, black plastic of the three empty seats, a teenager in headphones tapping to the rhythm on the handrail, young, dog-tired couple with a baby - or just a bundle of blankets from his perspective, a blonde dozing off with her head on another girl’s lap, and a row of windows on the left. He studied the dirt in the corners of the frames and the pattern on the hackneyed green carpet, not even hoping to notice something new, having spent almost two hours on memorizing every spot and abrasion. Slowly, he transferred his gaze to one of the screens, his usual Duracell Bunny attitude long worn out, to once again discover that nothing had changed. Father rocking the baby in his arms, young boy’s fingers twitching to the slightly faster tempo, another crossword solved, and the same red letters arranged into the word ‘DELAYED’ next to the number of his flight.

The Puerto Rican squirmed in his place - another futile attempt to make himself more comfortable - thinking on a way to convince RuPaul to speed up the season premiere. He needed big gigs with bigger tips to start coming, so that he could pay for the VIP lounge and not deal with those cheap-ass plastic fuckers anymore. Did she have a dog? Or a cat? Maybe he could kidnap it and demand the tapes as a ransom, smuggle it into his bag or something. The sudden scratching of the loudspeakers interrupted his inner contemplation of whether Riley would take to their potential hostage. The voice of a bored woman didn’t  sound sorry at all as it was sincerely apologizing for the inconvenience (inconvenience his ass, it was a hell of fucking disaster) and regretfully informing that the delayed flight to Nashville was canceled . Just like that, Vanjie was back at 10, jumping from his seat, ready to throw hands at the first airport worker he saw. He had to settle for muttering curses in two languages, as complaints and grunts took up all the air in the hall. He unlocked his phone and angrily tapped on one of the contacts.

“Miss Vanjie.” He rolled his eyes at the greeting Kameron chose, exasperation fading slightly. “Shouldn’t you be on a plane right now?”

“Child, don’t even tell me.” There it was, anger back to its full form. “Been here for hours, waiting for my gate to be announced, all patient and shit, and now they go sayin’ the bitch won’t fly!”

“Wait, what? Nah, girl, you have to be here!” The Nashville queen whined. They wrapped up filming not even two weeks earlier, but all of the season 10 girls already wanted to meet up, and Kameron’s belated birthday party was a perfect occasion for them to catch up and try to get all of the details out of the top four.

“Lemme go find that plane, Imma go there like ‘Hey, Captain Mateo’s on board, where we flyin’?’ Or ain’t it a pilot? Pilot Vanessa ready to take over!” He heard cackling on the other side and felt himself smile a little as well. With a sigh, the tanned man sat down and started playing with loose threads at the hem of his shorts. “I’m sorry Kammy, it cancelled. Won’t make it”

“No way. When’s the next flight?” Bodybuilder Barbie insisted, but seemed a bit distracted, and he could hear some muffled voices coming from the other side.

“Tomorrow. No connecting flights or whatever.” The way regret sounded in his voice brought back the still bitter memory of his elimination, making him feel even worse. Maybe it was better if he harassed Ru into not airing the season at all? “Can’t do that, gotta be home in the evening, ya know she’s a werkin’ woman, baby.”

“Ow, such a shame, we’ve…” Kameron trailed off and he could hear her talking to someone else. “Sorry, Brooke’s helping me set everything here. I haven’t even unpacked all of my stuff yet, she’s a lifesaver.”

“Who dat?” The name sounded familiar, woke up some faint memories of a crowd cheering and anger boiling behind Alexis’s practiced smile as she waved in a runner-up sash. He recalled green eyes catching him staring in the changing room, but he wasn’t sure - maybe it was someone else.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes. You’ve never met her?” Kam was genuinely surprised. “Girl, you’d love her. I bet you’d hit it off-  What? Shit, no, I forgot. Uh, sorry, Vanj, I have to go. Talk to you soon, girl!”

“Sure. You guys have fun.” His friend hung up with a final goodbye, and he rubbed his eyes, trying to remember which one of those identical counters he was supposed to go to to get a refund on his ticket. Stepping in the direction of a long queue he noticed a familiar old lady standing in, he tried to shake off the pressing feeling of missing out on something important.

4.

He didn’t act on impulse, he didn’t. He planned his every move and word and decision, instinct to always strive for precision etched into lean body with tired muscles, judging eyes of strict choreographers, and ribbons tightly wrapped around his ankles. Impulsiveness was uncertain ground, and expectations growing heavier with every title and crown needed a solid foundation. And yet, there he was - comfortably seated against his headboard with Apollo curled next to him, hitting the blue icon and opening an empty conversation against his better judgment, not allowing doubts and what ifs to change his mind. The last notes of “To the Moon” still played in the background as his fingers started typing.

Watching past seasons, realistically he had known he wouldn’t make it in the casting because of the green card, but seeing all of the queens that got in - he couldn’t help looking for other reasons that wouldn’t get him through, every single thing they had and he didn’t. Maybe it was the fact he finally got the call himself, his life becoming a frenzy of alterations and toning Courtney’s excitement down, or that he kind of knew Vanessa - saw him performing, stood dumbstruck with eyes struggling to follow impossibly quick movements, relishing in the energy and pure joy his small body radiated - and knew how much more he had to offer, but this time, instead of spotting differences, he found a connection.

‘I don’t wanna get emotional with a lot of people,’ the Latino man had said, unwilling to let his resolve crumble for everyone to witness, but breaking down in a lonely corner with Eureka, and the Canadian felt his heart fall a little with bitter wave of understanding. He listened to the crushed voice talking about his fears of letting his family down, disappointing his mum - fears Brooke Lynn knew all too well; saw him holding a silver statuette and winced at the image of himself being in the exact same position in a couple of months - clutching the cold metal like it could prevent his dreams from shattering down on the floor, dreading the thought of all the sets of eyes trained to the screen at Play Nashville.

But, obviously, he couldn’t have written that, so he set for a short and nice message showing his support, nothing too personal or potentially embarrassing. They didn’t know each other that well and, actually, maybe even reaching out to him after his elimination in the first place would come off as overstepping. After all, it must have been close to a year - Vanjie had surely gotten over it months earlier. For a second his finger hovered over the little arrow, weighing the arguments for and against, but he hastily sent the message before he got to think on it too much. I probably won’t see him anytime soon, anyway, he reassured himself with a deep breath, but once in a while glanced to check if the message was received, imagining short fingers sliding over the screen and plump lips curling in the corners.

Two months later, when his apartment looked more like a Samsonite shop than his usually organized space, he set up three alarms to make sure he got up in time to get to the airport and hesitantly opened his Messenger app, scrolling down to one particular conversation.

After checking if the alarms were turned on, he rolled over. And if his smile was a little sad, it was too dark to tell.

5.

DragCon was fun. He was having fun, it was great. He had his booth dripping with flowers, his silhouette snatched, pink and sparkling - all Barbie fantasy that would not get knocked out the first episode, if he could have gotten his hot glue gun on Cazias’s level (or himself on the sewing machine’s level). There was a line of people who came to support him, waiting to take a photo, gagging on his merch and his lovely mama selling it, and he couldn’t have been more grateful. Even if it all was a bit tiring. 

“Hi, gorgeous. Look at that, you look great. Come on, do a twirl. Yes!” He laughed and clapped as a short girl made a turn, long, black braid attached to her hat spinning with her. He pointed at the pentagram sewn on the hat’s brim. “What’s that? You some witch? Mary, if ya lookin’ for Miss Sharon, try again. Ain’t no bobbidi-boo here.”

“I’m in a some sort of a coven, yeah,” she laughed. How excited she seemed didn’t fit with her edgy look - all back and revealing, a crop top with a logo Vanessa didn’t recognize - but it matched her sweet voice and bright smile perfectly. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m here. I’m running to the show, but I saw your booth and just had to stop by. You’re amazing.”

“You so sweet, thank you. Let’s get a photo. A nice, pretty photo with that mug of yours.” He led her to the pink wall and posed. As the girl got her phone back from the photographer and checked the time, she suddenly started gathering her bags in hurry and apologized, adorably rambling about the fashion show she was heading to. Vanjie didn’t catch most of it, just that her friend, B-something, was walking in it, but he cackled regardless, amused with the girl’s babbling, before going to give her a usual hug goodbye. “Say hello to that model friend from me, won’t ya? Bye! Have fun!”

Soon the commotion started to die out a bit, and as he could see the end of the queue approaching, he couldn’t say he wasn’t relieved. His fans always hyped him up, but after hours of feeling the tape pull, laces squeeze, and bottoms of his feet prick from standing in heels, he’d have taken every break he could get.

“Vanjie! Can we talk with you for a second?” Vanessa sighed at the sight of WowPresents’s crew approaching him. That’d be it for his break . “We’re interviewing queens for the promotion videos, and we’ve been asking them about you.”

“That’s why everyone saying ‘Miss Vanjie’? It’s just my fucking name. I ain’t mad, though, I love it.” Ever since he appeared in the convention centre there had been people screaming his iconic quote at him at every turn - the crowd providing better acoustic than freaking Grand Canyon, two words constantly echoing in some part of the room.

“Guilty.” The young man holding the microphone laughed. “Could you tell us more about who Miss Vanjie is?”

“Miss Vanjie is a wild, ghetto bitch from Tampa, Florida. Puerto Rican background. And got eliminated first, and is legendary. That’s what Vanessa Vanjie is. With a lotta’ flowers an’ a lotta’ Barbie. They didn’t like it, though, so it got a boot.” He said it like nobody’s business, all cheeky - the nerve everyone loved brought up for the camera. He had had a hard time dealing with his elimination, felt like a failure, and when the ‘Miss Vanjie’ thing blew up, he first thought he was a joke. But as the love and support around him grew, he came to rebuild his confidence. And with season 11 popping up, he felt just that, legendary. “What did those other hoes say ‘bout me?”

The cameraman exchanged a meaningful look with the interviewer. “Actually, why won’t you ask them yourself?”

They were walking through the convention centre, music blasting and people bustling around them, looking for his sisters that hadn’t been interviewed yet. He kept waving to people and screaming through the megaphone in his hand - the sound guy regretted having given it to him after five minutes - as they were approached by a smiling couple and a little boy wearing a feather boa and looking absolutely dumbstruck. He leaped to greet the boy with a bright smile before his mother finished introducing the boy - Noah - as his ‘biggest fan’.

“Ya wanna be a drag queen, little man?” he asked, and the boy eagerly nodded. Vanjie noticed the ballet shoes on his little feet. “Oh, you a dancer? Show me some moves.”

Noah took a step back and stood on his toes to make a turn, ended with a bit shaky arabesque. Vanessa eagerly started applauding him, motioning for the crew to do the same. Noah looked a bit shy and reached for his mum’s hand before speaking, but he smiled back at Vanjie. “I do ballet.”

“A drag queen ballerina? Ya know, someone’s gotta be first,” he smiled warmly. Kids were his favourite part of DragCons, so passionate and creative, and so, so cute. “Gonna keep my fingers crossed for ya. All of ‘em, just watch it.”

Drag queen ballerina , he thought to himself as he bid his goodbye and got the last hug. That’d be something to see.

+1.

Back straight. Shoulders back. Head high.

Breathe in. Hold it. Breathe out. Repeat.

Smooth out the wig. Is that a tangle? No, he brushed it out perfectly, breathe in.

Maybe he messed it up checking? Is there a mirror somewhere? Don’t think, hold it.

Remember your lines. They’re stupid. And boring. He should have thought about something funny. He’s going to make a fool of himself at the very beginning, and now it’s too late to change them, and- Calm down, breathe out.

It’s going to be fine, it’s all going to be fine. It’s not going to be fine, it’s-

A man with headphones, whose name he had heard, but forgot immediately, approached him and gave him a last minute warning, bringing him back from the verge of falling into the spiral. Brooke shook his head - it wasn’t the time to get distracted. He stood at the red line painted on the floor and forced his hand to stay still at his side, despite nervous itching to make sure his hat wasn’t tilted.

“And… you’re on. Come on, good luck.” He opened his eyes, losing the image of smiling Farra, but the encouraging words she would always tell him before every pageant still rang in his head as he started walking towards the streams of bright lights slipping through the pink door frame at the end of the corridor. With every step the screams and laughter got louder, but he couldn’t pick up anything because of the erratic beating of his heart. Breathe in. Hold it. Breathe out. He was almost there, red sequins on his costume glimmering like perfectly cut rubies in the first bits of light already reaching him - making him feel regal, confident, right. Ducking his head a little - just in case - the Northern queen put on his well-practiced smile.

“Is she international?” A loud voice cut through his adrenaline-induced haze, and Brooke automatically turned his head to the left, looking for its source, taken aback for a second upon catching the sight of a smile he knew as good as his own. Without thinking, he rushed to Nina’s side, matching her grin, and fell into familiar embrace. It can’t be that bad with her here, he thought to himself, eyes roaming over heavily painted faces surrounding him, taking in curiosity, furrowed brows, amusement, and- oh .

At the end of the table he saw a short man covered in glitter, though he guessed his skin would have a golden glow even without it. He was clad in red - the shade loud and summoning attention, suiting him perfectly - tight dress hiding toned muscles that had had his gaze lingering a tad too long on Instagram. Full lips curled into the brightest smile he’d seen, showing rows of blindingly white teeth, lighting up the pretty features Brooke knew for a fact weren’t painted on, and bringing a glint to his eyes, which managed to seem playful even behind blue lenses as he returned the Canadian’s ogling with equal interest.

There wasn’t a flutter in his heart, a pang in his chest, or a rush of warmth in the pit of his stomach. It didn’t feel like coming home, like two pieces of puzzle fitting together, or like never having to wonder if he’s enough.

Not yet.

But there was a spark, electrifying the air between them more and more with every quick glance across the room and quirk of lips sealed with a shared secret none of them fully knew, but guarded regardless. And it felt like a promise, like a long time coming change they didn’t realize they had been waiting for until then.

In fairy tales, if two people are meant to be together, their paths will cross eventually. That’s how fate works. But life is not a fairy tale. 

Except sometimes, sometimes it is.

[zer0pm]

Imagine Dante flirting with you and V gets jealous

Based on this ask by @krazy06:

I chose Dante ‘cause 👀👌 I’m thinking of creating this piece into a sort of Diverging Point mini works. Those who have played the game will know what I mean. Leave a comment/ask on what you think ;3 Enjoy!~

.

.

.

Dante: “So, when are you gonna admit that you’re falling for me?”

You: “Maybe when you actually lend a hand.”

The ring of your blade hits the air as you fell the last of the demonic wave that was in your path. Your partner in the business who is also your boss, the Legendary Devil Hunter Dante, was lying atop the hood of one of the wrecked cars lying around the city watching you do your work with amused interest. The man always tends to run his mouth even when the situation doesn’t call for it, but you suppose that’s what made the job so fun. Finding the bright side in an otherwise hellish scenario. Literally. He scoffs, a playful smirk on his roguish face.

Dante: “Saving my energy for the big target, you know how it goes. Besides, you had it handled here.”

You: “Uh huh. I’ll remember that when we reach the big douche in his treehouse. Whoops, was that my bullet in his skull?”

Dante: “You wouldn’t.”

You: “Try me.”

The man wears an expression of faux terror and you laugh in turn. You turn your back towards him to scavenge through the kills, hopeful to find something useful for Nero’s friend Nico who served as the devil hunters’ lethal artisan, as she liked to put it. When you weren’t looking, Dante took a moment to appreciate the view himself. The man prided in not letting distractions get in the way of his work, to remain strictly professional despite how he carries himself, but you proved yourself to be an exception for as long as you two have worked together and he relished in the thought and challenge. Between you two, it was playful banter although Dante entertained the idea of taking the flirting a little further.

He got up from where he sat to have another go at you when something fast goes flying straight towards his head. His devil instincts kicking in, the man dodges with ease and pulls out his pistols cocking them with a click. You too went on the alert and point your blade towards the intruder only for you to loosen your guard at the familiar squawking voice.

You: “Griffon?”

Griffon: “The one and only!”

Dante: “Whoa! Almost took my head off there, little birdy.”

Griffon: “My bad, my bad. We thought you were a demon, Dante. Didn’t want our mutual friend here to be hell chow, ya know.”

We? You turn your head to see another familiar face, the mysterious client of Dante’s who you’ve found yourself growing curious about more and more with each passing day. V, a self-proclaimed devil hunter, who also happens to command demons with a snap of his fingers. As he got closer, you found that the man had his nose glued to his characteristic book. Dante furrows his brows in mild annoyance and regarded the him.

Dante: “Mistook this handsome face for one of those ugly things? Maybe you strained your eyes too much from reading, Mr. Poetry.”

V: “Pardon us for the misunderstanding. I reached one of my favorite parts and did not think to validate my flying companion’s claim. You may punish him as you see fit for recompense.”

Griffon: “Wait...you’re blaming me for this, V?”

Dante: “Sounds like it. Now, dance!”

Suddenly you hear gunshots firing and laughter filling the air with the sight of Griffon flying around for his feathery life. You almost had to facepalm at the scene but then you glance over at V, who has not once looked up from his book. The dark-haired gentleman was smirking. It added to his refined, enigmatic aura in a rather mischievous way.

You: “That was all your idea, wasn’t it?”

The tattooed man finally glances up to look at you.

V: “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”

His playful drawl suggests that he has no intent on admitting to anything and you shake your head, smiling at the strange company you keep.

You took a moment to take in V’s appearance, sizing him up and remembering how you met him. Not too long after Dante took on the job, he personally added you to the roster and V himself became interested in you as you were not mentioned by Morrison when the two met. He verbally expressed his desire to observe your skills, curious to what made you different from Dante’s other partners like Trish and Lady. You returned to the agency at Dante’s call and was introduced to V. And by introduced, V sicced a black panther onto you.

Quick on your toes, you subdued the shadowy familiar with blade and guns in hand. It was tough as you were careful not to wreck the already-trashed building but at some point it seemed V was satisfied with how you held yourself against him and offered his hand along with his name. Since then, you found yourself constantly thinking about this mysterious figure. Who he is, his motives, his connection to the current big bad demon and the tree that erected itself in the middle of Red Grave City. It probably didn’t help that you found him extremely attractive as well, but you chose not to divulge that aloud. “You two had a business relationship afterall” is what you told yourself. A month passes by and you spent a lot of personal time with the mysterious V, convincing your nagging thoughts that it was integral to the job.

You: “So, which of Blake’s works are you indulging in this time?”

Yeah, that is totally relevant to the job.

V lifts his head entirely, genuine surprise and, if you see not mistaken, respect alights his usually stoic demeanor.

V: “You are familiar with William Blake?”

You: “Literature was my favorite course. Poetry, my weakness.”

Your ears hear a slight chuckle from his throat that made you feel a little giddy inside, taking it as a sign to press forward. You move to stand right next to him, glancing at the pages he left open.

You: “Auguries of Innocence.”

V: “Impressive. The fact that you recognize the verses with a single glance shows how well-read you are.”

You laugh, flattered by his compliment.

You: “I really just remember these lines.”

Your fingers brush against the words on the page, you were so engrossed in the poem that you missed that small grin that snuck its way onto V’s face, missed how his eyes roamed over your visage with what can only be defined as admiration.

V: “That happens to be where I left off.”

With piqued interest, your eyes snap up to meet his and the words fell from your lips long before you can bit your tongue at the request.

You: “Read it to me?”

It was such an odd thing to say, but traveling the ruins of the city alongside V developed within you an appreciation for the man’s voice and articulation. His voice sounded like silk, and each word from his mouth was like honey. How could you deny the chance to hear him recite the works of a master author?

V himself was taken aback, turning his head to look into your eyes, seeking for any hint that you were merely being jocular and not serious at all. You were not joking and were completely serious. At this, he composed himself quickly, hiding the growing warmth that was beginning to swell within his heart under the guise of him clearing his throat.

He shifts around you slightly so that he held his open book in front of you while also placing himself behind you. A single step back and your back would touch his chest. Your bodies were so close to one another and there was a gradual fluttering in the pit of your stomach that you could not shake off and with each passing second, you found no reason to complain about it and instead welcomed it.

From the corner of your eye, you see V lean over your shoulder until his head dipped to your level. Your ears pick up the soft sound of him taking a breath-

Specks of black suddenly fly across the air, moving past you like a gust of wind and hitting V straight on. The color merged within his skin, darkening the faded tattoos to its full, lustrous color. Griffon came back, which meant one thing. Instinctively, you look up and spotted Dante walking over, his sword in hand and rested upon his shoulder. A pleased, smug grin creeps its way on his face and you knew that meant trouble - or rather “fun”, as he affectionately calls it.

Dante: “Brace yourselves, friends. Here they come.”

Sure enough, you see the all-too-familiar hell gates open from thin air, all around you three, and from them, masses of empusa demons come crawling forth in throes. The numbers that were approaching were staggering. They must have been drawn to Dante’s rambuctious roughplay with V’s familiar and you shot him an annoyed glare. The white-haired man meets your eyes and shrug, deflecting your aggravation with a wink which only frustrated you even further and tightened the grip on your blade.

Dante: “Don’t fall behind, partner. I’m not gonna slow down. Even for you.”

You scoff, swinging your sword in your hand and step into your stance.

You: “That’s my line, old man.”

Dante: “Ha! I’ll show you old.”

You roll your eyes and return your attention back to V. He already moved away from you and you felt yourself grimace at the apparent distance between you two. His book stowed away and his signature cane in his hand at the ready. He wore a serious expression again and if you didn’t know any better, he seemed rather...disappointed? His eyes meet yours, sensing your staring, and you offered him a small smile.

You: “Looks like the reading will have to wait.”

His green eyes glisten subtly, apparently pleased at the suggestion that you wished for his company. The apparent irritation on his face ebbing away slightly to make way for an upturn quirk of his plump lips.

V: “The most sublime act is to set another before you.”

You did not miss the way his eyes were pinned to you as he said this and it sent a pleasantly shivering sensation throughout your body.

V: “Let us be done with this swiftly.”

You nod in agreement and went into position. You, V, and Dante were back-to-back-to-back, ready to take on the ravenous horde.

You: “Watch my back, gentlemen.”

Dante: “Don’t mind if I do-”

V: “Without question-”

If only you would have seen the challenging glares Dante and V had for each other, but no. You were too busy running your sword through your demon prey. Too busy to realize that the entire time you fought, the two devil hunters were side-stepping and tripping each other to get physically closer to you while also slaying through the horde.

[inforapound]

Bloodmoon  Chapter 6

A/N -  Thank you so much for reading. I am grateful for your comments. My eye is hassling me again so I apologize if my editing is less than perfect. 

Warnings -  Sexual content (oral sex), historically inaccurate swearing. 

Pairing - Ivar and Lofn

The feast, the night before they sailed, was a frenetic affair, the hall, more packed than it had ever been. The room was stifling from the sheer number of bodies moving about, voices roaring loudly from the excitement and free-flowing ale. The congregation of warriors, leaders, kings, and jarls mixed tentatively, all in attendance, only, for the shared purpose of avenging Ragnar. All understanding, soon after, the unspoken truce would fade and many would again face the other behind battle lines as foe.

On this night, like many others, Ivar could not keep his eyes from Lofn. Scanning the room, his eyes compulsively returned to her, watching the way her expression would shift as she surveyed the commotion. It had been nearly two weeks since the incident at supper; his violent outburst and ridiculous contrived display with Margrethe. Two weeks since Lofn had smirked while being choked goading on his fury on. Her raspy words that day still played in his mind and likely would a thousand times more. Their meaning no clearer now than then.

Ivar wanted, desperately, to speak with her, like those first days they spent up in the hills talking like true companions. After the third cup of mead, his eyes were even less subtle, lingering longer and slow to divert when she would glance over.

"Fuck it," he whispered under his breath. "You look gorgeous," he blurted from his seat at the end of the table.

"What did you say?" squinting, she leaned forward tilting her head to hear over the chaos.

Turning their heads to listen, Hvitserk and Ubbe looked, both sitting across from Lofn at the table just for family.

Ivar's eyes shot to his brothers'. Clearing his throat loudly, he looked again at Lofn. "You look nervous."

Straightening, she pressed her lips together, confused by his words. "I do?" she asked, but quickly shifted her eyes away, peering over to the rowdy dance floor, distracted by a man, down on his knees with his face up the front of a woman's skirt.

Ivar's face dropped as he looked at Lofn's indifference and he glanced back to Hvitserk, who was watching him, shaking his head with a grin.

"Fool," he mouthed silently at Ivar.

"I have had enough of this," Lofn looked between the brothers. "People keep knocking into me." Shrugging her shoulders, she motioned behind, indicating her wings. Moving her feet around the end of the bench, she stood.

"I will walk you back to your room," Ivar rushed, reaching for his crutch and pushing himself up to stand.

"No," Lofn replied, softening her face at Ivar's wounded expression. Reaching out she grabbed his arm just above the elbow. "I know where my room is. Enjoy this night," she squeezed harder. "It is as much for the sons of Ragnar as it is for him."

Settling back into his chair, he sunk deep into the seat, failing, horribly, at concealing his disappointment. Lurching to a stop, she swiveled on her heel and walked back to stand behind Ivar. Leaning down she brought her lips to his ear and whispered,

"Save me a seat on the boat."

—

"Lofn," a deep voice called out from behind her; warriors and thralls rushed about the dock, racing to finish loading and readying the ships. Turning, she was met with the jovial smile and bright eyes of the handsome King Harald. Raising her eyebrows, she indicated he had her attention.

"Sail with us." Letting go of the hoisting rope, he raised his arm in welcome, one of his boots casually resting on the side rail of the boat. "Come experience the company of a king. True royalty," he chuckled loudly, looking beyond her to the Lothbrok boys waiting on their ship. Whooping and whistling sounded from behind Harald, his own warriors enjoying his bravado.

"Thank you for the gracious invitation, King Harald," she bowed her head subtlety, "but I sail with Ivar." Nodding again, she turned back to the boat, stepping up on the edge before softly flapping her wings, slowing her landing on the deck of the ship. Moving past a beaming Ivar, she ruffled his hair with her fingers. Unable to contain his glee, his expression broke, his grin stretching the width of his face.

Chucking again, Harald shook his head, "Young Ivar, you have captured quite the woman. My attention is always drawn to the troublesome ones. You be careful." His deep laughter rang out again.

Steadying his face, Ivar became serious as he looked back at Harald, rolling his jaw out of habit.

"What is with him?" Hvitserk looked down at Ivar from where he stood beside. "He is either always drunk or thinks he is the world's most charming man."

"Are you talking about him or yourself," Ivar replied flatly, not taking his eyes off the King.

—

The journey was underway, the eighty-one war ships sailed in a loose formation. The wind was soft, and the waves were calm as the ores dipped and lifted in uniform.

Few words were exchanged between the young prince and the dark angel as they sat close, side by side, both gazing out across the grey sea. The silence felt comfortable and their senses were awake, both acutely aware of how near the other sat. Sliding her hand on the bench, she lifted her pinkie finger resting it over his.  Watching, out of the corner of her eye, as his body flinched but never looking away from the line of the horizon.

"Ivar," she tipped her forehead toward him. "When the fighting begins, you must not be concerned with where I am. Do you understand?"

Running his tongue over his bottom lip, he glanced at her before looking again across the water.

"Okay?" she pressed.

Nodding, he remained quiet, his mind ticking away.

"I am going to rest. The fighting will begin before we make camp," she whispered.

Pulling her hand away, she stood, adjusting her skirt and made her way to the far side of the boat. Pulling her wings together, she crawled in between a large wooden crate and the side of the boat.

—

Even in her near-sleep state, where the nonsensical images of dreams began to form, Lofn could hear his dragging. It stopped in line with her boots sticking out from her thick, long dress. Without opening her eyes, she scooted back, pressing her wings flat against the wooden crate, and patted the deck boards beside her. Ivar made his way in, crawling close and dropping onto his side to face her. He lay motionless, like a statue, as if any disturbance might cause her to throw him out.

"You are holding your breath," she mumbled, not opening her eyes.

"I am not," he replied defensively, scanning the features of her face; her light skin and dark brows, long black lashes and pale pink lips.

"You are so beautiful," he let out his breath slowly.

Peaking out one eye, she saw his eyes skipping around her face, his bottom lip pinched between his teeth. Opening both eyes, she stared back, focussing on the black pupils of his brilliant eyes. Leaning forward, she pressed her mouth to the corner of his, then pulled back to gauge his reaction.

Nothing....he continued to simply look at her.

"Did you like that?" she asked in a quiet voice.

He nodded.

Her forehead lifted in question.

He cleared his throat lightly, "I am afraid you will stop if I move."

Smiling, she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his again, shifting slightly, he pressed back.

Sliding closer, their chest nearly touching, she reached up and wrapped her hand around the back of his head. A shaky sigh escaped him when she nudged her nose to his, signaling him to open for her. Parting his lips, she slipped her tongue inside, sweeping it across and swirling it against his. A loud whimper escaped him as their lips moved more passionately, his arm sliding across her ribs, grabbing hold of her side. Squeezing, he pulled her forward, hugging her against him, his mouth and tongue beginning to take the lead.

Feeling his building response, she pulled back, "You can touch me."

He pressed his forehead to hers. "Where?"

"Anywhere," she smiled. Closing his eyes, he seemed to savour the feeling of her eyelashes sweeping against his. "Everywhere," she added, smiling further.

As if slicing a sack of grain, his desire spilled,  and he groaned loudly, slamming his mouth back to hers. Grabbing her chest, he kneaded her flesh through the dark fabric and dropped his mouth to her throat, sucking hard and yanking open the neck of her dress. Exposing one of her breasts, he hesitated to look at her pale pink nipple, standing perfectly hard. Delving toward it, he sucked and laved it wildly, shifting onto an elbow to yank her other breast free.

Tensing, he suddenly stopped and snapped his wide eyes up to hers; his forehead creased with concern.

"Too much?" he asked in an uncertain voice, looking as if he had been caught stealing.

Shaking her head, leaned forward and began kissing him just below his ear.

"How are you such a good kisser?" she whispered against his skin.

"Am I?" He pulled back to look at her. "A good kisser?"

"Stop talking," she breathed, covering his mouth with hers again, thwarting his smirk that was beginning to form.

Laying back down, she watched him grab and suck each breast, letting go only to rub the skin of his face across them. Heat grew quickly, causing her to push her hips forward, hoping to remind him there were other parts of her to worship. Pushing her to roll onto her back, he slid his body over hers, resting his weight on his forearms.

"Are your wings okay?"

Nodding, she peppered small kisses across his jaw before gently tugging his lower lip with her teeth. Sweeping his hand over her stomach and around the side of her hip, his face hovered over hers as if waiting for permission. It came in the form of her grinding her pelvis up to him and he reached down, quickly synching up the fabric of her dress and settling between her legs. Lifting her knees, she slid her boots up to rest flat on the deck and dropped her legs open, granting him further access. His hand found the warm skin of her inner thigh and he cursed under his breath and she tilted up and kissed him again, gasping against his mouth as his fingers found her core.

"Gods!" he groaned. "You are so wet!"

"For you." She murmured into his ear. "It is all for you."

Slipping his fingers up and down her dripping slit, he growled as she began to rock her hips in time.

Bringing his mouth to her ear, his body stilled. "Tell me what to do."

"Taste me," she uttered back.

Pulling away, he shimmied down her body and she planted both boots on the deck of the ship again, spreading her knees and hastily pulling her dress further up, exposing her sex to a waiting Ivar. Fixated, he stared, frozen.

"Yes, Ivar," she said in a reassuring tone. "This is happening."

Resting on his elbows, his eyes flitted up to hers before he wrapped one arm around her leg, grabbing her hip with the other. Yanking her closer, he shot her another glance.

"Open it with your fingers and run your tongue along the little ripple of skin at the top."

Looking down, he squinted at the detail and reached his hand around her hip, spreading her lips with his thumb and finger before swiping his tongue over her special spot.

Air rushed from her mouth and she arched her back, "Exactly."

His eyes flashed wide before plunging his tongue deep into her entrance and back up to her clit, over and over and over. Tipping her face up to the sky, she arched her back, pushing her breasts into the air, and whimpered loudly, unable to stop from rocking against his ravenous mouth. Peering up above her small black mound, he watched as she squeezed her breasts, gently pinching and tugging her small pink nipples.

"Gods Lofn!" he growled against her slick, not stopping his relentless tongue.

"What is this smell?" he exclaimed. "Its so fucking good!"

Snorting out laughter, she pushed onto her elbows and watched him lap and suck the tender skin of her core.

"It is my cunt Ivar," she giggled. "Put two fingers in it."

With bright eyes, he brought a hand up, probing and pushing into her entrance with two thick, calloused fingers. Tipping her head back, her long dark hair pooled below as she moaned loudly, shuddering as his fingers pumped in and out.

"You are so beautiful, Lofn," he mumbled, his blue eyes watching her parted mouth gape with her cries.

"I want more!" he shouted.

"Shhh," she hushed, snapping her head up to look at him.

"I do not care who hears us," he glared back. "Let them watch."

"Come to me," she leaned on one elbow, extending her hand to him. Quickly crawling up between her legs, she closed her eyes savouring the feeling of his weight pressing her down.

Kissing him hard, she licked and sucked her juices from his face, their hungry moans mixing between their open mouths and breathy, darting tongues.

"Open your pants," she whispered between kisses. "Rub your cock on my wetness."

The movements of his lips slowed until he was entirely still. Closing his eyes, he dropped his chin to his chest, inhaling deeply.

"Ivar?" reaching up, she cupped his face. Looking back to her, doubt had darkened his strong features; he looked ashamed.

"No, no, no, Ivar, listen," she mewed. "You will not fail with me."

His eyes met hers and she nodded reassuringly.

"What are talking about?" he snapped, his body tensing.

Furrowing his brows, he pulled himself from her arms and shuffled down her body.

"It will not be like it was with that slave," she rushed.

Pushing his jaw forward, his nostrils flared with anger. "You know nothing," he spat, narrowing his eyes.

Narrowing her own, her face flushed hot. "Do you think I was going to let you lie with that slave? That whore?" she hissed.

"Let me?" his head shot back.

Shaking his head, he pulled himself around and crawled away, ignoring her calls of his name.

—

Fuming, he stared out toward the surrounding vessels as they cut through the water; the oarsman working the timbers. Attempting to himself from the rush of anger and shame, he squinted into the distance, impossibly trying to identify the passengers on the closest ships.

A gregarious chuckle caused him to look back over his shoulder. It was Bjorn.... the tower of dense meat. He was chatting with Lofn, laughing as if she had imparted the wittiest comment of his life. Clenching his teeth, he scowled, returning his gaze to the steady swells of the sea. Working to ignore them, he spun the smooth handle of his ax around and around in his hand. Snapping his head back over to look, he stared at her, watching as she moved her hands wildly telling her tale. He scoffed again but she did not notice.

Unable to calm his mind, he was on his belly, dragging himself toward her, before he realized it.

"Lofn," he hissed. "Lofn," he repeated louder, glancing at the men on either side.

Turning from Bjorn, she stepped away, looking down at his angry, hurt eyes.

"What are you doing?" he snapped. "Why are you humiliating yourself in front of warriors you hope to have believe in you? It is very pathetic."

"How am I doing that?"

"Drooling over my Bjorn like a dog in heat. You might as well drag your ass on the ground and leave your scent."

"As you do?" she jabbed back. Closing her eyes, she inhaled through her nose and shook her head before looking back down to Ivar, "Do not get pissy with me. You are the one who pushed me away."

"I demand to know what you meant. I demand it." Breathing deeply, he attempted to hush his voice. "You were not there. How could you have possibly prevented me...." he jutted his chin forward, indicating the act he could not bring himself to say.

"Are you sure about that?" she cocked her head to one side.

Squinting, he grunted, irritated, and not understanding.

"You think you were alone all those nights?" she continued. "Feeling rejected by the world. Writhing in pain. Even floating through the cold, black water?" Her head shot back. "What Ivar, you magically learned to swim while knocked out?" She laughed, shaking her head. "Do you think you are not where you need to be? You are so blind," she spat. "Anger, rage, loss, they are not your only friends." She pointed at him. "I am here for you, Ivar. You!" she shouted. "Not Ragnar. I am here to be with you. But the genius that you are, squeezes the life out of every offering."

He grimaced, overwhelmed by her words, unable to decipher their meaning.

"Shut your mouth!" he roared. "You are a freak! A mistake of the Gods. I would never want someone like you. They should have let you die in your mother's womb, trapped in that ring of fire."

Lowering her chin, Lofn's eyes bore into him.

"I may be a freak, but in this moment, I am still a woman who..."

"Freak!" He shouted over her.

"Fuck you, Ivar."

"You wish, Lofn," he lifted his chin arrogantly.

"Good luck with the next slave" she clucked her tongue.

Screaming into the air, he grabbed his ax and whipped it toward her. Leaping up, her wings lifted her clear of the blade that whacked into the deck, embedding deeply into the wood where she had been standing. Ivar's eyes shot wide.

Screaming back, she dropped to stand on the wooden floor, her lungs heaving with wild breath as she shook her head in disbelief. Turning away, she grabbed the ropes at the side of the boat and stepped up, balancing on the railing. Looking back over her shoulder at Ivar once last time, she leaped from the ship. Soaring above the water, she beat her wings hard, climbing higher and higher into the sky. Flying above the ship, she circled, gazing down to an irate Ivar, screaming up at her, and throwing his arms into the air. Diving toward him with her wings tucked back, she tipped up, whizzing over his head, her black wings pumping the air, sounding like a cracking whip, with her long black locks, fluttering in the wind behind. Ivar's frantic eyes tracked her swift movements as she angled off and flapped away. Climbing in elevation, her body grew smaller as she flew further into the distance.

Ivar's calls quieted and his furious face settled, his brows pinching with worry. Pulling himself faster than he had ever moved, he crossed the deck of the ship, heaving himself up to rest on the edge. With a panicked face, he watched his dark angel fly further into the distance until the tiny black dot that she was disappeared into nothing. She was gone.

MASTERLIST

@flowers-in-your-hayr @tephi101 @naaladareia @youbloodymadgenius @medievalfangirl @yanii-the-hippie @lol-haha-joke @geekandbooknerd @whenimaunicorn @fangirl-nonsense @thelastemzy @captstefanbrandt @readsalot73

[uozlulu]

Some mid-week poast "Spyfall Part 2" Doctor Who thoughts:

There's always an under-layer of direct dangerous from the Doctor to the companion(s) in Doctor Who. Earlier incarnations made it more blatant, but New Who hasn't really removed the notion entirely, though in recent years it's less the Doctor might abadon you and more you might get accidentally sucked into another dimension if you're not careful. Anyway, it's always there and we can kind of choose to ignore it if it's not the focus of a current arc or episode or whatnot.

"Spyfall Part 2" can be taken two ways: If you skim the surface it's basically Nazis are bad, the Master is bad, Master spent the last almost eight decades getting in and out of hijinks while living time linearly on Earth. You can imagine things like running from Austin Powers, getting caught up in one of those giant cults, waking up one morning to find Autons everywhere and whoops it's Delgado Master's fault, etc...etc... However, there's a second way to take it, in which you realize the first place the Master had to escape from was probably a POW camp in Germany or Eastern Europe since at that point, they realized if you put POWs from France in camps in France, they had a high rate of escape. He'd have also been separated out for being brown and for his military rank because the Germans wanted to keep groups isolated from each other to diminish risk of revolt and escape.

Which is why today I keep thinking about the Doctor and her companions, two of which are not white. Since the Doctor had no issue with disabling the Master's perception filter and handing him over to Nazis as a double agent, how much increased danger for her companions are there? Does the Doctor not understand or does she understand all too well? Not to mention how New Who handles characters like Mickey, Martha, Danny, Courtney, and Bill, especially Mickey and Danny, one who said he was basically the “tin dog” and the other who became a Cyberman. But again, it all comes down to is Spyfall meant to be taken at surface level or are we meant to see it in all its contexts and implications? Because if we're meant to see all the implications then I'm concerned for Ryan and Yaz especially since Chibnall wrote Spyfall himself, which means he either overlooked these implications or he might leave them unaddressed considering he also cast Dhawan as the Master for a domestic terrorist Master arc.

Anyway, in some ways it kind of puts me off series twelve, in other ways it makes me more curious about it. Which way are we meant to take it? How much danger are our companions in? What kind of series arc and finale are we setting ourselves up for here? How bad is it going to get? Is it going to address its problems in the narrative? Are we going to remain all surface level? Will we dig a little deeper?

Probably going to have to play the series by ear and see if we're given clues as to how it's meant to go. Which, honestly, either way is not good. If it's all meant to be on the surface and like kids who don't have enough history education the nastier implications will never be addressed, acknowledged, or meant to be considered, then what the hell. If we will eventually address the nastier implications, then that leaves me wondering why Chibnall chose to on in such a direction. Unless part of whatever reveal is coming is to show us that the Doctor and the Master really aren't that different nor are they that different or above Earthlings. But even then, the whole Nazi thing was such a misstep and so uncomfortable and wrrry...

Another thing to consider is that last series, Chibnall employed a lot of writers from varying backgrounds to handle appropriate topics like Rosa Parks and the partition of India and Pakistan. This series, we have several episodes that don't have titles or writers attached yet, but the writers we do know so far are Chris Chibnall, Ed Hime, and Maxine Alberton, all of whom are white. So, again, I guess I got to play it by ear. Won't surprise me if I bail before the finale but also won't surprise me if I see series 12 through tot he end only to be disappointed by the finale

All I keep thinking is when I was talking about Chibnall and fatal flaws before series 11 I was really hoping this consistent flaw with New Who would finally be put to rest, but here we are talking about racist plot points and treatment of characters again.