#posts to ao3 - comes to tumblr to make post - immediately forgets what i titled the damned chapter and has to go back and check

[keicordelle]

Things are starting to get just a little bit spicy up in here! (Don't worry, they're going nowhere fast, we've got at least another 6 chapters of fluff and fretting before the two of them get their act together enough to do anything more than kiss and blush.) Chapter 14 of A First for Everything, Off the Beaten Path, is up on Ao3!

Read it on Ao3 at the link above, or check out the first chapter on Tumblr here.

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The light filtering through the windows made for a dappled display against the map spread out over the coffee table. Shadowy spots danced over the carefully marked routes and hideaways. It might have been distracting, had Thancred actually been studying the map as closely as he pretended.

Instead, his eyes drifted sightlessly over the patterns, his own cramped handwriting blurring into illegible blotches. Worry gnawed at his stomach and clattered like pixie wings through his skull. This was a really bad idea, wasn't it? The longer he thought about it, the more certain he became that this was one of the worse ideas he’d had in recent memory. He’d agreed to it in the moment in part because, well, he would probably agree to just about anything Urianger asked of him at the moment. And in part because he was worried that if he said no, Urianger would just make the trip himself. Which...

He would be fine, probably. Almost certainly. He'd clearly traveled here on his own, and he wasn't some damsel in need of constant protection. He could take care of himself when he needed to. Thancred had been impressed recently, watching how adept Urianger had become at his divining magicks. But if something were to happen to him when Thancred had just stayed back and let him go off on his own, he'd never forgive himself.

But... Maybe it wasn't the best idea to bring Minfilia back into Eulmore's reach. Not when they'd just lost their trail. They’d fought so hard to get away from them. If they were to draw their attention again, it would mean returning to life on the run, dodging scouts and armed soldiers on scant hours of sleep.

...It would mean having to leave behind the comfortable routine they'd established here. Leave behind the soft blankets and the real food and the solid roof over their heads. Leave behind Urianger. And.... Thancred didn't want to leave.

Hells. He dragged a hand harshly through his hair, and when that wasn't enough, down over his face, lips catching on the rough drag of callouses. They were going to have to leave eventually. That was always the plan. They couldn't stay here indefinitely, no matter how comfortable it had grown to be. It wasn't fair to Urianger to impose so long on his kindness, and it wouldn't help Minfilia. Thancred was supposed to be training her, helping her become something more, not relaxing in the fae lands with his new— his new.... Arg. His friend. Urianger. Who he happened to kiss. A lot. And think about constantly. And spill himself almost nightly to the thought of. Gods this was dangerous. And stupid. Maybe he really should just leave.

Soft footsteps and the shush of robes around slender ankles drew his head up like a dog who smelled a treat. Urianger's eyes landed on him, golden and kind. He paused, head tilted in that familiar way that used to simply mean "elezen" but now just screamed "Urianger." "Is aught amiss?" Urianger asked.

And suddenly, miraculously, nothing was. The familiar melody of his voice washed away all of Thancred’s troubles in an instant, and suddenly everything felt right — and that in and of itself was wrong. Urianger shouldn't be able to do that to him, to make everything feel better just by walking into the damned room. Nothing should be able to distract him as much as Urianger did.

Thancred merely shook his head, pushing his hair back out of his eyes. "No, I'm fine. Just a bit of a headache," he assured him.

Urianger looked as if he wasn't entirely convinced, but he didn't push. Instead, he brushed his fingers against through Thancred’s bangs as he passed, glancing furtively both ways before stooping to press a quick kiss into his brow. Pink tinted his ears as he pulled back, turning quickly away to return his attention to his task.

Thancred watched him as he moved about the room, gathering the things he thought he would need for their trip, lost in his own world as he contemplated two different canisters of tea leaves. Slowly, the worry crept back in to gnaw at Thancred’s thoughts, the small smile Urianger’s kiss had raised to his lips slipping away. He really, really didn't want to give this up, but... If he brought Eulmore's forces down on Urianger’s head because he was too selfish to leave, he would never forgive himself.

"Urianger?"

"Mm?" he answered without looking up, distraction blanketing his tone as he set one jar back on the shelf.

"I've been thinking... Maybe I should leave. Once we're done at the Crystarium. Maybe it's time that Minfilia and I go our own way."

There was a clatter as the tea hit the floor. Urianger didn't even try to pick it up as he turned to Thancred, his face contorting as he struggled to hide the distress that so clearly painted itself across his features. His mouth opened and closed, once, twice, soundlessly. Then, quietly: "I... would prefer if thou didst not. I... I wish thee to stay. Here. With me. Just for a short while longer?"

Watching the shadows that flitted within his aureate eyes, Thancred could have kicked himself for even suggesting it. He felt rather like he'd just punched a puppy, his heart aching in his chest in a way he'd never felt before. He fought the urge to grip it, to reassure himself that the sensation was all in his head. "If something happens though while we're out, we won't have a choice. I won't risk bringing Eulmore's forces to your door." Never mind the fact that a handful of moons ago, he'd been all too willing to take that risk. Desperate for somewhere to stay and someone to turn to.

Across from him, Urianger swallowed hard, feeling the lump in his throat all the way down to where it settled like a stone in his stomach. He'd known that Thancred would have to leave eventually. That was always his plan. That he'd stayed even this long was nothing short of a miracle. But... Urianger had grown greedy. Avarice clutched at him like a dragon's claws. Demanding. Desirous. He wasn't ready to give up the tentative intimacy that bloomed between them. He wanted to spend more time at Thancred’s side. "Perhaps I could simply come with you, if that is the case. Thou couldst use a healer to assure thy safety."

"No!" Thancred barked, a little too quickly. A little too vehemently. The tentative hope that had begun to unfurl beneath Urianger’s breast withered. He couldn’t supress the expression that twisted his features before it broke across his face, hurt welling in his chest.

Thancred flinched, back pedalling. "It would be too dangerous, to have so many of us in once place. Better to have allies tucked away than to travel together. For now, at least. Besides, your research is too important to give up, and you could hardly do that on the road. That's the whole reason we're taking this risk in the first place."

Urianger’s teeth worried at the inside of his cheek, eyes falling from Thancred’s face. Much as he would have liked to, he couldn't argue with that.

Thancred softened, casting a glance over his shoulder to ensure they were alone before he held out a hand to Urianger. "Come here."

An offer Urianger could never resist. He went to him in a shush of robes, the tea cannister abandoned on the floor behind him. Thancred's hand closed around his, drawing him down into an embrace. His arms were gentle around him, a quiet strength in his fingers as they stroked along the exposed skin of Urianger’s back. Chains tinkled as he caressed upwards, over Urianger’s shoulder to rest his palm against his cheek, cupping his face tenderly. Thancred’s thumb brushed out across his jaw, the warmth in his eyes mirrored by the warmth of his body, seeping into Urianger’s skin where Thancred’s leg pressed tight against his.

Thaliak preserve him, he was practically sitting in Thancred’s lap, tugged down onto him when he'd drawn him into his arms. This close, Urianger could see every fleck of green and gold in Thancred’s eyes. Could feel the brush of his breath against his lips. The hard lines of his body beneath him, soft skin and dense muscle and warmth, so much warmth. Urianger’s pulse quickened, his heart racing beneath his breast as heat spilled through his cheeks and out along his ears. Surely Thancred would be able to feel it, thundering against his chest. Urianger’s eyes dipped to his lips, plump and inviting before him.

He couldn't say who leaned in first. They met somewhere in the middle, Thancred’s lips ghosting against his in the softest of kisses, sweet and chaste. A gentle brush, then another. Just a pressing of lips, nothing more.

He could say for certain that Thancred was the one who deepened the kiss. Lips parting and tongue sweeping out to tease at the seam of Urianger’s mouth in a silent request. He opened for him, as readily as he always did, allowing Thancred in to taste him. Thancred’s tongue slid along his, curling along his lips, his teeth. Urianger’s head tilted to allow him in deeper, mouth moving on Thancred’s as his hands rose to tangle in his hair, holding him to himself.

Urianger could also say for certain that he was the one who pushed for more. Gentle brushes became more heated, the thrum of Thancred’s pulse echoing through Urianger’s chest as he pressed closer, pushing forward against him until his back pressed into the cushions, Urianger’s knees framing his hips and their bodies pressed flush. He could feel the heat of Thancred’s skin bleeding through their clothes, could feel the way he shifted against him. Could feel the hard dig of something against his stomach, pressed tight against his naval. Was that his—?

Blood rushed to Urianger’s face, fluster making his tongue clumsy against Thancred's.

Yes, that was definitely what he thought it was, digging into his stomach. It wasn't the first time he'd felt it when they kissed, but it wasn't usually so close. Usually Thancred played it off, or he shifted his hips so Urianger didn't have to feel it, but this... It was... curious. Intriguing.

Urianger’s own body stirred in response, thoughts swimming from the depths of his passion-addled brain. Thoughts of what lay beneath the tight grip of those trousers. Thoughts of what it might looked like — what Thancred might look like, with his jacket and his pants decorating the floor rather than his body. How it might feel to press his bare skin against Thancred’s, to feel those hands on him as Urianger kissed him. To... Touch him? No— That was— He couldn't—

Urianger drew back, his tongue a leaden weight in his mouth and his ears burning hot enough to melt snow. Where on earth had those thoughts come from? His eyes dropped, away from Thancred’s face and down to focus on the sculpted lines of his stomach. And yet, despite himself, his gaze was drawn inexorably downwards to the catch on Thancred's groin. Not, of course, because he was picturing what lay beneath the cover of cloth and leather. He simple could not bear to look Thancred in the face while his own body raged with a slithering heat that coiled and gathered beneath his robes. Urianger’s pulse throbbed between his legs, distracting and insistent, and his fingers twisted in the fabric of his robes. Please no. Calm down. Go away!

Thancred followed Urianger’s gaze down to his own lap. Surprise jolted through him, redness spilling bright up his ears as his eyes darted back up to Urianger’s face. "Shit, Urianger. I'm sorry, it just— it just happens, you know. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I— please don't run away."

It had been a consideration. He forced himself to stay, despite the antsy twitch of his legs. How could Urianger express to him that it wasn't Thancred that made him wish to flee? It was a natural response, full well did he know that. He was not unimmune himself to the natural course of biology; he was familiar enough with the body’s automatic response to such... stimulating situations... But the way that his own blood raced, his mind filling with thoughts of kissing Thancred, of holding him, of... "It's— I know. Mine apologies. Pray forgive my response, I simply— I'm not—"

Seemingly assuaged that Urianger wasn't going to flee despite the tension that still sung through his legs braced where they around his hips, Thancred softened. He reached up to brush a hand along Urianger’s face — not holding, just touching, allowing Urianger to move away if he wished. Allowing him the opportunity to run, even if he hoped he wouldn't. "Hey," he said, his voice soft and soothing as he drew Urianger’s attention back to him. "I know you're not. It's okay, it doesn't mean anything, really."

Urianger merely nodded, not quite able to bring himself to look up and meet Thancred’s gaze, no matter how reassuring those steady hazel eyes would be. Not when his smalls were still uncomfortably tight beneath his robes, rubbing against his skin in all the wrong ways. His hands fisted in his robes, grateful that the heavy fall of fabric hid it from view.

Thancred's thumb stroked along his cheek, gentle and soothing. He scratched lightly at the edge of Urianger’s beard, the pleasant shift of the hair beneath his finger tingling along Urianger’s skin. A welcome distraction from other, less pleasant tinglings. Slowly, the sensation faded, and with it, the tension leeched from Urianger’s body until he was able to meet Thancred's eyes.

Thancred was watching him warmly, waiting, a reassuring smile on his lips. "There, that's better," he said. He leaned in and Urianger braced himself for another kiss, but Thancred’s lips landed instead in the tip of his nose: a quick, light brush. His lips were damp from their earlier kiss, softened by their shared saliva as they ghosted against Urianger’s skin.

Urianger’s heart caught in his throat, snatching his breath to reside there with it. That was a new kiss. Of all the places Thancred’s lips had touched, they had never touched him there. His mouth, his cheek, his brow, but never his nose. It was different from the others. Lighter. Sweet and cute and playful and... Affectionate.

Not that kissing Thancred wasn't always affectionate; the mere act of kissing necessitated affection. But this was different, somehow. More like the stroke of a thumb up the back of his hand while their fingers twined, or the caress of fingers through his hair while Thancred helped lull him to sleep. Like....

Like the countless little gestures Thancred doted upon him each and every day. A hand on his back when he was stressed. The bump of a knee beneath the table. A mellow voice reminding him to stretch out his back and asking if he'd eaten. Thancred’s every gesture was full of that same sort of soft affection. How long had he looked upon Urianger so, with that delicate warmth in his gaze, without his notice?

 Urianger’s eyes lifted to meet Thancred’s, seeing as if for the first time the way the light haloed his features in a gentle radiance. The way his eyes softened at the corners as he looked at him. The private smile that graced his lips, the one he shared only with Urianger and none other. It widened as he reached forward, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Urianger’s ear. "What do you say we finish getting ready for this trip. Best be prepared for anything, right?"

Urianger could only nod, the swell of emotion beneath his breast staying his tongue. Oh. So that's what I've been feeling all this time.

[Chapter 15]

[Kofi/Commissions]

[tossawary]

Do you have one of those wips that's really elablrate but you'll never ever write itbecause it's like your personal day dream fuel? Or are you straight pen to paper when you have ideas that make your brain feel good?

I have lots of elaborate WIPs that I'll never write. (1) Some of them I won't write because I don't have the time. (2) Others I won't write also because I don't have the time, but also because they're for pieces of media and fandoms that... (I don't have the right words for this) wouldn't be rewarding to write for?

Like, yeah, some things are fun to daydream about for a while for me, but they don't always have a lot of substance. The ones without substance move on in time or I move past them, outgrowing the idea or the piece of media. I know they'd be too much work. I know that the story isn't enough to support the amount of work involved. Sometimes it's best to carve the daydream up into bits and use the good parts for something else.

If I get an idea that feels strong, with enough substance to support a story, I'll usually jot down the concept and whatever snippets of scenes came to mind. (I label all my fanfiction docs by fandom, then by pairing and concept/trope, and then also by title if one comes to mind.) Writing it down immediately means I won't forget it. If the idea continues to grow, I'll keep coming back and adding stuff. Eventually, this might turn into a ficlet or a fully fledged fic. Otherwise, I'll gut this notes doc for parts for something else. Or I'll just let it sit there, exorcised into the document, and move on.

Sometimes, I'll post the idea to Tumblr as well, to see if it grows into anything later, and to let people enjoy the concept in the meantime, whether it has serious substance or started as a joke.

I personally find it easier to write fanfiction with the acceptance that I won't be able to write everything. In the meantime, it's fine to just scribble down what comes to mind. It's also fine to post snippets of scenes to AO3 and write their context in the Author's Notes. I have a lot of random SVSSS stuff at this point. At some point, I may clean up some of my Tumblr posts into ficlet shape and move them to AO3. At some point, I may post some of my snippets to AO3 and slap the appropriate tags on to warn people it's not a full fic, will probably never be a full fic, and is up for adoption if anyone wants it.

[piceuscelus]

t4t ciri/cerys, cerys is so determined to seduce ciri she doesn't realize how easy it's going to be (idk if you wanted, like, trans SPECIFIC prompts vs just prompts with trans characters? i do very much envision this as trans girls having slutty crushes on each other and being endearingly awkward about it bc maybe people haven't responded well to them in the past, or maybe ciri doesn't realize cerys is also trans? but also just a simple cute blushy t4t fuckfest would be great lol)

(i will send another, trashier prompt next)

hi i know this prompt was Forever Ago but i did NOT forget it

it just fuckin Refused To Go

but it went! finally! and now it's here! and it's even below my tumblr post limit! (it admittedly might not be exactly to the prompt. but)

it'll be going up on ao3 like, immediately after this ask posts in case anyone is terribly concerned about content tags but this one is Extremely Tame and soft

trans woman Ciri / nonbinary Cerys

It’s a pity, Ciri thinks, that she doesn’t make it back to the Isles very often. Of course, she knows perfectly well why she doesn’t – she rules both Nilfgaard and Cintra, and thus most of the southern half of the Continent. She’s entirely too busy to be galavanting off to Skellige without a purpose – her court will barely allow her the occasional Witchering break, and they only do that begrudgingly because if they don’t, she tends to start threatening to skewer diplomats. The likelihood of that stuffy lot agreeing to let her vacation to Skellige for no good reason is slim to none.

There is the upside, though, that she never has to bother with a week-long boat trip unless she has a hankering for being sea sick.

When she lands on solid ground, it’s bright and sunny and frigidly cold. She takes a deep breath and just revels in it for a moment, even as she starts to shiver, taking in the familiar smells and sounds. 

Of course, as soon as someone notices her standing there in the courtyard, a commotion starts up.

She sighs, but tolerates the sudden influx of guards and their squires rushing over to investigate, and then, once they’ve assured themselves that she’s a known guest, if an unexpected one, the addition of half a dozen maids that arrive to fuss. All of them are bowing so low they may as well be kneeling – it would be faster and require less stumbling, at least – and stammering as they try to address her with an amount and type of formality that’s always been a bit foreign on the Isles.

When she can finally get a word in edgewise, she cuts straight to the chase. “Yes, thank you, where is Queen Cerys?”

One of the guards answers. “Her Majesty is with the jarls, out on the cliffs.”

Ciri raises an eyebrow. “What for?”

“It’s a tradition, Your Imperial Majesty,” another guard says, the capital letters and his unfamiliarity with her title obvious in the stilted, slow way he speaks. “A…rebirth, of sorts, for the new year. All of the jarls, the druids, and the Queen jump into the sea to be cleansed.”

“And several others, for the fun of it,” one of the squires adds, sounding almost bemused, as if he doesn’t quite understand how the dive could be fun.

Ciri isn’t entirely sure fun is the right word, really – she’d probably use thrill instead. She remembers, now, years and years ago, watching Eist do something similar – but it was in the summer, when the cold waters were a fairly refreshing shock, and not the tail end of fall, when falling into the sea could easily become a death sentence if you were stupid or sickly. She’d been allowed to jump then, too, though only into the shallows and not off the cliffside with the rest (for the sake of her grandmother’s blood pressure).

Then again, the line between the concept of fun and thrill is a thin one, and, well – she’d come to the Isles for fun, hadn’t she?

“Which shore are they on?”

– – – – –

When Ciri finally makes it up the cliff where the local nobility are making like ritual-minded lemmings, Cerys is just beginning to strip down to her underthings in preparation for her own jump. It appears she’s the last of the leaders to go, most of the jarls already soaked and shivering on the beach below.

She keeps her more lurid thoughts to herself, watching Cerys shuck her dress, and makes a split second decision to distract her mind from the gutter. “Aye! Time for a late arrival?”

The spears immediately pointed in her direction aren’t a shock, so she mostly ignores them, just stopping where she’s at and waiting.

“Don’t you lot recognize the damn Empress?” Cerys asks, laughing as everyone sort of sheepishly shuffles their weapons back to where they belong. She looks at Ciri to continue, “And don’t you know better than to barge into a group of Islanders unannounced?”

Ciri laughs, too, but doesn’t bother answering – it’s a rhetorical question, and they all know that really, she’s allowed to barge in wherever she’d like. She gestures to the edge of the cliff. “Well, may I join?”

Cerys also gestures to the cliff, but with an over-exaggerated, fake curtsy. “You may!”

Immediately, there are a handful of damp squires appearing at her side, hands held out, so she strips off and hands her clothes over. She only strips down to the same as Cerys, the single layer of underthings – she doesn’t particularly understand the point of wearing anything for this, but she’s also aware that her penchant for nudity is unusual, and is willing to follow the Queen’s lead.

“Together, then?” Cerys asks, when Ciri steps up to her side. They’re both shivering lightly in the icy breeze wafting in from the waves. “Or would you like the honor alone?”

“You’re the Queen of the Skellige Isles, Cerys, it ought to be your honor,” Ciri says, half-teasing, and Cerys’ eyes sparkle.

“And you’re the Witcher Cirilla of Vengerberg, Lioness of Cintra and Empress of Nilfgaard, The Swallow Bearing the Sun in Her Wings,” Cerys retorts, “and you outrank me by a league. So?”

Ciri rolls her eyes as theatrically as possible at the full title, though she’s privately pleased that Cerys used both of Vengerberg and the informal order of it. “Together, then.”

She offers her hand as she takes a step closer to the cliff’s edge, toes already freezing in the sparse, damp grass. 

Cerys steps up alongside her and threads their fingers together. “Of course, Your Imperial Majesty,” she says, with a little half-curtsy, still a fake one since she’s not wearing a damn dress, and a smirk that belies the formal tone. 

Ciri immediately drops Cerys’ hand just to shove her off the cliff and jump right after her.

– – – – –

By the time they’ve swum back to shore, anyone else who wanted to jump has already done it, and it turns into a race back to the castle before fingers and toes go from numb to dead. All the same, they’re laughing as they finally stumble into the marginally-warmer stone halls, the mood easy and light, chatter and laughter echoing off of the high ceilings. 

It’s only when they’ve made their way to Cerys’ rooms, already prepped and ready with a large, steaming bath, that Ciri realizes she has absolutely no idea where she’s meant to be staying. Or if she’s even welcome. 

Her rank and power do a lot to smooth the way wherever she’d like to go – and her sword and medallion often do what the crown cannot – but she prefers not to use any of them like a cudgel. 

Cerys, though, seems to have the same realization a beat after her.

“I can send someone to make up a room,” she says, “but in the meantime, we could share a bath.” There’s a hint of lechery in the quirk of her lips. “Only if you don’t think that would be too…improper, of course.”

Ciri nearly asks where in the world Cerys picked up the idea that she’s ever given a single fuck about proper, but decides that playing coy is much more fun. “It might be,” she says, slowly. “But….”

She rubs her arms and shivers. It’s a little exaggerated, but certainly not entirely an act – she is cold, clothes still wet and skin a little slimy where the seawater lingers.

“It’s cold, and it’ll take too long to make up another bath for you,” Cerys says, and this time her tone is at least half-serious. “You’ll catch your death, Your Imperial Highness – and I cannot, nor do I want to, imagine the horrors your court would bring down upon me if I allowed it to happen. I’m just a lowly Islander queen, after all.”

The snark is back, with the last part, and Ciri can’t help how she snorts.

“Alright, alright.” She prods Cerys into the room and follows along, closing the door behind them. She catches sight of a door across the room shutting with utmost gentleness, likely a servant who had realized that they were not needed and decided to at least be discreet about their eavesdropping. “I’m sure my honor will survive the blow.”

“Mine certainly won’t, but it’s not as if I had much to begin with,” Cerys retorts, and Ciri chokes on another laugh.

“You know what they say about Skelligers,” she says, trailing off with a wink, and Cerys just raises an eyebrow.

“What, that we’re one good blow away from a fight?”

Ciri giggles. “No, that you’re one good blow to anyone’s honor.”

It clearly takes a second to click, Cerys squinting at her for slightly longer than a typical beat, but Ciri sees the moment it finally dawns, the queen’s eyes going wide before she starts cackling.

“That was awful, Cirilla,” she scolds, but she’s grinning wide and there’s no heat to her voice, just poorly-concealed laughter.

Before Ciri can come up with another witty reply – either about her wonderful wordplay, or the use of her full first name – Cerys is huffing and shaking her head, starting to tug at her own layers. 

She tosses them directly onto the floor with no care as she wriggles free of them, and Ciri starts to do the same, struggling out of the top dress and progressively wetter layers beneath, until she’s reached the last of them, her underthings still soaked and getting slimier by the second. 

She hesitates. As unpleasant as the soggy cotton is, and as thrilled as she usually is to be free of clothes, it’s…. Well. If this were just a bath with a friend, or even just fellow nobility, it wouldn’t be anything to drop her clothes. She’s done it before in springs and bathhouses. 

But this isn’t just another sovereign, or even just a friend. This is…well, it’s Cerys, someone that Ciri can admit (at least in her own head, privately, to herself) she’s been carrying a torch about for…as long as they’ve known one another, probably.

(Definitely.)

Cerys is speaking again, though, as she’s peeling out of the layer just above her underthings, struggling with the fabric as its soaked so much water up from the layer below, and Ciri is distracted from her not-quite spiral about her infatuation. 

“It’s rude to stare, you know,” Cerys says, and Ciri’s stomach drops to the floor in the split second it takes for her to notice the wry quirk to Cerys’ mouth. Before she can relocate her own words, Cerys continues, though this time it’s quieter, more of a mutter. “...then again, s’pose I have no room to speak on that.”

Ciri doesn’t think she was meant to hear that last bit. She’s aware that she should probably pretend she didn’t.

But she’s burningly curious as to what, exactly, that means, so she quirks a brow when Cerys’ eyes next catch hers. “Oh?”

Harmless, directionless flirting is one thing – something they’ve been doing for the same amount of time Ciri’s carried the torch – but that? That sounded like an admission.

Cerys makes a small, short sound, something of a cross between a squeak and a snort, coloring a little. “If I may be crass, Your Imperial Majesty,” she winks, and Ciri feels herself flushing, because this time the title sounds more genuine, even if it’s in a crude way. “You have a truly spectacular pair of tits.”

Ciri snickers, and before she even thinks it all the way through, she’s quipping, “Thank you, Yennefer helped me pick them out when I got tired of being shaped wrong.”

What she’s said sinks in just a second too late, and she sucks in a breath, biting her cheek against trying to over explain. It’s possible Cerys will misunderstand that – think it has to do with self-esteem, and not anything to do with the confused whispers about wasn’t the heir to Cintra a boy? – but if she opens her mouth again, she could give the truth away.

But Cerys’ mouth drops open to mirror how tightly Ciri’s gritting her teeth, and she stutters, “You were – ” before she’s squeaking and putting a hand over her mouth. 

They stand frozen, just staring at one another, for a long moment. 

Ciri tries to find her voice, tries to come up with something to say – to brush it off, or to admit the truth, or maybe a secret third option she hasn’t come up with yet. She doesn’t know, but the silence is stretching out longer and longer, and she feels like there are ants crawling along the back of her neck.

Despite all her frantic thoughts, Cerys beats her to breaking it. “Something we almost have in common, then,” she says, and finishes peeling out of her underclothes, revealing her own chest – perfectly flat, nothing but solid muscle and pink-white scars cupping the shape of her pectorals. “Mousesack helped me pick mine when I got tired of the same.”

And the scars are – obvious, really, Cerys is hardly the first person Ciri has met with them, but it takes until she speaks for it to really click, and then – and then she’s laughing, caught somewhere between fierce relief and flustered sheepishness. 

“Good to know we have that in common?” she asks, voice shifting down a little, like it hasn’t since she was thirteen and Yennefer started teaching her how to pitch it higher, and she hopes that Cerys understands her meaning – that she means a bit more than just picking out surgi-magical modifications to their chests. 

She expects that Cerys will laugh, probably – that she’ll poke fun at Ciri, almost certainly. What she doesn’t expect, in any way, is for Cerys to step into her space, reaching out and cupping one roughened palm around the nape of her neck to yank her even closer.

“I’m pretty sure it’s more than that,” she murmurs, and then her mouth is ghosting over Ciri’s, the distant suggestion of a kiss.

Like hell is she going to turn that down.

They’re still shivering finely from the cold and wet, Ciri’s underthings uncomfortably slimy between them – really, it’s atrocious how seawater just never actually seems to dry, just turns to slime and then…crusts – but none of that really matters, not in the face of the kiss.

The kiss, which is going quickly from chaste and almost innocent to something decidedly more hungry, Cerys’ fingers finding  their way into Ciri’s hair, her other hand creeping around her waist and then up to cup her ribs. Ciri, for her part, gets her hands on Cerys’ waist first, and then shifts them to the lower curve of her spine and the place between her shoulderblades as they press closer. 

When they finally break apart they’re both panting, and the way Cerys’ fingers are curling around the curve of Ciri’s skull, a rough, callused thumb rasping back and forth just under her ear, has Ciri shivering for reasons entirely unrelated to the damp.

She doesn’t know if Cerys misreads the trembling, or if maybe she understands and simply makes an unrelated decision, but without a word she’s taking a step back, pulling Ciri gently toward the bath. The way she tugs at Ciri’s remaining clothes, though, is significantly less gentle. 

It’s a little hard to get naked, considering that they both refuse to step away from another with equal fervor, but between four hands they manage. They also succeed – somehow – in clambering their way into the bath without injury.

Through another kiss, they end up settled on a very convenient seat along the edge of the ridiculously large tub, Ciri on the ledge and Cerys perched in her lap. The position leaves their bottom halves in quite close contact for the first time, and before Ciri can even start to – explain? apologize? she’s not entirely sure – Cerys is humming, a distinctly pleased little sound, and settling her weight more firmly in Ciri’s lap. 

“Hello there,” she says, and rolls her hips, pinning Ciri’s half-hard cock properly between them. “I’d ask about pockets, but all things considered, I think I can just assume you’re happy to see me.”

Ciri wants to say something in response to that – even if it’s just to cry hypocrisy about Cerys’ early rebuke of Ciri’s earlier pun – but all that comes out is a thin, reedy little moan. 

It makes Cerys laugh, but it’s a breathy sound, cut off when she presses their mouths together again, so Ciri isn’t too terribly offended.

She’s usually more put together, she swears she is, but, well. This torch has been burning for a little less than most of her life, for fucks’ sake. 

While they kiss, Cerys starts to move, rocking her hips to grind them together, and both of them end up making broken, breathless little noises into each others’ mouths. The water intensifies the friction, washing away the slick either of them could produce well before it’s of any use, but it also makes the movements easier, smoothing out the jerkiness where both of them are startling to tremble.

Gods above, Ciri should not be this close because of a handful of kisses and a pretty queen in her lap. She’s not sure if it’s because she’s been pining for a ridiculous length of time, or that she’s not had much time for anyone except her own hand lately, or maybe that Cerys really is just that incredible. Whatever it is, she absolutely refuses to embarrass herself so thoroughly, at least this first time.

It takes entirely too much willpower, but she gets her hands on Cerys’ hips, stopping the rocking movement and splashing water over the edges of the tub with the sudden interruption to the water’s motion. Cerys makes a little sound, whiny and petulant, and Ciri is halfway through a choked sort of coo at how cute that was when Cerys’ eyes snap open.

“Sorry, was that – ”

Ciri feels a little bad when pressing her fingers over Cerys’ lips apparently gets some bathwater in her mouth, but she doesn’t need an apology and doesn’t want to entertain it. “I’m fine,” she assures. “I just – have a better idea.”

At that, the scrunched combination of shock and concern on Cerys’ face smooths out, replaced instead by obvious curiosity. Her eyes are bright and her lips are a little swollen from their kisses, and Ciri has to resist the urge to lean forward and nip at them, at least for now. Instead, she starts prodding Cerys off of her lap, and giggles when Cerys’ expression once again shifts in a heartbeat, turning to a small pout even as she follows the silent direction and finds her own feet.

Ciri can’t resist that, not entirely, so she leans forward to kiss the corner of the pout as she also stands from the bench. Cerys turns her head and turns it into a real kiss, because of course she does, and Ciri is weak, so she allows it for a long moment.

“C’mon,” she finally says, when they have to pull apart for air, and before Cerys can complain – or catch her in another kiss – she slips behind her and gently nudges her forward again.

She tries to turn at first, clearly trying to sit, but Ciri gets her arms around her waist and keeps her facing forward. She nuzzles against Cerys’ ear and whispers, “Like this,” before guiding her forward again, until her knees are pressed to the bench. 

From there, she drags her hands back down to Cerys’ hips, then her thighs, coaxing her to keep going forward, until she’s kneeling on the ledge. That’s when she seems to get the idea, suddenly tugging out of Ciri’s grip to scoot forward and bend at the waist, bracing her palms against the thick edge of the tub.

“Yeah, perfect,” Ciri murmurs, and leans forward to press a kiss between Cerys’ shoulderblades, fingers finding the stretched smoothness of the scars on her chest. She kisses down Cerys’ spine, hands following the same path but down her front, and when she’s reached where her back starts to curve into ass, Ciri shifts her weight and drops into a low crouch.

She uses her hands, curled around the very tops of Cerys’ thighs, to shift her hips up a little more, just enough to lift her cunt properly above the water.

Cerys shivers and whines, soft and breathless, and Ciri presses a kiss to where the waterline is lapping at the back of her thigh.

“This okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cerys is almost panting. When Ciri looks up – she has to lean a little to the side, to see more than the curve of Cerys’ ass and spine – Cerys is turned to look over her shoulder, eyes gone wide and dark.

She keeps their gazes locked as she slowly trails her fingers up and to the side, along the cut of Cerys’ hipbone, and then in and down, until she’s petting over the soft curls just above her slit. Cerys’ lashes flutter, mouth dropping open for the space of a panting breath before she’s sucking her bottom lip into her mouth to bite at it. 

She whines when Ciri doesn’t keep going, squirming a little, hips rolling forward into Ciri’s hand. Ciri chuckles and turns her head to kiss along the curve of her ass and back down to the back of her thigh.

“Can I?” she asks, dragging her fingers further down, almost to Cerys’ clit but not quite there yet. Already, she can feel the heat – the difference between the water and Cerys’ body, the apex of her thighs, much warmer where she’s all swollen.

Cerys whines and bucks her hips, stammering out a, “P-please.”

Ciri lets the movement do what it intended to do, since she asked so nicely, fingers slipping over Cerys’ clit. The friction of it is a little rough with nothing but water between them yet, but Cerys just whines and bucks again, so Ciri keeps going, until Cerys has made a proper mess of herself and the touch is slick and wet.

“Good,” Ciri murmurs, mostly thoughtless, and traces an intentional, firm circle around Cerys’ clit at the same time she mouths along the edge of her outer labia, tongue flickering barely over where she’s wet and fluttering. Those touches earn her another whine, more desperate this time, as Cerys leans harder against her braced arms just so she can raise her hips and press back into the tease of Ciri’s mouth. “Yeah, fuck, so good.”

“C-Ciri, please,” Cerys breathes. 

Ciri curses and leans further forward, flattening her tongue over the slick mess built between Cerys’ thighs. The sound Cerys makes in response could be reasonably called a shout, if it weren’t so pitchy and breathless, and Ciri grins but doesn’t bother pulling back. When she teases her tongue at Cerys’ entrance, she gets another almost-shout, and when she presses in, the sound turns into a low, warbling little mewl.

Her cock throbs where it’s bobbing in the water, and she imagines the two of them are probably going to sully it enough that a brand new bath is needed, but that’s the only real thought she spares for it.

“Fuck, fuck, please,” Cerys finally gasps, after Ciri has spent a few minutes pressing her tongue just inside the clutch of her entrance and then pulling back out to trace her folds before doing it again. 

She hasn’t even really been meaning to tease – she’s just…taken with the taste of Cerys, with feeling her twitch and flutter. Entirely too taken to be paying much attention to the passage of seconds – or to keep moving her fingers, she realizes. The pleas, though, bring her right back, and she hums into Cerys’ heat before she’s pressing closer, rubbing at Cerys’ clit again as she presses her tongue as deep as she can get it. 

Cerys squeals, hips jerking, and Ciri reconsiders her original intention to pull back and say something filthy. Instead, she stays right where she is, shifting in her crouch just to relieve some pressure on her ankles, and tongue-fucks Cerys until the she’s starting to shake and babble.

“Fuck, fuck, you – ah, ah – oh gods, Ciri – ”

Whenever Cerys makes a new noise or starts shaking harder, Ciri follows that as if it were explicit directions, until Cerys is no longer babbling, she’s just making scattered noise, entirely breathless. She’s so hard she could use her cock as a hammer, but all she can really focus on is how sweet Cerys’ cunt is, all of the pretty noises and trembling that she’s working out of her with just her hand and tongue. It’s – heady, and hotter than it has any right to be, and so much more than she’d ever even dared dream about, at least consciously. 

Cerys can make jokes-that-aren’t about how far Ciri outranks her all she wants, but in Ciri’s opinion, Cerys is so far out of her league that it balances them right back out. She’s fairly certain Cerys would take offense to that, though, and not at all for her own sake, so Ciri fully plans to keep that as a thought to herself. 

She’s almost worried, for a split second, when Cerys’ suddenly goes tripwire-taut, but then her mouth is suddenly flooded with slick and she understands. She groans, but doesn’t let up on her ministrations, working Cerys through the peak of the pleasure and out to quivering on the other side.

“Ciri, Ciri, fuck, oh my gods – ”

She doesn’t stop until Cerys fumbles a hand back and catches at her hair. The feeble tapping at her head is, by itself, ineffectual in making her stop, but she doesn’t want this to tip into the bad kind of overstimulation, so she follows the silent direction and pulls back. 

She intends to ask something cheeky about if that was good, but before she can manage more than just the breath in, Cerys is leaning up and turning, the hand still sort of limp against Ciri’s head finding its way into her hair just to tug slightly. 

“Please get up here and fuck me,” Cerys pants, tugging at her hair again, and Ciri certainly isn’t going to say no.

It’s not the first time she’s experienced the sensation of her dick overtaking her brain, but she thinks it might be the most intense instance of it.

“Yeah, okay,” she murmurs, and lets go of Cerys just long enough to brace on the side of the tub and the ledge so she can lever herself back to standing. She ignores the tingling in her legs – it’s not bad enough she’ll topple, so it doesn’t matter – and instead bends to press along Cerys’ back, one arm slipping around her waist while the other hand goes to her throat. She nudges at Cerys’ jaw with her fingers until she turns properly and Ciri can kiss her again.

She has to take her hand away to reach down and guide her cock, but Cerys barely seems to notice, at least until Ciri is nudging up against her entrance.

“Yes, yes, fuck,” she gasps, head dropping back down as her knuckles go white around the edge of the tub. “Please.”

“I’ve got you,” Ciri murmurs, lips trailing along the curve of Cerys’ throat in absence of her mouth.

It only takes some more minute shifting, using her other hand to steady Cerys’ hips as she guides herself with the one around her cock, and she’s slipping in. They both make high, shocky little sounds, and Ciri bites at Cerys’ shoulder as her hips jerk.

She wants to go slow, to check in, but Cerys is letting go of the edge of the tub to throw her arm back, fingernails digging into Ciri’s hip when her hand finally finds it, and she doesn’t have much choice with the way she’s yanked, unless she wants to send the both of them tumbling over the edge of the tub and onto the floor. 

“Fuck me,” Cerys repeats, and Ciri makes a wordless sound of agreement before she’s doing just that.

[pixelchips]

Love as Sweet as Candy!

Thoma x Ayato fic for Thoma's birthday!

TW: None/Very very fluffy (Modern!AU)

Word Count: 1.6k

Note: This is my very first time posting on tumblr. Sorry for any mistakes! (also it's not proofread)

Ayato prepares Thoma a very sweet birthday surprise!

Take a look at it on AO3 too!: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44139120

❤  ❤  ❤  ❤

The light of the sun slid through Thoma’s eyelids, making the man squint from the brightness. 

It was rare for him to sleep in this late, he sat up in his bed, drowsily stretching. He suddenly felt a warm presence next to him, the sight almost making him yelp in surprise. 

The sky blue hair flowed onto the pillow, and his pale skin glistened in the morning sun. Ayato’s chest heaved up and down as he breathed softly. 

“This isn’t good for my heart…” Thoma mumbled, as he slowly rustled out of their bed to grab some clothes. 

“Oh? what’s not good for your heart?”

A hand gripped onto Thoma’s wrist, as Thoma let out the yelp he fought to keep in. 

“W-w-waka! You’re awake..!? Oh, haha! haha…”

“No need to be so tense, dear Thoma. You know what day it is, hm?”

Thoma stared at Ayato for a second before thinking… 

Suddenly, it came to him. How could he forget! His mind must still be asleep.

“Oh right, I remember!” 

“Do tell me, Thoma,” Ayato nodded, smiling. 

“It’s the day Komore Teahouse reopens after the New Year break!”

“...Thoma…”

“N-no…?” Thoma stuttered from the look of disappointment on Ayato’s face. Something else…?

“Oh yes! How could I forget?”

Ayato smiled once again. Thoma was forgetful sometimes; it was okay, he had many things to do, it’s only human to make mistakes. Ayato understood that the most.

“Do tell me, Thoma.” “It’s the re-opening of the Inazuma Mall! I gotta get ready-”

“Thoma.”

Ayato sighed, as he stood up. Thoma gulped, the glare of the CEO of Yashiro Inc was certainly something else…

“Well, no matter. I’ve prepared a special outfit for you, take a look at your closet.” 

Ayato smirked with that look of his, and left the room to probably dress up as well.

“I hope waka isn’t pulling one of his pranks on me…”

Thoma hesitated as he reached for the handle on his closet. But knowing he was wasting time, he pulled the doors open. 

The outfit Ayato supposedly chose for him was there in front of him. A rose pink beret with sprinkle-like beads, a french pink leather crop top jacket on top of a strawberry pink-and-white striped long sleeve shirt. To finish it off, with a pair of shorts, a belt, and a half skirt (all pink, of course) with hot pink leather shoes.

“...Does waka consider me as a mannequin…?”

Thoma was never one to wear pink, he just thought it wouldn’t fit. But he couldn’t help but fall in love with the outfit even more. And the fact that Ayato must’ve gone through extreme lengths to pick them out by hand. Thoma took another deep breath, as he began to put the outfit together onto himself. 

 ❤  ❤  ❤  ❤ 

“Thoma, are you ready?”

“Almost done, waka…”

Ayato took a deep breath, as his foot tapped the floor from the anticipation. 

To be frank, he couldn’t wait. He couldn’t wait for his boyfriend to come out of the door wearing an outfit he chose. 

He straightened his ocean blue tie and suit, as he cleared his thoughts with a rare sense of nervousness coming over him. 

He’s never been nervous like this. 

“Waka…”

The whisper didn’t escape Ayato’s ears, as he turned around immediately, as he stopped in his tracks. 

“Thoma… you look…”

“Do I look okay…?”

Thoma’s gaze fell to the ground from the sudden tension (?) in the room. Was waka disappointed in the result? He knew he wouldn’t look good in-

“You’re so beautiful, Thoma,” Ayato breathed, “my predictions seemed to be correct.”

“If you like it, waka, I’m glad…”

Ayato stopped for a moment, gazing fixed on the blushing blond. He shook his head, as he slowly reached for the latter’s hand. 

“May I?”

“Of course, waka.”

“Shall we head out, then Thoma?”

Thoma titled his head in question. 

“Where to?”

Ayato smiled, this time that soft and meaningful kind. 

“You’ll see.”

 ❤  ❤  ❤  ❤ 

“Woah!”

After walking a few minutes, the pair arrived in front of a small wooden store, with colored paper decorating the edges of its showcase, within it were mounds of colorful candy, hard and soft, canes and lollipops, and all the delicacies you could ever imagine. 

“I knew you liked sweets, of course, so I thought I would bring you here today.”

“Waka… you didn’t have to…” Thoma said in awe, but still unsure. “You never told me the occasion, what made you bring me here today?”

“Well, let’s go inside, shall we?” Ayato smiled, as Thoma gulped and nodded. He definitely had something behind this… 

“Go ahead. Open the door.”

“Oh- okay…”

Slowly, with a creak, Thoma opened the door, expecting some prank or something worse-

With a loud pop! His whole periphery filled with the rainbow strings of confetti. 

“Wha-”

“Happy Birthday Thoma!”

In the store, Ayaka, Lumine, Aether and Paimon stood, with their confetti still in their hands, waving at him as they chuckled. At the side near the candy jars stood Itto, Kuki, and Yoimiya, as Kuki and Yoimiya were trying to separate Itto from gobbling the entire jar of chocolate. On the counter sat Kazuha, Gorou, and Heizou, the three of them waving at him also, then getting back to talk to each other at a too-close-for-friends distance. By the ice cream machine stood Yae, Ei, Kokomi, and Sara, as Ei was still trying to get a “perfect” soft cream on a cone, with Yae laughing at her skills, Sara cheering on Ei, and Kokomi watching the whole scene unravel. Sayu… well she was nowhere to be seen. Until Thoma noticed the tanuki-daruma in the corner… she probably fell asleep waiting for the pair to arrive. 

“Well, what do you think, Thoma?”

Ayato grinned at him proudly, as Thoma struggled to get words out of his mouth. 

“Y-you… overdid it, waka, I don’t think this big of a party needs to be thrown for-”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Ayato closed Thoma’s mouth with his thumb, the deep sea blue eyes staring into his. 

“You only deserve only the best in the world, Thoma, and I’m sure everyone in the room agrees.”

Everyone in the room cheered, with “yeah!” and “of course!” thrown throughout the room. Ayato nodded. 

“Don’t stop yourself from doing things because of what others might think. Do what you enjoy, that’s what you always say to others, correct.”

Thoma stared at him for a moment, then chuckled softly. 

“I guess you’re right, waka.”

To that, Ayato just smiled once more, as he signaled Thoma. 

“Go enjoy yourself, Thoma?”

Thoma’s heart was beating with excitement. At this point, he could taste the sweetness of ice cream in his mouth. 

“Thank you, waka…!”

Thoma walked over to the candy jar to converse with the trio, as laughter and excitement filled the room once more. 

Ayato smiled, as he made his way across the room, opening the back room to reveal a balcony, the sun still high in the sky. He smiled at the taste of success, and the reflection of his lover’s smile on the window pane. 

He was truly loved. Nobody would be perfect, but Thoma broke all those rules for him. The times he has gone through were the least to say; difficult. Oh, how he wished he could tell his younger self to just believe in his knowledge in strength. That he was stronger than he thought. 

That he would meet someone that would turn his world around entirely. 

“How the times have changed…”

Ayato took the bottle of boba he saved in his sleeve, and took a sip as he looked at the ocean spread in front of him. 

 ❤  ❤  ❤  ❤ 

“You were here, waka!”

The sun was about to set when Ayato jolted up from his arms, a little startled. 

“Oh… Thoma. Apologies, I must’ve been tired…”

Thoma raised an eyebrow, as he sat next to the blue-haired man. 

“You shouldn’t sleep outside, waka, it gets cold quickly these days.”

“Thank you for reminding me, I’ll be more cautious.”

A comfortable silence fell between them, as they both stared at each other across the table. Oh, how they could dive deep into them and rise, just to fall in again. 

“Are you done conversing with everybody?” Ayato broke the silence, but kept the gaze on his boyfriend. 

Thoma chuckled, and nodded. Cute, was all that came to Ayato’s lovestruck mind. 

“I got to talk to everybody! Thank you so much for this, waka. It really made my day special…”

“It’s basic courtesy to celebrate your lover’s birthday, no?” Ayato challenged Thoma's ears to burn bright red. 

“Well, it was also…” Thoma’s fingers nudged Ayato’s, as if to ask for permission to hold his hands. Which Ayato quickly obliged, holding them tightly, as if his life depended on it. 

“It was also my first birthday with you, as my… you know… boyfriend… so it’s definitely something I’ll remember.”

Ayato’s face was once struck by awe, and the sight of his partner blushing so hard, just made him feel like he was in a haze, a special kind of drug we call love. 

“I have a promise to make, Thoma.”

“What is it, waka? Why so suddenly?”

Ayato brought their intertwined hands in front of them. 

The earnest look on Ayato’s face burned into Thoma’s memories. 

This was true. At the moment. It felt right. 

“I would like to share all my birthdays with you. Would you share all your birthdays with me?”

The word echoed in Thoma’s mind, as it finally fell into place. Thoma softly grinned, the rim of his eyes glistening in the pink color that he learned to love today. 

The strawberry-color moon reflects over the two tonight, as their lips crossed in an oath to the future. 

For me, and for you. 

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 8

Helmetless + Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary:  “You have become the only one in the universe who can claim to uniquely know him.”

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,002

Warnings: fluffy fluff, some plot, swearing, reunions, soft!Din, Kuiil thinks Cupid is a fool, Kuiil’s backstory from canon, surprisingly little angst (it shocked me too)

Author Note: I want to apologize to those on the tag list not getting notified. I have no idea why Tumblr isn’t cooperating and I feel horrible about it. I love each and every one of you who spares time to read this segment/series and I hope you all have a wonderful holiday season.

Links to Part 1 and Part 7 and Part 9

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

The next morning you find Kuiil outside welding together two pieces of metal at his workbench. IG-11 tends to the small herd of blurrg the Ugnaught keeps in a large pen, feeding the two-legged creatures their breakfast. Although you were initially wary, the former assassin droid has been nothing but kind to you, if not a little obsessive about checking the bandage on your head every few hours.

“IG was explicitly warned by Death what would happen if your health declined in his absence,” Kuiil had informed you the previous evening when your attempt to stop the droid’s incessant fretting failed.

“He’s such a worrywart,” you muttered as IG-11 scanned your temperature, heart skipping a beat as it always does when you think about Din’s protective nature. There’s something unbelievably attractive about him making threats when it came to your wellbeing.

“A worrywart who left his gunship in my yard.” Kuiil aimed a sharp look towards the entrance of his home, as if he could see the Razor Crest from this distance.

You snorted a laugh at him calling Arvala-7’s desert landscape a yard of all designations, only for the rest of his sentence to register a beat later, making your eyebrows rise to your hairline. “Wait, what? He seriously left the Crest here? Why would he do that?”

“The quicker his trip to Nevarro, the quicker he returns to your side,” was the response, accompanied with a shrewd look implying you were a fool for asking such a question.

Your Ugnaught host reminds you of a grandfather figure; a bit prickly and blunt at times, but ultimately kindhearted and selfless at his core, wanting only what’s best for those in his care. Between his insistence you keep resting in his bed and IG-11’s nurse programming, you no longer wonder why Din chose to leave you with them, thoroughly convinced you’re receiving better around-the-clock care than most people experience in medcenters.

Kuiil turns when you approach him, pushing his goggles back to the top of his cap as he clicks off the welding torch, eyes giving you a cursory once-over. You feel better than you had yesterday, both headache and dizziness gone, and he must sense that since his head dips in a firm nod, satisfied with what he sees.

“Good morning,” you greet, smiling.

“Morning,” he replies. His expression turns repentant, eyebrows lowering. “My apologies for waking you, but I could not let these repairs remain unfinished.”

“It’s okay.” You tilt your head up towards the sky, enjoying the warmth of the early sunshine after spending the entire previous day cooped inside his home. “I’m supposed to report back to headquarters later today, so I needed to be up anyways.”

Hearing the words out loud grounds the upcoming meeting in reality. It’s really happening. Hours from now, you're going to have to tell your bosses everything, now including your new title as Din’s soulmate. Maker, you can just imagine Hess staring you down with those beady, rat-like eyes of his, asking question after question about you and Din.

And if Hess was serious before on the comlink—and you highly doubt the bastard’s ever told a joke in his life—then there is also the very real prospect of Moff Gideon being there to take part in your interrogation.

“Are you alright?” Kuiil asks, noticing how pale you’ve become. Without waiting for an answer, he ushers you over to a nearby stool. You sit, mouth opening to reassure him you’re fine, only to be startled by the knowing glint in his eyes. “I recognize your anxious face from my years as an indentured servant. You fear punishment from your superiors.”

Your eyes widen, stomach suddenly feeling hollow. “You were a servant?”

“From my birth until my hundredth year, yes.” The nauseous feeling intensifies. You knew Ugnaughts typically lived up to two-hundred years, meaning Kuiil had lived half of his lifetime in servitude. “Earning my freedom did not occur without harsh discipline.”

You draw in a shaky breath at that. It feels wrong, being worried about meeting with your bosses when there are others, such as Kuiil, who have endured far worse horrors.

“Those with power think it comes from weapons and control over others through means of fear and violence,” he continues, returning the welding torch to its proper placement in his toolbox. “True power comes from the strength of one’s hope. It allows you to believe in a better future for yourself and so long as you cling to it, no enemy can break your spirit.”

His rumbling baritone washes over you, calming the worst of your worries. You press your thumb against your soulmate marking, a nervous habit that has developed since you first saw it yesterday. You’ve become addicted to the warmth the mark emanates as it reassures you you’re not hallucinating its appearance.

“I just keep thinking about what their reactions are going to be when I tell them about me and him being together,” you confess, feeling shy as you duck your chin to avoid eye contact.

“Are you embarrassed of Death being your soulmate?”

Your head snaps back up, shocked by his bluntness. “What? No. Din means everything to me.”

The words seem too loud against the quiet atmosphere of the planet. They reverberate off seemingly every surface—the desert rocks, the Razor Crest’s steel paneling and the metal roof on Kuiil’s home—echoing for miles in every direction. Despite knowing that isn’t truly possible, you are unable to stop yourself from wincing.

“You gave Death a name?” Kuiil’s bafflement is visible in the way his head tilts, looking at you in a way that is reminiscent of Omera’s puzzled expression back on Sorgan.

"I didn’t.” You shake your head, for some reason feeling the need to clarify, “He named himself. It’s just something for me to call him when we’re around mortals.”

“I have known Death many decades now,” he begins, sounding no less confused despite your explanation. “He’s quite...particular about the mortal traditions he chooses to adopt, such as appearing as a human male and piloting a gunship.”

“Yeah, I know how picky he can be,” you say slowly, not understanding what his point is.

“Not once has he ever felt compelled to use a mortal name because, in his opinion, names establish ties."

“What does that mean?”

“Without a name, he is but another stranger amongst trillions of beings, unrecognized and unmissed,” Kuiil explains, and you find yourself leaning forward, elbows on your knees. “By giving you a name to call him by, he has tied himself to you in a way he has not permitted anyone else. You have become the only one in the universe who can claim you uniquely know him.”

“Huh.” You let out a long exhale, suddenly aware of your heartbeat pounding deafeningly in your eardrums as it begins to sink in just how monumental the gift of Din’s name truly is. “Well how bout that.”

And the shrewd look from last night makes a reappearance, conveying once again how foolish he thinks you are.

“I have spoken.”

~~

People tend to forget a Cupid’s bow is first and foremost a weapon of defense. Comprised of wood from a Brylark tree, sinew from orbaks, and a thin layer of a mudhorn’s horn, it can be compared to Din’s armor in that it is virtually indestructible. A Cupid carries two types of arrows: one made from kyber crystal meant to lighten one’s emotions or, on rare occasions, induce lust, and the other one made from a kyber crystal coated in ichor, meant to inflict harm against enemies. Once a target is hit, the effects are instantaneous and the arrow vanishes in a burst of sparkling light, regenerating in your quiver seconds later.

You underwent rigorous training to learn how to become a master of archery. Your bow is bound to your Cupid abilities, capable of being summoned to your aid and dismissed with a mere thought. You were taught how to control your breathing, learning that the expanding and contracting of your chest cavity during a shot can ruin your aim. Missing a target is one of the worst mistakes a Cupid can commit, meaning you must make every single shot count.

All that to say, Cupids are fierce archers as much as they are dedicated matchmakers.

They are also dangerous when startled unexpectedly.

You’re in the middle of tidying up Kuiil’s tiny kitchen space, a task you had insisted upon after he’d served you a delicious lunch, humming to yourself quietly as you scrub at the dishes when hands wrap around your waist, pulling you backwards towards someone’s chest.

You react completely on instinct, teleporting out of their hold and reappearing on the other side of the room, bow ready with an ichor arrow aimed directly at the assailant. It is only when the meager light of the nearby lantern reflects off their beskar helmet do you realize who you’re facing.

Immediately you lower and dismiss your weapon before pressing a hand over your chest where your heart is fluttering like a trapped bird. “I’m so sorry, Din,” you tell him, limbs trembling as it sinks in just how close you were to shooting him. “Maker, you scared me and—and I thought I—well, I don’t know what I was thinking, just that I had to—”

In between blinks he appears in front of you, yanking his helmet off with such ferocity your words catch in your throat. You have only the slightest of seconds to glimpse the arousal darkening his brown eyes before he slips a hand behind your neck and crashes your lips together.

He kisses you as if you’re gravity and he’ll float away if he dares to spare a moment to breathe, sending a current of warmth surging through your body. You thought the mere touch of his hand had been life-altering, but it is a mere candle compared to the wildfire his lips spark. Your eyes fall shut as you kiss back with an equal amount of fervency, bringing him closer by wrapping your arms around his neck, grinning at the groan the action spurs from deep within his chest.

There is the heavy thud of his helmet striking the ground before he’s wrapping his hand around your waist, slotting a thigh between your legs to ensure every inch of your bodies are touching. Your cheeks rub against the scratchiness of his facial scruff, an invigorating burn you think you could easily become addicted to.

An embarrassingly high-pitched whine escapes your lips when he pulls away a minute later. He’s never looked more attractive, mouth swollen and hair disarrayed from your roaming fingers. His hands cup your face, and it occurs to you as he swipes his thumbs over your cheekbones he isn’t wearing his gloves.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, sounding slightly hoarser than usual and out of breath. His gaze roams your face, like he’s trying to re-familiarize himself with your features after the time spent apart. “Especially with your bow. When you pointed that arrow at me, there was this...fierceness in your eyes I’ve never seen before. Fuck, angel, you looked so gorgeous.”

“Seriously?” you say, raising an incredulous eyebrow, because of-kriffing-course he’d be the one being in the whole universe who is turned on by a weapon being pointed at him.

“Seriously.” He leans in, forehead pressing against yours, noses brushing. It’s hard to focus when he’s this close, like you’ve again entered that separate realm where it’s just you and him.

“Din, look,” you whisper, fighting the magnetic pull insisting you kiss him again long enough to show him your marked hand. “It’s real. I’m yours and you’re mine.”

The smile that stretches across his face when he sees it is nothing short of breathtaking.

“Angel,” he says, tilting your head so the words are spoken right against your lips. “I’ve wanted to hear you say those words ever since I gave you my name.”

Tag List: @leilei-draws​, @theocatkov​, @vintagesaph​, @stardust-and-starlight​, @adrieunor​, @remmyswritings​, @gallowsjoker​, @rhiannon-russo​, @randomness501​, @sylphene​, @softly-sad​, @maytheglitter​, @melobee​, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives​, @eleinemk​, @captain-jebi​, @aerynwrites​, @promiscuoussatan​, @stilllivindue2spite​, @coaaster​, @lin-djarin​, @becauseican2, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @nicotinebirds

[musette22]

Burning For You

Title: Burning For You Pairing: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan (Evanstan) Rating: Teen and up Word count: 3.1k A/N: Written for Evanstan Week day 6, a late fill for the Alternate Universe prompt. This silly piece of fluff is entirely inspired by the wonder that is the Mountain Lodge candle from the Yankee Candle Company. Yes, the one that inspired this iconic Tumblr post. The one that smells like Chris Evans. 

I was lucky enough to receive one as a gift from the wonderful @howdoyousleep3 and my life hasn't been the same since I smelled it for the first time. Thank you for introducing me to such delights baby K, ilyyy 💖 Also BIG thank you to the @evanstanweek​ team and to my beautiful beta @rainbowsandcoconut who came up with the outline for this fic when I told her my idea! Love you, boo 😘

Summary: Evanstan AU. Sebastian gets a little carried away when raving about the Mountain Lodge candle to a friend. It leads to an unexpected, fragrant encounter.

Read on AO3

“Listen, D. You’ve gotta smell this candle.” Sebastian leans in closer, nearly knocking over his - third - glass of red. “You know I’m not usually a scented candle kinda guy, but this one…” He closes his eyes and tips back his head, an expression of pure bliss on his face. “Incredible. Glorious. Magnificent.”

“You look like you’re about to pull a Meg Ryan in When Harry met Sally over there, Seb.”

Sebastian straightens, giving Deirdre a meaningful look across the table at the low-key SoHo bar they’re having drinks at. “You kid, but I’m this close. It’s that good, not even exaggerating.”

“Sure you’re not,” Deirdre huffs, lifting her glass and taking a sizeable gulp of her Cosmopolitan.

“Fine, don’t believe me,” Sebastian shrugs. “You know, I pity you for not having experienced the delights of the Mountain Lodge candle, really. If you knew what it smelled like, you’d be singing its praises too, believe me.”

Deirdre rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Fine, I’ll bite. What does it smell like, Sebastian, pray tell.”

Sebastian sits up eagerly. “It smells…” he starts, “like an evening in that lodge in the Green Mountains we rented with the others a couple of years ago. Remember that? How it felt to relax by the fire after a long day of hiking, the scent of cedarwood and toasted marshmallows in the air?”

“Hmmm,” Deirdre agrees. “That was nice, yeah. But hardly worth busting a nut over, I’d say.”

Sebastian holds up a single finger. “I'm not done. Because this candle doesn’t just smell like the lodge, it also smells like the lumberjack living at the lodge.”

Deirdre frowns. “There was no lumberjack living at the –”

“The metaphorical lumberjack, D, god. Work with me here a little.”

“Oh right, okay. Gotcha.”

“It smells,” Sebastian continues, undeterred, “like soft, worn flannel. Like beard oil and a hint of clean sweat. It smells like a big, strong, gorgeous man who just got done hewing a ginormous tree with his massive axe and cutting it down into firewood, which he’s now using to light the very fireplace in front of which he’ll make sweet, sweet love to you, on the rug that’s actually the skin of a bear that attacked his rescue dog and which this man fought off and killed with his own bare hands.”

“Whooofffff,” Deirdre says, fanning herself with a napkin. “Fine, I’m starting to see the attraction.”

“It smells…” Sebastian goes on, pausing for dramatic effect before delivering his clincher, “like Chris Evans.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Deirdre groans loudly, sagging back in her chair. “Ughh, shoulda known this was coming. For chrissake, Sebastian, you literally cannot go even one night without bringing up Chris Evans, can you?”

“I totally can,” Sebastian protests, like the mature, professional, Times-employed literary critic he is. “But you don’t understand, D. This candle, it’s actually like they bottled the very essence of Chris Evans and then infused a candle with it. It’s life-changing.”

“Yeah, yeah, you have a permanent boner for Chris Evans, you wanna marry him and have his little bearded babies, tell me something I don’t know,” Deirdre sighs, draining the last of her drink and immediately starting to look around for the waiter to order a new one. Distantly, Sebastian notices the song playing in the background changing to The Smith’s ‘Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want'. Ah, if only.

“Listen to me,” Sebastian insists, unconsciously starting to speak louder, like he’s some small-town preacher trying to make his ignorant clergy see the light. “Deirdre, darling, you’re one of my oldest friends. I wouldn’t lie to you. I swear, when you smell this candle, you too will feel like you’re being engulfed in the embrace of the brilliant, spectacular, totally unique smokeshow that goes by the name of Chris Evans. It’s as if the man himself is wrapping those huge, muscled arms of his around you, crushing you to his wide chest as you tuck your face into the crook of his neck while his beard brushes your temple and you inhale his masculine scent of cologne, sex and clean, honest sweat, I swear to god – D, are you even listening?”

At some point during the last part of Sebastian’s homily, Deirdre’s eyes drifted to a point over his right shoulder and got stuck there.

“Did you just- zone out?” Sebastian asks indignantly, waving a hand in front of her face. She doesn’t even blink. “Hello? Earth to Deirdre.”

“Seb,” Deirdre says, still not looking at Sebastian.

“Oh, I see,” Sebastian barrels on. “Here I am, pouring my heart out, telling you I found a candle that smells exactly like the man of my dreams and you’re just… What are you doing, actually? Are you okay?”

At this point, Deirdre’s eyes have gone comically round, mouth hanging open just a little. “Sebastian,” she repeats, more urgently now – and just as he’s turning his head to find out what put that dumbfounded look on her face, someone nearby clears their throat.

Sebastian startles, looking up at the man who’s appeared next to their table.

“Hi,” the man says in a deep, rich voice.

A deep, rich voice that Sebastian knows all too well. A deep, rich voice that belongs to none other than Chris Evans, Hollywood heartthrob and actual smokeshow, himself.

Oh.

Sebastian gapes while Chris, dressed in dark wash jeans, a red flannel shirt and a brown shearling jacket, smiles at him patiently. He’s all soft-looking beard and strong nose and bulging biceps and long, lean legs, and Sebastian has died and gone to heaven.

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” Chris says, “but was just sitting a table over and I couldn’t help but overhear.”

And from one moment to the next, Sebastian crashes forcefully back to earth. His whole body goes cold, the blood draining from his face so quickly he feels dizzy with it.

Fuck. No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. There is no way this is actually happening.

Except it is.

Sebastian had just been extremely, loudly and publicly horny about the very guy that’s standing next to him right now. The guy who is no doubt about to give Sebastian a piece of his mind at best, and a right hook to the jaw at worst. And honestly, he’d deserve it.

Since Sebastian wouldn’t even know where to begin apologizing, he says nothing. Just keeps staring at Chris in ever-growing horror, his pulse pounding in his ears so loudly it almost drowns out the miserable sound of Morrissey still pleading in the background.

Chris clears his throat. “So,” he says, bringing up a hand to rub the back of his neck. “This candle smells like me, huh?”

Sebastian groans, hiding his face in his hands. “Shit. Fuck. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean- Oh my god, please, please, please just forget you heard any of that.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

Puzzled, Sebastian chances a glance at Chris from between his fingers. He’s partly still covering his face out of embarrassment, and partly because Chris is so gorgeous in real life that Sebastian isn’t sure he could look at him directly without spontaneously combusting. It’s like staring at the fucking sun. He doesn’t seem too angry, though, thank god. In fact, there’s an amused twinkle in his blue eyes that makes Sebastian’s shoulders relax infinitesimally.

“Because it was incredibly inappropriate?” Sebastian suggests, honestly a bit confused about having to explain this to him.

“I don’t know,” Chris shrugs. “It sounded pretty great. Kinda want to smell it for myself now.”

For some unfathomable reason – probably because unexpectedly seeing his long-time celebrity crush in the flesh broke his brain, Sebastian blurts out, “Oh, I don’t have it with me. It’s back at my apartment.”

Slowly, Chris raises a single eyebrow. The look sends a shiver straight down Sebastian’s spine, from the crown of his head right down to his toes. “Is it now?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian replies breathlessly.

Chris’s gaze drops down to Sebastian’s brown leather boots before slowly travelling back up to his face. “I gotta say, normally someone would at least have to buy me dinner first, but…” He trails off, looking Sebastian straight in the eye before finishing, “I am really curious about this candle.”

“You are?” Sebastian says dumbly, and then “Ow!” when Deirdre delivers an impressively precise kick to his shin under the table. He turns to give her a betrayed look, but when he meets her eyes, with which she’s clearly trying very hard to communicate something to him, he finally catches on. “Oh!” Sebastian whips back around to Chris, staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. “I- you- you mean like…” He swallows hard. “You wanna come back to my place to, uh, smell the candle?”

Although Chris’s expression remains amused, there’s a hint of trepidation there as well. “Sure,” he says, smiling crookedly. “If… that’s something you’re up for?”

Sebastian’s mind races. The way he sees it, there are two possibilities. Either Chris Evans is actually standing here in the flesh, propositioning him, or Sebastian hit his head in the bathroom earlier and is actually just lying on the dirty tile floor, hallucinating as a result of severe head trauma. The second option seems by far the most likely, but then, his shin does hurt like a sonuvabitch.

Well, fuck.

Sebastian clears his throat and sits up straighter, running a hand through his longish hair. “I mean, yeah, that’s- wow. That. That would be okay with me, uh huh. You mean like, now?”

“If that works for you?”

Without thinking, Sebastian says, “Well, I’m here with Deirdre –” before letting out another sharp yelp as said Deirdre crushes his toes under her heel. “Jesus, D!”

Deirdre ignores him. “Ohhh, would you look at the time,” she exclaims, holding up her wrist which very much doesn’t have a watch on it. “Boy, it’s much later than I thought. I really oughta get going, early start tomorrow.” She yawns theatrically, then grabs her purse and throws down two twenties on the table. “It was lovely seeing you, Sebastian, Chris… Evans,” she adds, with a wooden nod in Chris’s direction. “Hope you two have a lovely evening, bye now!”

And she’s gone.

They both stare after her for a second, and then Chris chuckles – a low sound that reverberates pleasantly in Sebastian’s chest. “Well,” Chris says, turning back towards him. “It’s nice to meet you, Sebastian.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Chris.”

Sebastian stands, taking Chris’s hand, which is warm and big and ever so slightly calloused, and exactly like Sebastian always imagined. “Yeah, I know,” he says, because he’s cool like that. And then, in a show of bravura that surprises even himself, Sebastian holds Chris’s gaze, tilts his head a fraction, and says, “So uh, my place?”

Chris smiles, casually dropping a few bills on the table, more than enough to cover their drinks, before taking a step to the side to let Sebastian pass. “Lead the way,” he says, lightly resting his hand on the small of Sebastian’s back as they make their way towards the exit.

🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥

It’s only once they’re outside and the cold February night air manages to cool down Sebastian’s overheated brain somewhat that it occurs to him to ask if Chris wasn’t at the bar with anyone.

“I met a friend for drinks but he just left,” Chris explains. “I was just waiting for the bill when I overheard you guys.”

“And you’re sure you don’t have any other plans?” Sebastian asks, because he’s nothing if not a self-sabotaging idiot.

They’re still standing outside the bar, the golden light radiating from a nearby lamppost decorated with a cluster of luminous orbs making Chris look softer, somehow. Still a Hollywood heartthrob, but also charmingly human. Unfortunately, it does absolutely nothing to make Sebastian any less infatuated. If anything, it only endears Chris to him more, which he really didn’t think was possible.

“Not really, no,” Chris replies, amusement in his tone. “I was just gonna go back to my hotel and read for a bit.”

Sebastian perks up at the mention of his area of expertise. “Oh, yeah? What’re you reading?”

“I haven’t started it yet, but it’s this history of space travel? I read a great review of it in the Times the other day, so I thought I’d give it a go.” With a self-deprecating smile, Chris adds, “I’m kind of a space nerd.”

Sebastian blinks. “Not ‘To Infinity and Beyond’, by any chance?”

“That’s the one,” Chris confirms. “You know it?”

“I wrote the review.”

Chris’s eyes go round. “You did not.”

In lieu of replying, Sebastian digs up his wallet from his pocket, takes out his Times-employee card and holds it up for Chris’s inspection.

“Huh,” Chris says, studying the card. “What are the odds.” When his eyes turn back to Sebastian’s, he suddenly breaks out into a grin, wide and boyish. “Well, I guess that explains a thing or two.”

“How do you mean?” Sebastian frowns.

“I mean, that review was brilliantly written so you clearly have a way with words.” With a sly look, Chris goes on, “which explains your colorful descriptions of that candle earlier. The masculine scent of cologne, sex and clean, honest sweat was especially vivid.”

Sebastian groans, dragging a hand down over his face. “Jesus Christ, this is so embarrassing.”

Chris eyes shine with genuine mirth as he laughs, “Hey, come on, don’t worry about it.” He takes a step closer, ducking his head to try and catch Sebastian’s eyes, which are now firmly fixed on the pavement in an attempt to conjure up a hole to swallow him. “Call me a narcissist, but I didn’t exactly hate overhearing a gorgeous guy describing me as the man of his dreams.”

“Oh god,” Sebastian mutters, feeling himself turn a fetching shade of crimson. Trying to hide his blush, he turns around abruptly and nearly walks into the lamppost.

Chris, his savior, his knight in shining armor, manages to grab him by the back of his coat just in time to avoid the imminent collision. Sebastian still stumbles, but strong, capable arms wrapping securely around his waist keep him upright.

Carefully, Sebastian turns in Chris’s embrace so they’re facing each other, though he can’t quite make himself look Chris in the eye yet. “I’m guessing you caught on to this by now,” Sebastian tells the St Christopher pendant resting on Chris’s sternum, “but I’m kind of a disaster.”

Chris just hums, lifting a hand to tilt up Sebastian’s chin with his index finger, a small smile playing on his lips. “A beautiful one, though,” he whispers into the negligible space between them, before he closes that space and presses soft, full lips to Sebastian’s own.

Sebastian can’t suppress the small sound that escapes him when their lips meet, eyes closing on instinct as he lets himself sink into the kiss. Lets Chris take charge and coax open Sebastian’s mouth by running the tip of his tongue along the seam of his lips. Sebastian doesn’t think twice about letting him in. When their tongues touch, sweet and soft and languid, he trembles, pressing closer. Chris tastes a little like beer, and while Sebastian’s never been overly fond of beer, it takes approximately two seconds of being kissed by the hottest man on the planet for it to magically turn into Sebastian’s new favorite taste. Ever.

The kiss starts off slow; a little cautious maybe, as if Chris still isn’t entirely sure it’s welcomed. But then Sebastian’s hands find their way to Chris’s waist, fingers gripping tightly, and Chris slides a hand into Sebastian’s hair, angling his head gently to the left to deepen the kiss – and suddenly, Sebastian’s entire body feels like it’s on fire. He moans, relishing the feel of Chris's soft beard scratching at his clean-shaven cheeks, and way Chris takes control of the kiss, like something right out of every embarrassing fantasy he's ever had.

When Chris hums against his lips, as if he’s enjoying this just as much as Sebastian is, Sebastian’s knees go all weak and useless. It’s a good thing that Chris is there, tightening his left arm around his waist and pulling him more securely against the hard lines of his own body – which actually doesn’t do a thing to help Sebastian’s current knee situation. He whimpers, curling his hands into the fabric of Chris’s coat to anchor himself.

When Chris finally breaks the kiss, he doesn’t go far. His breathing has deepened, warm puffs of air caressing Sebastian’s tingling, wet lips. Sebastian exhales shakily. The way his head is spinning might be partially due to the wine, but it's definitely mostly because of Chris sweeping him off his feet with his smooth, movie star ways.

Needing a moment to gain his composure before he speaks, Sebastian buries his face in the crook of Chris’s neck, taking a deep, steadying breath –

Oh.

“I fucking knew it,” he groans.

Sebastian feels rather than hears Chris’s quiet laugh; feels the vibrations of it shake his broad chest under Sebastian’s palms. “Yeah? Do I really smell like your candle?”

“Better,” Sebastian mutters. On instinct, he presses his lips against Chris’s exposed neck, eliciting a shiver from him.

“You know,” Chris rumbles into Sebastian’s ear. “I still think I need to smell this magical thing for myself. Make sure you’re not just flattering me to get into my pants, y'know?”

Christ.

“Yeah,” Sebastian nods. “Definitely, good thinking. Empirical evidence is paramount. In fact, it’s totally possible I’m just mixing things up right now because my brain’s all” – he makes a poof motion with his hands, trusting Chris will get his drift – “so I think maybe I’ll need to do some comparative research.”

Chris tilts his head in though. “Hands-on research?”

“I think that’s best, yes,” Sebastian concurs.

“Right. Well, out of the two of us, you’re definitely the higher educated one, so I’m just gonna take your word for that.” After a beat, Chris adds, “as long as I get to test a theory or two of my own.”

“Oh?” Sebastian licks his lips. “Such as?”

The wicked glint in Chris’s eyes is the only warning he gets before Chris is sliding his hand back into Sebastian’s hair and giving it a firm, experimental tug.

“Ah,” Sebastian breathes, his eyelids fluttering, the blood rushing south so fast he feels dizzy – again.

Chris grins smugly. “Such as that.”

“Okay,” Sebastian croaks. “Yeah, that seems fair.” Wasting no more time, he reaches out to grab Chris’s free hand and starts to pull him along the pavement in the direction of his apartment.

Chris, laughing as he squeezes Sebastian’s hand, follows closely behind.  

🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥

Read on AO3

[kuiinncedes]

relight that spark

jatp au - chapter 1 - part 2/15? - 9,385 words

the prologue/part 1 (tumblr link) if you missed it!! (ao3 link) :D

so obviously this is pretty slowly updating already and it probably willll get worse 🤪 i might post the next part in like a week tho, it's not a full "episode" chapter and i already have it fully written and i'm pretty happy with it 😗✌️

this chapter is pretty long and i apologize for that bc i know i get annoyed when i have to stop in the middle of a long chapter and then my phone like loses my spot or whatever lakdshgjfs but idk how else to do it so .. just have my apology lol sorryyy <3 the next "episode" chapter is looking to be longer tho sdlkhglsj

LASTLY BUT NOT LEASTLY A HUGE MASSIVE FUCKING THANK YOU TO MEG @neversatisfiedwithlife FOR BETA READING THIS FOR MEEEE AND BEING SO SUPPORTIVE AND WONDERFUL LOVE YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU SM 💞💖💓💗💕

chapter title and lyrics in this part from "wake up" from the julie and the phantoms soundtrack (whichhh if you haven't heard it... you should listen to it after reading maybe 👀)

plot and a lot of the dialogue from julie and the phantoms so like credit to all those creators and writers 🤪

warnings for this chapter: grief, mentioned character death (regarding kurt's mom)

read below the cut or here on ao3!! <3

--

2020

There’s a deep-seated weight of dread in Kurt’s stomach that he’s unable to ignore for the entire morning.

His last chance at the music program -- he needs to play again today, for the first time in over a year, or he’s done.

It’s all he can think about all day. He makes it through his first few classes, somehow, walking through the halls almost mindlessly, thoughts far away and only worrying about what he’s going to do, barely paying attention to who he’s almost running into, because he doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

It almost feels like last year again, when school started and everyone knew and everyone was staring at him in the hallways, even though he knows that they’re not right now and he knows most of these people couldn’t care less about him not being able to play at this point, but in his head it feels like they all know, like they’re all waiting, waiting and watching for him to play again and sing again.

He has been, too, for over a year.

He stops at his locker to wait for Mercedes before going to class.

“We’re gonna get tattoos together,” comes her familiar voice out of nowhere.

Involuntarily, Kurt smiles a little, turning to Mercedes. “Umm…?”

She shrugs and smiles back at him. “You know, when we’re adults and out in New York together or something. Just -- you know, at some point.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow, silently saying, where the hell did this come from. Mercedes raises both of hers as if to say, answer the question. “Just curious,” she adds out loud. “Could start planning them now.”

He chuckles. “Of course. I’ll get all the matching tattoos with you.”

Grins and silent agreement pass between them and they both turn toward the lockers, a welcome break in the slowest part of the day, the voices and noises of other students filling the air.

“I know you don’t want me to ask, but…” Mercedes starts slowly after a moment, and Kurt nods his head in acknowledgement; he knows what she’s going to say. “Do you know what you’re going to do today?”

He puts some books in his backpack, mainly for something to do. “I’ll know in the moment,” he says, somewhat truthfully. He could just say what he thinks will happen, which is nothing. But Mercedes can see right through him anyway, so might as well stay somewhat positive until it happens. Or rather, doesn’t happen.

Mercedes sighs a little. “Mrs. Harrison said today is your last chance,” she tries, leaning on her side against the lockers.

“I know, I was there,” Kurt says lightly, letting his eyes scan the contents of his locker a tenth time. Mercedes reaches over and squeezes his hand lightly. Her eyes tell him that she’ll stop talking about it for now, and he squeezes back gratefully.

The conversation with Mercedes has really helped, though; it always does. If he’s going to spectacularly embarrass himself in front of his music class, and probably for the last time, at least he’ll have Mercedes there.

She sees it in his smile, and she sends it back. You always will, is her silent whisper.

A sharp, cheery voice pierces the air and makes them both turn their heads, and the uplifted mood from the conversation with Mercedes disappears when Kurt sees none other than Quinn Fabray, in her Cheerios! uniform, complete with a tight ponytail and perfect smile as she hands out what appears to be flyers to passing students, who are immediately won over by her status, closeness, sweetness. Finn Hudson lingers behind her with his guitar case and his own stack of flyers that he’s not handing out nearly as enthusiastically.

“Spirit rally Friday!” Quinn’s saying as she all but shoves another flyer into the face of a nervous freshman who takes it and scurries away, doing a double-take once they pass her. “Come see the Cheerios! do their new routine, and my group, the Unholy Trinity, perform our brand new original song!”

“What’s she handing out?” Kurt whispers to Mercedes. A corner of his lip quirks up despite the general unpleasantness of seeing Quinn.

“Desperation?” she answers with a small smirk. When Kurt turns back, Quinn is in front of him. He holds back a grimace at her fake smile and cheeriness.

“Hey, guys!” she chirps, as if they’re just any two other students at this school. “Here you go, my group’s performing at the spirit assembly on Friday!”

Kurt flinches back a little as a flyer appears much too close to his face and he takes it instinctively, holding it lightly in his fingertips. It truly looks like something Quinn designed -- perfectly professional, impressive, eye-catching -- and he can’t say it looks bad, as much as he might want to. He eyes Quinn over the top of the flyer.

“I’m sure you guys have nothing better to do,” Quinn continues, that smile still on her face, and there are the claws, Kurt thinks as he resists the urge to rip up the flyer right in front of her.

“Oh, my gosh, Quinn, thank you!” Mercedes says in an exaggeratedly sweet voice, clearly -- or at least clearly to Kurt, and likely Quinn as well -- imitating the specific tone of voice that Quinn takes, and Kurt stifles a laugh.

“Oh my gosh, Cedes, don’t bother coming!” Quinn says with a wide smile, turning away with a whip of her ponytail to continue pushing her flyers.

Kurt looks back at Mercedes, mumbling, “She did not just call you Cedes,” while Mercedes crumples up the flyer in her hands.

“Well, she did,” Mercedes says. Kurt can see the anger behind her eyes and he raises a concerned eyebrow. “I’m fine. She just… you know.” She dismisses his silent question.

“Yeah.” He loops his arm through Mercedes’ and they head down the hallway, almost running into Finn not three steps from Kurt’s locker.

“Oh, hey, sorry guys!” he says with a sheepish but genuine smile that contains all the warmth missing from Quinn’s. “Did you -- I guess Quinn already got -- ”

“Yep, she got to us,” Cedes says quickly, steering Kurt around Finn. “Thanks, Finn, bye!”

“Please tell me you are over him,” Mercedes says when they’re in a quieter area at the end of the row of lockers. Kurt realizes he’s staring and quickly looks away.

“Yeah, I am.” Mercedes looks at him skeptically and he insists, “I am, promise! You just… don’t find a nice jock like him around here that much.”

She nods, satisfied, and raises her eyebrows meaningfully. “You know they’re going to get married and have a bunch of demon babies.”

Kurt’s jaw drops open slightly and he laughs. “You can’t say Finn isn’t a sweetheart.”

“Only one of them has to be a demon to make a demon baby,” Mercedes says matter-of-factly.

“What… it’s a dominant gene?”

“Of course.” Mercedes turns back toward Quinn and raises her voice. “Demon!”

The two of them push against the wall, hiding behind the end of the lockers, when Quinn snaps her gaze back. Kurt can’t hold his laughs in this time, and he feels a little bad about it, but… considering what Quinn’s done to them, he can let himself and Cedes get away with it.

“There’s that smile,” Mercedes says gently as they gather themselves. “Now let’s go prove everybody wrong.” She pulls him toward the music room and slowly but surely, the sickening feeling in his stomach returns. He sits down next to Mercedes and just breathes. She squeezes his hand again.

Mrs. Harrison starts class soon after they arrive, getting into the last of the progress performances which are both a chance for the students to show off to their classmates, and also a checkpoint for participation in the music program, which is the part Kurt’s concerned about.

He barely hears as Finn finishes his drum solo and everyone claps and then Mrs. Harrison is calling his name and he’s standing and walking to the piano and oh god.

“Take your time,” Mrs. Harrison says gently.

That’s all he’s been doing for almost a year, just taking his time, but nothing has come of it. He sits down slowly, opening his music in front of him but it’s like his eyes don’t see the notes and just gloss over the page. He looks down at the keys, sets his fingers in place reluctantly.

It’s been so long that the keys almost feel foreign under his fingers when they once were the most familiar thing in the world. It’s been so long that he barely remembers how the song should go and why did he think he could just do this, it doesn’t matter how good at sightreading he’s always been. It’s been so long of him locking the memories in a chained and padlocked safe in the back of his mind and he’s terrified of playing again being what opens it because playing and singing and music has always always meant Mom, and she’s gone which he still sometimes forgets and it always hurts like hell to remember again, so letting himself remember so much more will only make reality that much worse. It’s been so long and what if he’s forgotten, what if he opens himself to the memories just to find that they don’t exist anymore?

It’s been so long; it’s been over a year, but doesn’t that mean he should be fine by now?

He knows avoiding the memories hasn’t been the best idea, but right now he can’t think of anything he could have done differently, can’t linger and regret his choices because he feels so vulnerable and exposed finally sitting at the piano in front of his whole class for the first time in a year, and the choice is right there and maybe he could do it but not in front of everyone his brain screams, and he can almost feel Quinn’s sharp, judging, so far from friendly gaze fixed on him and that is what breaks it, that is something he definitely can’t take and he pulls his hands back with a short inhale and the whirlwind in his mind stops and he can mostly breathe again.

It’s been so long.

Heart still pounding, he gets up and apologizes to Mrs. Harrison because she really has tried to help him and he appreciates it but he still can’t, and Quinn makes some comment and Mercedes fires something back but he doesn’t hear any of it, he just has to leave.

He knows Mercedes follows him out and she calls out his name when he’s halfway down the stairs. He’s started crying at some point and he doesn’t know when. All of it is just such a mess and so present in his mind; he was so close to music again, to Mom, but he’s not ready. He’s scared.

“Kurt,” Cedes calls again, quieter, her voice soft and choked, pleading. “Come on, please. Come back… and show them you can sing .”

He turns to look at her at the top of the stairs. “I can’t,” he says, voice rough with tears. “I’ve tried, for over a year I’ve tried…. I’ve tried for Dad, I’ve tried for Mrs. Harrison, fuck, I’ve even tried for Quinn.” He gives a short, bitter laugh as more tears spill down his cheeks.

“I’ve tried so hard for you.” He gestures up to her, voice breaking. “I’ve tried for Mom.” He closes his eyes for a moment, takes a breath. “And I’ve tried for myself.” Mercedes is also crying a little now.

“For over a year, I’ve tried,” Kurt continues weakly. “But I just -- I can’t. Not… not now.”

He runs down the rest of the stairs and out the door, and he knows he just got himself kicked out of music, knows he just ruined everything.

--

From mercedes 💖, 2:04 pm:

Are you leaving?

From mercedes 💖, 2:06

Tell me when you get home. I love you

To mercedes 💖, 2:08 pm:

i will, at the park for now

From mercedes 💖, 2:10 pm:

I’ll bring your stuff around later.

To mercedes 💖, 2:10 pm:

thank you

To mercedes 💖, 2:11 pm:

i love you. i’m sorry

From mercedes 💖, 2:12 pm:

Nothing to be sorry for, just take care of yourself okay?

From mercedes 💖, 2:13 pm:

Give yourself a hug from me until I get there to do it for you

--

“Hey, kiddo, how was your day?” Burt asks as he walks in, putting a hand on Kurt’s shoulder who’s doing homework at the kitchen table.

“It was okay,” Kurt responds with a small but hopefully convincing smile to hide the worry eating away at him inside, because if the school’s already contacted his dad about today, about Kurt ruining his last chance…

“I gotta go again in a bit,” Burt says, taking a drink of water. “Some guy really needs a car fix by tomorrow morning, but I’ll be done by dinner.” Kurt nods, some relief flooding his veins. He turns back to his homework.

“Oh, another thing,” Burt says and Kurt stiffens again. “I wanted to come and check in with you -- I talked to a real estate agent today, and they said if we’re serious about selling the house, we need to take some pictures and stuff, clean everything… and I was wondering if you’re up for cleaning Mom’s studio?”

Kurt’s immediate surprise and hesitance must show on his face even as he tries to keep his composure, because Burt quickly assures, “It’s okay if you’re not ready, I promise; we have time. You know I just -- I wouldn’t even know where to start in there.”

Kurt smiles a little. “No, it’s okay,” he says. “I can try tonight.”

“Awesome.” Burt ruffles Kurt’s hair, which from anyone else other than maybe Mercedes would not end particularly well, but Kurt just laughs and tries to brush the loose strands out of his eyes. “I’ll see you later, Kurt. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Dad.”

Kurt exhales slowly as his dad leaves again.

Cleaning out the studio means having to confront exactly what he’s tried to avoid for a year. The disaster that was music class today doesn’t make him feel better about it… but at least this time he’ll be alone -- none of the pressure of having to live up to the standards of well-meaning teachers or aggressive ex-best friends, none of the pressure of having to play at all, especially from the competitive nature at school. And… maybe he needs it.

Moving from here will only help you move on. Kurt’s aunt’s words echo in his mind. A part of him recoils at the idea of leaving his childhood home -- leaving the spaces his mom used to inhabit and her light and energy used to fill to the brim -- and starting over, someplace where there are none of those memories… he can’t tell if that’s a good thing. It feels like more of the running away that he’s been doing for a year, and he wonders if it really will solve anything.

But maybe he does need it. If staying in this house for the last year hasn’t helped, a change would be good, right?

Turning back to his work, he takes a deep breath and starts planning dinner in his head. He’ll tackle the studio after dinner’s ready.

--

To Dad, 7:39 pm:

dinner’s done, i’ll be in the studio

Kurt takes a slow breath as he opens the doors to the garage.

It’s not that it’s his first time in the studio after his mom died -- someone had to water the plants -- but he kept any interaction with the rest of the room minimal, so it still feels different to take in the full space instead of just rushing to the plants in the back with his head down. It always came with some guilt; it felt like the least he could do to keep some life in the studio when he could barely even bring himself to enter, let alone fill it with music as it needs to be.

He walks in slowly, some apprehension tickling the back of his neck, trying to stay calm. The familiarity is almost overwhelming this time as he looks around, actually taking in the room. The guitars on the wall, the couch and table, all of his mom’s decorations and knick-knacks. The chairs on the ceiling, story told with a fond smile from his dad about his mom wanting to decorate in a fun special way even while 7 months pregnant. The plants in the back, flourishing in front of the wall of windows positioned to let in the sunrise beautifully, not that Kurt has seen it happen recently.

And the grand piano -- in the center of the room, covered with a sheet, neglected for over a year. Kurt pulls it off now absentmindedly, letting the fabric pool over his feet. He takes a deep breath even though he probably just filled the air with dust, and goes over to the bench. He doesn’t open the lid, not yet. Some sheet music is on the seat and he places it on the piano without looking, sits down and gently touches the fallboard, inhaling shakily, not opening it to reveal the keys but just… remembering what it used to be, what it used to -- still means….

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut, “that I haven’t been here.”

With his eyes closed against the dark emptiness of the room, he can almost forget. It’s too easy to think that when he opens his eyes, his mom will be there, and she’ll be writing a song with him, or she’ll be playing, or they’ll just be talking…

Before the idea can flood his mind and leave him reeling when he returns to reality, Kurt stands and looks around the room again. There really is a strangeness to the place now. What used to be so comfortable and an extension of home -- sometimes even more home than the main house -- was always warm and brimming with emotion and joy and music and life -- now cold and dark and hollow, quiet. The familiar bones have an unsettling foreign emptiness around them. It feels wrong.

It needs to be filled. But… Kurt can’t do that.

He misses his mom -- always, but it’s amplified in this space that was always hers. He misses the feeling that the studio used to bring, that spirit that is now dimmed and suppressed. Covered, but still there. He can feel it like a gentle heat behind his skin. Not bad, but overwhelming, and he just….

The loft, Kurt decides suddenly. He’ll start with the loft. There aren’t memories and emotions so confusing and thick there that he’s barely able to avoid it, to push his way through with no energy left to untangle and understand. The loft is just full of random old stuff that his mom wouldn’t throw out and his dad teased her about.

So the loft first. And then he can ease into the rest when he’s more ready. After all, his dad did say they have time.

It’s significantly dustier in the loft; old instruments and random bags full of clothes are scattered and piled across the floor, his own electric keyboard propped up against the wall. Kurt stands on the stepladder a few steps below the actual loft floor, looks around a little, his eyes landing on a CD case lying on the ground -- black with a simple stark white word design: Sunset Curve. He picks it up, eyeing it thoughtfully, brings it back down to the main floor and decides to put it into the old CD player.

He doesn’t really know why he has such an urge all of a sudden. He’s listened to some music, but not nearly as much as before, and has actually chosen to listen to music only a handful of times since his mom died.

But… the studio needs music. As an apology for a year of neglect, and as a goodbye, he can let this music redeem the studio’s spirit a little, fill what he’s left hollow.

And he doesn’t want to be alone in the silence with his memories while he’s going through everything, even just in the loft. As something completely unfamiliar and random, this can give him the distraction and none of the pain. At least, that’s the plan.

Stepping down from the loft stairs, he glances at the picture in the CD case as he opens it -- a band of four who all look like teenagers, staring seriously into the camera -- he doesn’t get a good look at them, just slides the disc into the CD player and takes a seat on the couch.

The opening song starts strong with a gritty guitar riff and a 1, 2, 3! counting the band in. Despite himself, Kurt starts nodding along to the beat. It really is a great song, unique and upbeat…

Then some kind of… panicked screaming makes itself heard, first quietly and he thinks it could be part of the song, but it crescendos and gets unbearably loud --

And then there are three strangers appearing out of thin air before his eyes, screaming as they fall to the ground heavily. Kurt would wince at the sound of the impact --

That part’s certainly unlike any CD he’s listened to before.

He’s frozen, heart hammering and eyes widening as he stares at the three strangers picking themselves up off the ground, taking in their surroundings a little…

“How’d we get back here?” the middle one -- a shorter guy with black hair -- says breathlessly.

Kurt screams.

--

It’s not his finest moment, but three complete strangers just appeared in his mom’s studio, seemingly just popping into the air, and he can’t say he’s never been superstitious in his entire life or that he isn’t drawing immediate conclusions -- supernatural conclusions, fucking ridiculous conclusions. He doesn’t love that he runs into his dad on his way back into the house which may have also involved a little yelling about seeing ghosts (ghosts who screamed back, for the record), but he makes it to the safety of his room and texts Mercedes frantically, who doesn’t respond.

“Come on, Cedes,” he hisses to himself, shooting off another text. “Answer me!”

A knock from his doorway startles him and he just barely manages to hold back a shout, turning to see his dad leaning into his room hesitantly.

“You okay?”

Kurt gives him what must be a hysterical-looking attempt at a reassuring smile, all wide eyes and clenched teeth. “Yeah, no, totally fine, sorry for -- scaring you,” he replies choppily, tone not even convincing to himself. “Just, um, practicing for a school play.”

Burt definitely doesn’t believe him, but nods slowly anyway. “Well, I’m gonna go clean up -- ” He gestures over his shoulder with a grease-covered hand. “Dinner in like, ten minutes?”

“Yeah. Sounds good,” Kurt says shortly, forcing another smile and a thumbs-up.

As soon as the door closes, Kurt turns back toward his window and tries to get a glance of the studio, but it’s blocked from this angle by the trees in their yard. Apprehensively, he heads back to the garage, thankfully not running into his dad this time, phone in hand and thumb hovering over Mercedes’ phone contact.

When he goes in, it’s empty; no sign of anything out of the ordinary happening.

He scans the space warily, feeling jumpy and nervous, but nothing happens and he mumbles, “I know I saw something, I’m not crazy.”

He hears a soft popping noise and then, “Well, we’re all a little crazy,” from behind him and he turns with a sharp gasp.

“Oh, my god, who are you?” Kurt yells, maybe a little too loud because the black-haired boy winces slightly and all three of them step back a little. “What the hell are you doing in my mom’s studio?”

“Your mom’s studio?” the black-haired guy scoffs. “This is our studio!”

The tall blonde guy bounces forward. “Yeah, like, the piano’s new, but -- ” He looks to the right and his face lights up. “My couch!” he calls, running over and jumping straight onto it.

The girl -- hair black and in braids -- rolls her eyes. “Not your couch, Sam.”

The blonde -- Sam? -- sits up indignantly, stabbing a finger in the cushions. “Hey, I spent more time on this couch than any of you. Pretty sure it’s mine at this point.”

Kurt just watches them with wide eyes, jaw hanging open, with absolutely no idea what to do.

“But these aren’t our instruments,” the black-haired guy says warily, looking around. At some point he and the girl have linked arms, Kurt notices. He watches as they all take in the studio, faces getting increasingly confused and worried. Kurt raises an eyebrow that apparently can go higher than it already is.

“Because… it’s my mom’s studio…” he manages to say again, mind still whirling at the hurricane of new and completely nonsensical information.

“Can you just -- give us a minute?” Sam says, jumping over the coffee table to join his friends. They turn away to talk in a huddle, and Kurt stands awkwardly as they talk in failed attempts at hushed tones.

--

Tina’s trying to ignore the pounding of her possibly-only-theoretical heart -- she’s dead, how can she even feel a heartbeat -- as she watches Blaine and Sam talk to the… living person in front of them. Sam makes his usual comment about “his couch” and Tina snarks back with her usual response and it gives her some comfort, some familiarity even in this studio which should feel like home, has for so long, and it still does to an extent, but everything here is suddenly different.

The comment does send the strange boy’s attention back to her, though, which she doesn’t really like. Blaine wraps an arm around hers and she squeezes his forearm in gratitude. He did that a lot when they were alive -- knew how and when to offer her his touch to reassure her a little.

At least there’s something that’s still the same.

At least her boys are still the same.

She tries to focus on Blaine’s arm in hers, on Sam’s dumb comments as he comes bounding back to them, hissing, “Guys, what is going on here?”

Tina shrugs. Blaine whispers, “Who is he?”

“He can hear you,” the person in question says pointedly from behind them, but Sam ignores him and says, “Maybe he’s a witch.” He looks up, pointing. “There are chairs on the ceiling.”

“There’s no such thing as witches,” Tina hisses.

“Are you sure?” Sam shoots back. “Because I used to think there was no such thing as ghosts!”

Tina swallows. “That’s fair.”

“So we’re going with witch?” Blaine asks.

“No!” Tina waves her hands at both of them. “No, come on. You guys are just -- he’s probably just overwhelmed, okay? Let someone with a softer touch handle this.”

Maybe “softer touch” wasn’t the right phrase to use in this instance, she thinks, but she really just wants answers and figures she might as well be straightforward. “Why are you in our studio?” she asks, maybe a little too aggressively, stepping up to the alive stranger.

He looks down with a shocked expression and Tina realizes she accidentally got close enough to touch him -- or… pass her hand through his, partially. They both watch as he brings his hand through hers again. It’s a weird feeling -- warm and kind of tingly, or like she’s putting her hand through water.

“Oh my god,” he says, eyes wide. “How did you do that?”

Tina raises their eyebrows a little. “Okay, clearly you don’t -- clearly, he doesn’t get it,” she says, addressing the guys behind her. She turns back to the stranger, gesturing to herself and the others as she explains, “We’re ghosts. We’re just three ghosts, and we’re really happy to be home, so… thank you for the flowers; they really brighten up the room.” She tries to smile at him.

“We’re actually in a band called Sunset Curve,” Blaine pipes up, stepping up to flank her on the left.

“Tell your friends!” chimes Sam on her right.

“Last night was a really big night for us,” Blaine says, a little sadly. “It was gonna change our lives.”

Tina whispers, “Uh, I’m pretty sure it did.” Blaine huffs and elbows her gently.

“This is freaking me out,” the stranger says, shaking his head as he takes something from his pocket.

“What is that; what are you doing?” Blaine asks.

Alive Stranger looks up, fingers still touching the face of the object. “It’s my phone -- nope, stop talking to them! There’s no such thing as cute ghosts,” he says, seemingly to himself.

Sam gasps. “Think we’re cute?” He raises an eyebrow, making one of his insufferable Sam faces; Tina almost laughs.

The boy looks up again with wide eyes, gaze flitting to each of them as if watching for a reaction, swallowing and going back to his phone.

“Who’re you calling?” Tina asks, trying to see the side facing him because that doesn’t look like any phone she’s ever seen.

“I’m googling Sunset Swerve.”

“Sunset Curve!” Blaine, Sam, and Tina correct him at the same time, Sam drawing a curve in the air with his finger.

The stranger laughs nervously, staring at them with wide eyes and then back at his phone. “Okay… so there is a Sunset Curve.” He swallows again. “You guys did die. But not last night.” Tina’s stomach drops a little; Blaine and Sam get closer.

“Twenty-five… years ago,” the boy finishes, a confused look in his eyes.

Tina barely has time to register this before Sam says, “That’s impossible. All we did after we floated out of the car was go to that weird dark room where Tina cried.”

Her mouth drops open. “I wasn’t -- I -- we -- ” she squeaks, voice jumping up an octave. “I think we were all pretty upset,” she says, but she supposes Sam is right.

He pats her back and doesn’t have a chance to respond again because Blaine steps in, “That was just for, like, an hour, though. We just showed up here.” Tina and Sam nod.

“Look,” the living one says, finally turning his “phone” toward them. They lean forward to see a screen with a photo of them -- and Artie, Tina thinks distantly; she feels his absence acutely and it spikes through her chest -- taken for their summer tour, and a bunch of small text around it that she can’t read, a bold headline at the top reading, Sunset Curve: A Hollywood Tragedy. “I’m just telling you what my phone says,” he explains. “You guys died in 1995. It’s now 2020.”

“So this is the future?” Sam asks incredulously as the boy pulls his phone back. Something else sticks out in Tina’s mind, though.

“So -- it has been twenty-five years,” she says, pausing to gather her thoughts. “I have been crying for twenty-five years -- how is that possible?!”

“You’re a very emotional person,” Sam reasons.

“I am not!” she insists, but the tears already pressing in the back of her throat want to prove otherwise. Distantly, she reminds herself that she’s with her friends who’ve seen it all and she doesn’t need to hold back, but the presence of this complete stranger also overrides the ease of her relationship with the guys. Sam rubs a comforting hand over her shoulder, and she swallows the tears down.

Alive Stranger shakes his head. “I gotta go… eat dinner,” he says slowly. He turns back around once he’s walked past the three of them and says, “Look, I’m really sorry for what happened to you guys, but this isn’t your studio anymore. You have to leave.”

“But we -- ” Blaine starts, starting to go forward but a sharp glare stops him and he clears his throat. “We didn’t even get your name.”

“It’s Kurt,” the stranger snaps.

“Cool, I’m -- Blaine,” Blaine says hesitantly. “And this is…”

“Sam, hey.”

“Tina, how’s it going…”

“Ba-da,” Blaine sings weakly, gesturing his hands in front of them like he’s presenting them to Kurt.

They all watch for Kurt’s reaction, but he just sighs and leaves the studio. He leaves the doors open, probably to remind them that they technically just got kicked out of their studio -- or, Kurt’s mom’s studio -- someone’s studio, but really it’s been their home for so long…

“Kurt seems nice,” Sam says cheerfully, trying to lighten the mood.

Tina turns to him. “Did you miss the part where he kicked us out, or…” she says drily. Sam shrugs, a hint of a smirk on his face. “Okay,” Tina mutters, turning to wander around the studio some more. If they’re going to be kicked out, she wants to spend as much more time as she can here.

--

Kurt’s mind is a storm. He doesn’t know where to start with this new information -- with an evening that took such a sharp turn from reminiscing and sad and somewhat painful into just… something so completely different and unexpected.

Dinner Kurt can do. He can put the craziness of ghosts aside because dinner is easy, dinner is simple; dinner is important.

His dad has already set everything out so Kurt takes his seat across from him, sending a not-completely-true nvm everything’s fine, sorry for worrying you text to Mercedes, who finally got back to him at some point when he was distracted…

Distracted talking to ghosts.

“How’s it going?” Burt asks as he sits down and it takes Kurt a second to remember he must be talking about cleaning the studio, and not actually about ghost musicians.

Ghosts don’t exist. There are no ghosts in the garage. Don’t think about ghosts.

“It’s good,” Kurt says, poking at his food a little. “I’m starting with the loft.”

Burt smiles. “Those old instruments need a home.”

“Yeah,” Kurt says, returning the smile. “Mom would like that.”

The instruments probably belong to some ghosts, Kurt realizes, but… nothing he can really do about that. And that’s if the ghosts can even touch objects.

They eat in comfortable silence for a while and then Burt sets down his fork. Kurt looks up apprehensively.

“So I got an email from the school today,” he starts. Kurt fiddles with his fork and drops his gaze.

“Hey, it’s okay, Kurt, I’m not mad,” Burt promises.

You should be, Kurt thinks -- all that money spent for him to audition for and attend the music program, and for private lessons and sheet music and piano maintenance, just for him to throw it all away.

“I know those classes can be hard,” his dad says, and Kurt almost can’t take his gentle tone, feels guilty about it even though he appreciates it. “But… you still like music, don’t you?”

Kurt shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe?”

“I know the memories are hard, believe me, Kurt. But, every time I see you, I see Mom, you know? And I love that, I really do. Maybe, if you give yourself a chance, you can, too.” Kurt looks up hesitantly to see his dad’s gentle, loving expression and eyes slightly glassy with tears. Looking down again, he swallows, and nods.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I will. I’ll try.”

Because what he said to Mercedes earlier on the staircase is true, but… he’ll always try harder for his dad.

“It’s okay, Kurt,” Burt assures him. “We’ll figure it out, I promise.”

Kurt smiles and almost starts eating again, but music suddenly blares from outside, startling both of them, Kurt barely holding back a loud swear.

“What is that?” Burt says, getting up but Kurt rushes to reassure him, saying quickly, “I must have just left the CD player on in the garage! It’s fine, I’ll go get it!”

He runs back to the studio where the ghosts are still there apparently, and have somehow gotten instruments from the loft and set everything up to start playing, and play really loudly -- and it honestly sounds good but Kurt can’t focus on that because they’re going to disturb the entire neighborhood and get the cops called on them for a noise complaint and what is he supposed to say -- no officer, it was just the three ghosts in the garage being idiots, sorry?

Kurt yells for them to stop but it’s useless; he can barely even hear himself over how incredibly loudly they’re playing. Blaine, on an electric guitar that Kurt remembers seeing in the loft, turns and sees Kurt, walking towards him and finally playing one last chord when Kurt makes a horizontal cutting motion with his hand, and Sam, on the bass, follows, Tina playing one last short drum roll, looking up with a wide grin.

They all look… alive, Kurt thinks, despite literally being dead, so different from the confusion he left them with -- relaxed and loose and faces lit up, the energy flowing through them almost visible. If he didn’t know they were ghosts and made of air, he’d expect to be able to reach out and feel them, breaths hot and fast from the exertion and adrenaline, skin warm and slightly sweaty, hearts beating strong like the steady percussion of their band.

It reminds him of how music used to make him feel.

“Cut it out!” Kurt snaps, trying not to raise his voice too much. “The whole neighborhood could hear you! I thought I told you to leave!”

Blaine looks back at his bandmates, bewildered. “People -- people can hear us play?”

“Yes!” Kurt says exasperatedly. “My dad heard you from inside!”

“… What did he think?” Blaine asks after a moment. Kurt opens his mouth for an irritated response --

“Everything okay in here?”

Kurt whips around to see his dad in the doorway and smiles with wide eyes. “Yeah! I just -- had to turn off the CD player,” he lies.

People have told Kurt before that he’s a good liar; he really hopes that’s true after the evening he’s had -- he's having.

Burt’s attention is elsewhere, though, seemingly forgetting about the chaos from just a moment earlier. “Wait, is this the junk that was in the loft?” he says, excitedly eyeing the instruments and… the ghosts that he can’t see.

“Junk?” Blaine exclaims. Tina stands up, her eyes on Burt, drumsticks gripped tightly in one hand.

They all watch apprehensively as Burt weaves through the instruments, even going so far as to rattle Tina’s cymbals and tap the drums, much to her horror. She fixes Kurt with wide, urgent eyes, to which Kurt just shrugs and gives her a helpless look. Hey Dad, actually, the ghost drummer wants you to stop, so…

“Hey, this stuff’s in pretty good shape,” Burt says excitedly. “Maybe we can make a couple bucks, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Kurt agrees weakly, mostly just watching as Tina fails to push Burt away from the drums.

“I like the song you had on,” Burt says, finally stepping away from the instruments. Tina rubs down a cymbal with her sleeve.

“Sweet! We’re Sunset Curve,” Blaine pipes up.

“Tell your friends!” Sam says, to a fond eye-roll from Tina.

“It’s just an old CD I found,” Kurt says, ripping his attention from the ghosts.

“Well, it’s nice that you’re listening to music again,” Burt says sincerely. “Out here, you can play whatever you want, whenever you want.” He waves his hands out on either side for emphasis, going through Sam and Blaine’s bodies. Kurt chuckles weakly.

“Oh,” Sam says, looking down at where Burt’s hand was in his stomach just a moment before. “That’s nice.”

“Stay out of this,” Kurt hisses.

“Sorry, Kurt, I’m just trying to help -- ”

“Oh! No, not you, Dad,” Kurt says quickly. For fuck’s sake -- “Just -- just give me a minute -- ” He starts pulling his dad toward the door. Burt stops him and says, “Hey, we’re gonna figure out this music program thing, okay?”

“Thanks, Dad,” Kurt says with a smile, and gestures for him to leave.

Once Burt is out of sight, he turns back to the ghosts.

“Wait -- ” Tina waves her drumsticks around a little. “So -- only you can see us, but everyone can hear us?” Kurt nods in confirmation. “What kind of ghosts are we?” Tina says.

“Who cares, dude!” Sam says, stepping up to Tina’s drum kit with a grin. “People can hear us play!” The three exchange fist-bumps as Blaine says happily, “We might be dead, but our music isn’t.”

“And Kurt’s dad likes our music!” Sam cheers.

“He’s a dad, it doesn’t count,” Tina mumbles, smiling and pushing Sam playfully when he turns to her with an offended look.

Confusion and annoyance bubble up inside Kurt along with something like anger at, just, all of it and he groans and says loudly, “Why can’t you guys just be normal ghosts? You know, go hang out at an old mansion or something! I hear Pasadena’s nice!” and turns to leave, slamming the door on his way out.

He just… has had too much going on today. He needs to -- ignore his homework and the problem with school and maybe just sleep in for the next two days. That would be really nice.

He’s so caught up in his head and he jumps and yells when a ghost appears in front of him with no warning.

“Don’t do that!” Kurt exclaims.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Blaine says quickly. “ -- You do know how rad this is though, right? People -- people can hear us play!”

“Yeah, good for you,” Kurt replies, a little too harshly. “It’s just that I’ve had a really, really, awful day. I’ve gotta go.”

He walks past Blaine just to turn around again when he says, “I’m really sorry you had a bad day.” Kurt nods; he can tell Blaine wants to say more, so he waits.

Blaine continues slowly, “I just… three ghosts just found out they had a bad twenty-five years, and then they find out that the one thing they lived for in the first place, they can still do. So you can kick us out, but -- we’re not giving up music. We can play again; that’s a gift no musician would ever turn down,” he says earnestly, eyes wide and almost pleading.

That hurts in Kurt’s chest a little more than it should and he looks down again to avoid the passion and excitement shining clearly in Blaine’s eyes, in his voice, in his words. He swallows down the feeling that statement unearths inside of him, but suddenly his bad day is at the forefront of his mind again -- his bad year.

That’s a gift no musician would ever turn down … some musician he is, then. But he already knew that.

Blaine says softly, “You’ve gotta know that. Clearly your mom is into music.”

Kurt swallows. “Was,” he says, monotone and quiet. “She passed away.”

He hates that it’s become easier to say; he wants to either spit the words out or break down sobbing but he manages to keep his voice steady. (In the back of his mind, he wonders why he just told that to a random ghost he just met. Maybe he’s just going crazy. He’s literally talking to ghosts, after all.)

Blaine’s face falls. “I -- I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“Yeah, we -- we didn’t know,” Sam says quietly. He and Tina have also left the studio, standing on the other side of the low wall separating the garage area from the pathway back to the house. They look up with sympathetic eyes and Kurt looks away from them too -- can’t meet any of their wide, well-meaning gazes right now.

“It’s fine,” he dismisses. “Sorry I got mad.” The ghosts are thankfully looking at each other now, seemingly silent conversation passing between their glances. “You guys are pretty good,” Kurt says, trying to change the subject and lighten the atmosphere.

Blaine raises an eyebrow, turning his gaze back to Kurt. “‘Pretty good’? You know that’s just, like, 25 years of rust being dusted off, right?”

“Do you play, too?” Tina asks.

“No, no, I don’t play.” It’s not exactly a lie anymore but it scrapes in Kurt’s throat with his haste to answer. “That’s all my mom’s stuff in there.”

“She’s an amazing songwriter,” Blaine says.

“Yeah, she was,” Kurt answers. “Wait… how do you know?”

Blaine opens his mouth, glancing at the others for a second. “We found a song on the piano,” he says. “If it’s hers… your mom was really talented.”

Kurt nods. She really, really was.

He feels like he doesn’t have the energy to say it again, so he just stays quiet. Somewhat awkwardly, he turns to leave, sensing the end of the conversation and part of him desperately wanting to just leave and not have to see these ghosts again….

So Kurt surprises even himself when he pauses and turns back to face them. “I guess,” he starts, and their gazes snap back up to him. “If you need a place to stay… you can stay in there.” He nods toward the studio and the ghosts’ faces light up. Kurt can’t help but smile back. “There’s a couch that turns into a bed, and in the back there’s a bathroom with a shower, if you still need any of that stuff.”

“Awesome!” Sam exclaims quietly, earning an elbow in the side and a questioning look from Tina. “What? Dude, I just really like showers,” he defends.

Tina rolls her eyes. Kurt takes a breath, raising his hands to gesture vaguely at the three of them. “This is just… too weird.” He nods to himself, finally leaving this time, leaving the ghosts to… do what they will.

The fact that there are ghosts in his mom’s studio…. Maybe there’s a chance that Mom knows them -- sent them, he thinks… but decides to not get his hopes up. She’s gone and he needs to just keep it at that.

What he really wants is to tell Mercedes, but he doesn’t know how.

What would you say if I told you there were three ghosts living in my mom’s studio? Kurt thinks on his way back to his room.

You’d say I’m crazy.

--

It’s some point in the night; they figured out that they don’t need to sleep -- can’t sleep, it seems like, which is honestly really annoying in Tina’s opinion because they’re ghosts with literally nothing to do for too many hours at a time -- so they’re just hanging out in the studio, with the lights outside giving them a little visibility through the garage windows, but it’s kind of nice to just sit in the dark.

Tina has been on the couch with Sam, lying on their backs, heads in opposite directions, legs pressed up against each other. Sam’s bass is unplugged, laid on his stomach and extending over Tina’s legs. He plucks out notes and Tina accompanies with a soft beat using just her hands and body parts as instruments. Sometimes it’s a familiar bassline -- a Sunset Curve song rehearsed or performed or recorded before -- and they also hum the harmonies that they know, and sometimes they improvise -- Tina storing the good bits in her mind for a future writing session.

Blaine is in the loft where they hoped a light could be on and maybe go unnoticed. Tina assumes that he’s writing; he always was when they were alive. And of course, now he has 25 years of dark room and relative nothingness to catch up on writing about.

It feels like another quiet night from when they were alive, each of them with an excuse to escape their homes for the night, and they’d all crash here, filling the studio with soft music and noise. Blaine would stay up writing and sometimes singing while Sam and Tina (and Artie) would try to sleep, telling him to stop humming, or, since the main house inhabitants who would care about the noise were rarely there, they would sometimes join along with him and make it a Sunset Curve midnight rehearsal.

They’ve never had the best sleep schedules anyway.

Tina giggles quietly as she and Sam play into nothingness, both parts running uncontrolled and unable to get back on track. They both stop and Sam starts playing a familiar line -- parts they’d worked out before with bass, drums, and both guitars, but never actually put into a song. Tina waits for a moment to come in with her part.

She’s nearly startled off the couch when Blaine poofs down beside the couch with his guitar and starts his part. Tina starts laughing -- probably too loud but they’re pretty sure only their music can be heard anyway -- and slides off the couch to sit on the ground, picking the drumming back up on her legs.

“You guys wanna check out this teleportation thing?” Blaine asks, playing the challenging guitar riff meant for electric guitar messily on his acoustic without a pick.

Sam sits up and puts his bass to the side. “Absolutely,” he says. “Where’re we going?”

“I have an idea,” Blaine says, setting his guitar down. He pulls Tina up and extends a hand out for Sam. “I think I can take you guys with me.”

“What?” Tina squeaks, but a second later, she’s sitting far above the ground, outside, on top of the marquee of the Orpheum. “Oh my god,” she mutters, looking down dizzily at the people passing by on the sidewalk. Her body tingles with a weird uncomfortable energy for just a few seconds before it fades.

“Yes!” Blaine laughs, kicking his legs up excitedly. “I mean, I know being a ghost isn’t our first choice, but it sure is easy getting around!”

“Easy for you, maybe!” Sam cries on Blaine’s other side. “I lost my shirt on that one!”

Tina looks over and sure enough, Sam is shirtless. She stifles a laugh behind her hand. “Like that’s a concern,” she pipes up, but Sam’s shirt appears right as she says it. They all laugh and sit in silence for a moment.

“So why’d you bring us here?” Tina asks, looking out across Hollywood Boulevard, the new and old buildings and shops, the people and cars of the future. The light of the Orpheum’s neon sign shines in her periphery, same as it did on a night twenty-five years ago. “Just another reminder of where we never got to play,” she says wryly, turning to face Blaine on her left, patting his shoulder. “Thanks, Blaine.”

Blaine rolls his eyes. “I’m telling you guys, it’s not over yet!” Tina reappears on the sidewalk right below them, almost losing her balance and falling through a person walking past. She shoots a glare at Blaine for teleporting them with no warning again, but he just grins back and starts down the sidewalk, Sam following. “Let’s see how many places we can play tonight, yeah? Check out the music scene of the future? And no trouble getting into those clubs anymore!”

Tina laughs, falling into step with them. She watches Sam walk straight through someone going in the opposite direction and doesn’t realize someone is in her way, which shouldn't be a problem, until she bumps into them.

She feels them.

“Hey!” she says involuntarily, turning to see who it was -- another ghost? A tall man with a cape and top hat nods at her with an acknowledging and almost menacing gleam in his eye, then turns again and walks away.

He could see her, he could touch her -- he has to be another ghost, right?

“Tina, you coming?” Sam calls. She swallows and takes one last look, the other ghost having disappeared among the other people on the sidewalk, before turning and running to catch back up with the guys.

“I just ran into someone,” she says, a little breathless -- she doesn’t know if that’s from running, which she doesn’t think she can actually get breathless from, or the fact that she ran into someone.

“Another ghost?” Blaine says.

“I mean, it has to be, right? Uh, Kurt -- Kurt can see us but he can’t touch us…”

“And his dad couldn’t either,” Sam adds.

“It must have been another ghost. He looked like a… performer, or something.” Tina wrinkles their nose a little as she remembers his whole get-up, completely out of place among what she’s seen so far of 21st century street fashion. (But then again, so is she, and her friends.)

“… I guess we’re not alone, then,” Blaine says, breaking a short bewildered silence.

“We’re never alone!” Sam exclaims, walking between them to throw his arms around Blaine and Tina’s shoulders. Tina laughs and grabs his forearm, mystery ghost forgotten for the time being.

Blaine responds with a grin, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

--

Kurt wakes up earlier than usual the next morning. He thinks he still has school -- he doesn’t know how being removed from the music program works, but no one told him not to come and besides, he does have non-music classes to keep up with, even if he doesn’t necessarily want to. He gets ready as usual, leaving breakfast out for his dad, and there’s still half an hour before Mercedes should be getting here.

Perfect. There’s something he needs to try by himself… for himself.

He heads out to the studio with his things, a fluttering feeling in his stomach, but it’s different from the feeling before he tried to play in class yesterday, like the butterflies had turned to stone and were rolling around inside him, weighing him down and making him nauseous. This time it’s promising, hopeful, familiar -- butterflies fluttering normally, peacefully.

The room is empty when Kurt pushes the doors open and drops his backpack by the entrance.

“Guys?” he calls hesitantly, to no response.

He wonders if he should be worried about where the ghosts might be, or relieved for if they really did leave after all, since that is what he wanted… but he realizes relief is not at all what he feels at that possibility.

But if the ghosts aren’t here, then all the better for what he wants to do, so he decides to ignore their absence for now.

Kurt walks up to the grand piano in the middle of the room, thinking. There’s something… something deep loosening in his chest -- something about Blaine and the others and their intense passion for music that is so different from the intense judgment and competition at school that made it so impossible for him to play yesterday.

The way Blaine had talked about music…

The one thing they lived for in the first place -- they can still do.

A gift.

Kurt spreads out the sheet music that he found yesterday, just placed on the piano lid without a glance and it’s still there, so Blaine and the others must have just taken a look at it. He recognizes his mother’s handwriting, achingly familiar and beautiful in a minimalistic way, the neat notes and lyrics, clean and legible even without the help of staff lines. His heart stutters and he gasps a little as he reads some of it -- he recognizes the song. Something his mom told him she was writing when she got sick.

Kurt used to be so involved in her songwriting, but as she got worse and Kurt grew away from the piano (and from his voice), he never asked about this song.

She’d finished it.

Here’s the one thing I want you to know, you got someplace to go…

And he needs to hear it.

His fingers tremble slightly as he places them gingerly on the keys over the starting notes of the song. It feels completely different than it did yesterday; he doesn’t know if it’s the lack of teacher and students watching, the insanity of yesterday evening in between, the song itself… but the stones turned back into butterflies and it almost feels like it did before….

He wants to play, to make music. For the first time in a year, he actually feels like he can. And he needs to.

And if -- when -- it unlocks the memories… he thinks he’s ready.

Kurt takes a deep breath and plays.

[wherethewordsare]

Jay’s 500 Follower Title Event! (Pt2!)

This title was sent in by the amazing and wonderful @dapandapod and as always, betad by the love of my life, @kuripon. Thank you both for all your love and support.

So it���s come to my attention recently that I never got around to posting chapter 2 of “You Could be My Unintended” here on tumblr. But you can also read it here on AO3!

Part 1 Here

CW: A bit of angst at the front bit then straight into smut. Against a tree. Also a super long post! ((strongk bard rights))

You Could be My Unintended Pt 2: True to his word, Jaskier wore his gloves, his fingers always fiddling with the material as he walked. With them on, his lute stayed firmly in its case. He didn’t speak much either but that scent of sour agony clung to him like a new soap. 

It had taken Geralt far too long to find a mage that knew how to remove the bands. Every other one he asked would only look between himself and the bard and frown. 

“Why would you think that’s possible?” One had asked with a frown as he examined Geralt’s arm and then Jaskier’s. He looked between them again and shook his head. “I don’t, it’s as easy as all that.” 

One after the other had been the same, for nearly three months. Geralt found himself sleeping in the stables more often than not when there wasn’t two rooms for them in the towns. He really didn’t mind. It tended to be drier than just camping on the edge of the village. 

As the weeks dragged on, Geralt realized he had barely heard Jaskier speak, let alone sing. They traveled together and set camp together, but other than that, he made a point to avoid Jaskier. Most nights he found himself tracing the lines that made up the lute strings around his arm with a heavy heart. This was the most of Jaskier he would ever get to have, a few mere lines etched into his skin like a handfasting.  

Geralt trailed a finger tip around where the flower was wrapped around his knuckle and hummed. The skin there felt warmer than the rest of him, like there was something underneath, quietly burning. 

Some nights from the stables, Geralt could hear Jaskier singing well into the night. He wasn’t sure when he had realized that some of those nights, it was because Jaskier had opened the window of his rented room and sang out into the night. Geralt was thankful for the shelter of the stables as he carefully made his way to linger just behind one of the support beams. He caught sight of Jaskier leaning against his window, his face up turned to the night sky. He wasn’t wearing his gloves and his fingers traced the broad lines that looked like wrought iron shackles from the ground. They must have felt that way to him, Geralt thought, and retreated back to the stall, trying not to wonder about the words of Jaskier’s latest lament of unreturned love. 

There was word of a sorcerer just south of the Blue Mountains that was familiar enough with elven magic to make the trip worth it. Jaskier followed, his hands constantly moving in their gloves as he walked alongside Roach. 

“You know…” He started to say before he snapped his jaw shut again, looking out over the field. 

“Hmm?” Geralt’s own hands were gloved, tightly wrapped around the reins. The night before, they had camped at the edge of a lake and Geralt couldn’t help but notice the way Jaskier had given him a wide breadth. It wasn’t like Jaskier to step away from Geralt. He still held that anxious sour smell to him that now over ran every bit of sweet that usually clung to him when they traveled together. 

“I was just thinking. We could just do this trip later in the year. I’m sure you’d still find better contracts south of here,” Jaskier pointed out, even as he didn’t look back up at Geralt. 

“Figured you’d be eager to be rid of me,” Geralt said flatly and immediately regretted it as more of the sourness Jaskier carried wafted into the air. 

“Geralt…” he finally looked up at him and there was something unreadable in his eyes. Geralt only shook his head at him and urged Roach on a little faster. He didn’t think he could hear if that was the case from Jaskier. It would be easier for him when Jaskier just simply wasn’t there one morning, but for him to actually have to listen to a goodbye would have been far too much. 

They arrived well before dark and Geralt was thankful for that, at least. It meant Jaskier would be able to make it back to the village in relative safety. Not that Geralt wasn’t about to follow him just to make sure he made it anyways, but still. 

When the sorcerer opened the door, he took one look at Geralt and raised an eyebrow. 

“Well, you two might as well come in. As miserable as you look, I imagine I’ll have my work cut out for me.” He stepped aside and let them into the small one room cottage. He pointed to a low bench by the table and told them to sit while he started putting together an assortment of crockery. “Going to be one of those spells, I believe,” he said as he went along making tea. 

“We’re here to see if you can remove these,” Geralt explained as he pulled off his glove and rolled up his shirtsleeve. He glanced at Jaskier as if to say ‘you too’ and watched with mild confusion as Jaskier pulled off his glove with reluctance. 

“But…” the sorcerer looked down at the marks and then back at the two of them. “Why would you want them removed? The process is extremely painful and will cost you both dearly.” He frowned, his forehead wrinkling. “It’s no easy thing to make the heart forget, even harder when it’s two of them.” 

Geralt looked up from where he had been glaring at the floor. His chest ached. His heart would be made to forget Jaskier. He would be made to forget how much the empty spaces of his previous existence had been filled  and how life had been breathed back into it by his bard's presence. But Jaskier wasn’t his, and not even fae magic could change that because, for once, he had dared to let himself want something. 

“What do you mean ‘two of them’?" Jaskier asked before Geralt could. "It's just... there’s only one heart here that needs to forget,” He looked away when Geralt turned to face him. “We’ll only need the one spell, sorcerer.” 

“At this point, Geralt, I’m sure he can handle it and send me on my way when it’s done,”  Jaskier said to Geralt. He reached up as though he were going for a handshake before he clenched his fist and pulled it back again. 

Sour distress and bitter agony filled Geralt’s mouth. Something was starting to turn over and click into place ever so slowly. 

“But,” the sorcerer leaned away from them, his hands pressed together and he nodded towards their uncovered marks. “You both wear the marks of the other. That wouldn’t happen unless…” He stopped and made a curious humming sound. “Witcher, tell me. How many hearts do you think need to be full of someone else to make two sets of marks?”

Geralt blinked slowly, looking between his arm and Jaskier then back to the sorcerer who only nodded at him slowly. 

“Wait,” Jaskier whispered and looked down at Geralt’s arm. He licked his lips nervously before he looked up at Geralt with a cautious smile. “Geralt… Why were you so determined to get here? For me to wear those gloves?” He asked softly. That thing that was turning so slowly for Geralt had apparently fully flipped on its head for Jaskier. 

The sorcerer sighed heavily. He reached over and picked up the cup of tea he had been nursing when they had arrived. “The fae are many things, but they only bind the willing. At least when it comes to betrothals outside of their realms.” He raised an eyebrow at the two of them. It reminded Geralt sharply of when he and the other young witchers had done something fullhearty and Vesemir would catch them in the act, calling them out for their stupidity. 

Hope, warm and sweet like honey and wheat and sword oil cut through every sense. Geralt watched in wonder as Jaskier tilted his head at him with his bottom lip caught in his teeth. 

“Because I assumed you didn’t want... me,” he finished lamely as he looked down to where their arms lay bare next to each other. The bands around Jaskier’s wrist made the skin surrounding  them stark pale in comparison. The wolf around his ring finger seemed to shift and shiver, waiting to sprint. 

Jaskier was the one who turned back to the sorcerer with a sad smile, laughing wetly. “I apologize. We’ve seemed to have taken up so much of your valuable time.” He pulled out coins and handed them over easily. “For your trouble and our idiocy.” Jaskier looked back at Geralt with a weak grin and nodded towards the door. “Come on, you big oaf. We should talk.”

Geralt followed Jaskier out of the cottage and down the path. His feet carried him almost automatically as he went, not knowing where Jaskier was taking him but somehow trusting him all the same. He had always trusted Jaskier, without fail. He felt like this was more important than being stitched back together after a battle or sleeping next to some kid he had picked up in a dusty little back water that he had only really known for a week. Even then, he had trusted him enough to fall asleep around the same camp fire. 

“Who do you think was going to be drinking that potion, Geralt? Whose heart was supposed to forget?” Jaskier turned, his hands crossed back over his chest. He was holding the gloves in one hand, clenched tightly as if trying to anchor himself. 

“I was going to… Mine. I had to forget that… If you were ever going to be free from those marks. From… my marks…” Geralt looked down to where the black bands were peeking out from under the cuff of Jaskier’s doublet. 

“But you have marks, my marks, too,” Jaskier pointed out as though he were pointing out a cloud in the sky on a day that there wasn’t supposed to be rain. 

“Hmm.” Geralt looked down and frowned, turning his hand over. The flower ring seemed to warm again under his skin. 

“Geralt…” Jaskier reached out and with a kind of twisting pain in his stomach, Geralt realized that Jaskier hadn’t touched him at all since they had first woken up with their tattoos. All the casual light touches, the long nights patching Geralt up, the playful nudges when Geralt was taking up too much room in a shared bed. Geralt had been avoiding all of those, knowing that if Jaskier touched him, he would have never been able to walk away. But here he was, leaning out into the touch like it was a life line. 

They both gasped when Jaskier’s hand closed around his wrist. Their marks began to glow and heat, bright warm light shining just under their skin. Geralt reached down, taking Jaskier’s other hand and letting himself finally run his fingers along the broad bands there, his thumb swiping over his knuckle where the wolf had rested. Those too glowed. 

“Oh,” Jaskier breathed. He chuckled softly and his hand squeezed around Geralt’s wrist gently. “Dear heart, why didn’t you say something? How could I possibly…” Jaskier swallowed thickly and seemed to have made up his mind about something. 

He pressed into Geralt’s space before the witcher could stop him, his hands sliding from where they had been on Geralt’s arms to around his neck, pulling him close. 

“I wear your marks because it’s the only thing I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember,” Jaskier murmured. 

Then he was kissing Geralt. He went slowly, giving the other ample time to pull away but Geralt only surged forward, capturing the bard's lips as his arms wrapped around his waist. The marks on his skin tingled and flared the closer Jaskier pushed into his arms. Geralt was remotely aware of the glowing light around his shoulders from Jaskier’s tattoos. 

“I thought you were going to leave,” Geralt practically whined into Jaskier’s mouth, the bard walking them back slowly from the path. 

“How could I ever leave you, dear heart?” Jaskier hummed in return, pressing Geralt carefully into the trunk of a tree. “You’d have to send me away, and even then, I’d still find a way back to you.” 

“I claimed you in that wood, the fae tied you to me and I thought you didn’t-” Geralt pulled back again, searching Jaskier’s face. 

“Geralt,” he sighed, put upon and fond and smiling. “You’ve had me for so long, they didn’t need to hear the words out loud. Not when I was right there, practically screaming a confession in their faces.” He pulled away and Geralt’s body leaned away from the tree, swaying to stay in his arms. A hand came up and pressed him back gently by the shoulder and rested there. 

Jaskier pulled back his sleeve where it had fallen around his wrist and smiled at the marks there, glowing softly. “You’ve always had me, White Wolf. How could you possibly think otherwise?” 

Geralt wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s middle again, pulling him back under the tree. Their mouths clashed in a graceless mess of teeth and tongue and need. He groaned when the fingers on his shoulder slid up his neck and back into his hair, fingers tangling in silver strands. 

“Fuck,” Jaskier gasped. They were pressed from knee to forehead, panting into shared air. “Keep this up, love, and I’m going to have to do something about it.” It was a tease but suddenly it was all Geralt could think of. 

He nodded eagerly, guiding Jaskier’s mouth back to his before sliding his fingers down the bard’s chest to start plucking open the buttons of his doublet. Jaskier only laughed and deepened the kiss, licking into Geralt’s mouth with hungry abandon. A knee came up, slipping between Geralt’s thighs and pressed against where his trousers were growing tight.  

“You delightful creature, how have we wasted this much time.” Jaskier nipped along his jaw, one hand coming up to rest against the broad trunk of the tree while the other slid down Geralt’s body and squeezed first his hip, then his thigh. He tugged then, pulling Geralt’s leg up to wrap around him. 

“Is this… is this alright?” he whispered, nudging Geralt’s chin with his nose. 

“Jaskier…” Geralt growled in warning but it was tarnished by the soft keen he made when Jaskier pressed up again with his thigh. His fingers dug into Geralt’s leg, making him shiver. 

“Yes, darling?” Jaskier smirked, pressing light kisses to the corner of Geralt’s mouth and along his cheek. 

“Should have figured you’d be a pain in the ass in the sack, too,” Geralt grumbled. He gasped sharply as nimble fingers slid over his hardening cock through too many layers of clothes. 

Jaskier had a wicked smile in place as he repeated the motion, watching Geralt with near adoration in his eyes. 

“Oh, is it a pain in the ass you want?” He all but purred. Jaskier dipped his head down again, biting just below Geralt’s jaw, making his body bow and his thighs tremble where one leg was still trying to support him. It felt like Jaskier had taken on most of his weight though and Geralt was caught in a kind of free fall that sent his stomach swooping. 

“Jask, please,” Geralt’s hips bucked and his fingers tightened in Jaskier’s doublet, nearly ripping the fine material. 

“Fuck,” Jaskier huffed and slowly let Geralt down onto both feet. 

The witcher all but whimpered when Jaskier pulled away, his hands clinging tightly. But then Jaskier’s fingers worked his trousers open, a hand slipping inside without finesse, stroking Geralt roughly. 

“Here I’ve always thought it would be you to take me apart with those hands I’ve bandaged and cared for. But now I have you practically singing for me, witcher, and I think I could get drunk on those sounds alone.” He twisted his wrist deftly, pulling another moan from Geralt, far louder than Geralt had intended to be. 

“Perfect, darling. Fuck, you’re perfect.” Jaskier panted and pulled his hand away. “Let me care for you? Please, Geralt. This one thing. Let me…” Jaskier begged, though it seemed neither of them could really understand what exactly he was asking. Geralt found that he really didn’t care. If Jaskier was going to ask for it, he was going to get it. 

Jaskier kissed his cheek, far more chaste than what Geralt needed and turned, walking to their packs. Geralt clung to the tree, trying not to follow the bard and push him down onto the ground simply to ravish him. Years of hunger and need and something far more complex battled every rational thought he had as he watched Jaskier return to him, a bottle in hand. 

As he approached, Jaskier was peeling off his own shirt, his hands fumbling with his trousers and then those same hands reaching for Geralt. He stripped them both down, nearly dropping to his knees as he yanked down Geralt’s pants. Jaskier’s mouth never left his skin, biting and sucking marks into every inch he could get to as he unwrapped Geralt with a wanton kind of hunger. Words were murmured into his skin, soft promises and growled praise before teeth sank into his hip making Geralt buck and keen. 

He didn’t give Geralt a moment to register the cool air on his overheated skin before he was scooping Geralt up by the thighs and pinning him to the tree. Geralt automatically wrapped his legs around his bard and squeezed, pulling him in tighter as his hips grinded down eagerly. 

“The number of times I have thought of this, of you, of all the ways I wished you would look at me… And all it took was me getting us into trouble. You’d think it would have happened far sooner than this, hmm?” Jaskier chuckled. 

Geralt only growled, rocking his hips to make his point. “You talk too much, bard.” 

His low growls turned into soft whines as a slick finger was suddenly pressing just behind his balls. His back arches as he gripped Jaskier’s shoulders, his heels digging into Jaskier’s ass. 

“Oh, you like that, don’t you, love?” That slick finger traced back along Geralt’s skin until it brushed lightly over his rim, teasing in a slow circle. “What other noises can I pull from you? Would you let me?” Jaskier rasped, dipping his head down again and sinking his teeth into Geralt’s neck. 

The air left Geralt’s lungs like it had been punched out of him as Jaskier’s finger slid in, just to the first knuckle, slowly working him open as his teeth raked against Geralt’s skin. Jaskier’s free hand was in his hair again, scratching at his scalp. It was too much and not enough and perfect. Geralt bore down onto Jaskier’s finger eagerly, his thighs squeezing the bard tightly. 

“Jask… fuck!” He groaned and pulled Jaskier from his neck to kiss him. Geralt grunted as another finger joined the first, Jaskier pumping them slowly into Geralt’s tight heat. It had been a long time since Geralt had been taken like this, but he felt like his bones were going to melt from the heat that was building at the base of his spine. 

Jaskier became wordless, his mouth and free hand never leaving Geralt for too long as he took his time working him open. Once or twice, his hand would be pulled away only to return with more slick and more urgency. Geralt squeezed his legs tighter around him, rolling his hips to meet every thrust of Jaskier’s hand until there were four fingers buried in him and curling just so. He threw his head back and groaned, heat wrapping around his gut and chest and pulling him ever closer to the edge.

“Oh no you don’t, darling witcher. Not without me,” Jaskier chided gently and his fingers disappeared from where it stretched Geralt’s opening. 

“Then fucking get inside of me,” Geralt tried to growl but it came out as a groan. 

“Oh, scary witcher…” Jaskier chuckled, leaning in to kiss Geralt’s mouth gently. There was a bit of a shift and Geralt was being lifted and then slid back down. The blunt head of Jaskier’s cock prodded once then twice at his entrance before Jaskier rolled his hips up and let Geralt sink down onto him. 

They both took a shallow breath and held still, Jaskier’s eyes fluttering for a moment while Geralt clung tighter to his shoulders. 

“Oh ho ho… You really are just,” Jaskier rolled his hips up to punctuate, “perfect.” He buried his face into Geralt’s neck as he started at a slow pace. 

Geralt tangled his fingers into Jaskier’s hair, his eyes snapping open as the angle shifted and Jaskier’s cock hit just right, making him shudder. Something on his wrist caught his attention. The vine of the flower that had been wrapped around his finger glowed brighter than it had when they had first touched. The stems seemed to grow and spread, wrapping around his hand and then his wrist, warm and grounding. 

He felt supported, looked after. Geralt felt like his chest might have imploded as another thought came rushing in with the soft mutterings against his neck. 

He felt loved. Jaskier had- 

“Fuck, Geralt. I-” the bard bit off, his body shaking with effort as he picked up his pace. Geralt dragged his mouth back out from where it was marking up under his jaw and kissed him roughly, swallowing every wonderful moan on the bard’s tongue. 

Jaskier’s nails dug into Geralt’s bare thigh, clutching him tighter. He felt like he was about to shake apart, caught between Jaskier’s broad chest and the rough bark of the tree. His shoulders were going to be sore the next morning but he couldn’t be fucked into caring. There was a single minded need coursing through him just then and he was going to get it, so help him.

He clenched around Jaskier’s cock eagerly, his body gripping and refusing to let go the deeper Jaskier drove into him. 

“Jaskier,” he panted through eager moans, “Jask!” 

Jaskier only thrusted into Geralt harder, his hands bruising tight against his thighs as they jostled. 

“Come on, darling. Come on, come for me. Fuck… Geralt, I love you.” Jaskier pressed their foreheads together, his voice completely wrecked. “Yours. Of course I’ve been yours, love,” he babbled, giving the answers to questions Geralt couldn’t find the courage to ask. “Come on, Geralt…” 

Geralt’s heart pounded in his chest and suddenly everything was overwhelmingly good. His muscles went taut and he arched against the tree. There was a howling and his vision seemed to white out for a moment. It must have been him making that noise because his throat suddenly felt raw with it. 

Jaskier had followed him over that edge, spilling into Geralt with one final hard thrust, burying himself as deep as he could with a low groan. 

Geralt felt like he could float, the way his body nearly went limp against the trunk of the tree. 

“Fuck,” Jaskier grunted, his fingers petting against Geralt’s thighs. They were trembling. When did that happen? 

Geralt was set down carefully, soft hands brushing the hair back that had fallen in his face. Jaskier’s voice drifted to him as though from very far away and for a moment, all he could see was light, two thick bars of warm light that felt like coming home after the darkest of nights. 

Jaskier had been there, just a moment ago and then he was gone. He felt dazed but he relaxed into it, not worried that something might come out of the brush and get them as he leaned against the tree. It didn’t surprise him when Jaskier came back. Geralt trusted that he would always come back.

He let himself be cleaned up and led back to their packs. A single bedroll had been laid out and he was guided down into it. And then…

Jaskier was still there, wrapping around him, his arm around his waist and his head tucked under Geralt’s chin. His chest was bare against Geralt’s, though he couldn’t quite remember taking his shirt off. Jaskier had been the one that had taken him apart and put him back together again, strong and whole and wanted. 

There was something nagging at him though. Something in the back of his mind told Geralt that he had missed something. 

He turned and wrapped his arms tightly around Jaskier, burying his nose into his hair. “I love you, too. And I have always been yours. Without a question, I have been yours.” 

Jaskier sighed happily, hiding his face into Geralt’s shoulder. “I know, love. I know.” 

When Geralt woke the next time with his arm around his bard, he did not pull away because he knew then that there was nothing to pull away from. So he simply slid in closer and let himself enjoy the closeness of his unintended husband. 

[lilolilyr]

Tagged by @ongreenergrasses, thank you!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Way over 300! Tho it feels like it's been at 300sth so long by now, it'll be weird to look at once it hits 400 :D

Btw, funny how this tag meme asks for so much stuff that can be looked up by just... looking at my Ao3... without asking for any commentary by me? Lol

Anyhow, rest under the readmore bc this is 20 questions and Long!

Personal post - do not reblog

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

995596 - just a few more ficlets or 1 longer fic, and I've got a Million! Hey, maybe I should try to write one with... 4404? (I'd need to ask a calculator xD) words exactly... not rly a hardship with how many drabble exercises (exact wordcounts, 100 is the most used, I also do 200, 500, longest was 10000 exactly lol) I've already done... we'll see!

Over 400k for this year alone, and over half of that is my actual writing (not translations etc), I'm so proud! Last year I only barely hit 200k and that included a lot of translating work

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?  

Again, one could look this up in my works filtered - sorted by kudos? But all three of my incubus!jaskier witcher series are in it, part 2 of the series is highest with 1091 kudos, then a Venom halloween oneshot, and 'Belonging', a fluffy snake-crowley piece from my ineffable spouses series (yes, sth with under 1k words - 666 to be exact - is in the top 5... my poor longfics lol)

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

...I try to? But atm I have 202 unanswered (and I always click 'mark read' on replies so these are all comments on my own fic) even tho I told myself I'd not let it get past 200, and now I'm doing a tag meme instead of replying to anything so ummmm

Edit: 203 unread now

But I do love love love all the comments I get! And while atm it's still semi-manageable, if it ever gets to the point where I really can't manage to reply to everyone cause it's too much, i'd rly take that as a compliment lol :D I'd still try to reply to the longer and/or more thought through comments tho :)

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

*thinks* I have an MCD fic? But not only is that very much a case of ~posting a draft version that's barely in complete sentences insgead of taking the time to turn it into a real longfic~, I also just killed off the mlm couple I only semi care about and left the wlw couple with a happy/hopeful (rly don't remember) ending, so... hm idk whether that counts for angsty ending

Apart from that... I dunno, I just prefer my babies to be happy and fluffy? *.* i remember a mirror milippa in the mirrorverse one where in the end Michael is worried about lying to Philippa about her identity... there are some angsty TOG and Gomens ones but I think they end happy-ish (my memory is. Bad. but looking through my 'angst' tag I just saw a lot of h/c and 'angst with a happy ending')

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

They're all happy???!?

7. Do you write crossovers? If so what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Ahahahahahhahahaahaha

Check this out

I need you to know that all the works in that collection take part in the same universe (or rather, multiverse), and are alltogether just scratching the surface of my gigantic headcanon multiverse that I've been building in my mind since I was like 10

Actual crossovers other than that I don't remember writing

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yeh but I only remember clicking 'delete comment', as it should be

Recently I've just gotten a bunch of 'you Need to continue this' and 'omg why isn't there more' or 'this shouldn't end' type comments, not hate, probably not meant maliciously, but So Annoying (maybe espesh bc I don't want to just hit delete on these, but I also don't want to pretend it's fine, but I also don't have the energy for a fight, and trying to explain why that behaviour is entitled and annoying and that I write what I want to write and nice comments should praise what I actually have written, and hoping that they understand and don't get mad is... hard.)

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Check out my rated E and rated M in my works

Mostly femslash lately, but I did also write other smut in the past

Most is a bit dominant/submissive play, but I do also like good fluffy smut with feelings! Best in combo, really :D

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not in the sense of pretending someone else wrote it (that i know of), but posted to other sites without my permission - writing 'don't repost to other sites' etc did Not help, they even copied those tags lol, so I just let it be, choosing my battles wisely etcetc, I'd prefer for my fic not to be cross-posted by others bc then I can't edit or otherwise influence the fic anymore and don't see everyone's reactions to it, but as long as it's not someone pretending they wrote it, I only semi care, not enough to fight it tbh

PSA: I Only post fics to Ao3 (and WIPs/prompt fills to tumblr&discord at times), if you see them somewhere else that's Not Me and you'd do me a favour by checking them out on ao3 and kudosing&commenting there instead :)

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yup, one to Russian a while back, a floreleine (Gunpowder Milkshake) one to Korean just today actually, and I translated a bunch to German myself

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I made a TOG fic together with @cinnamonplums, well mostly I wrote and she made the art :D

Trying to remember whether I ever actually co-wrote anything... don't think so?

13. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Don't make me choose!!!

Atm Milippa is OTP bc I'm busy writing them for @discoveryfemslashfortnight (this is not a post to reblog for the fortnight), but I'm also still rly into Floreleine, Bering&Wells and Andromaquynh and Andronilynh, and I read a lot of Mirandy lately

All-time favs I'm not rly active in atm but will always be dear to me are the ineffable spouses, clintcoulson, heistwives, gosh so many more I'll stop here tho xD

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

A Heistwives Kinda Job immediately comes to mind

I also rly want to finish at least one cohesive original-ish storyline for the lverse that I already linked for the crossover question above, but I just have so much backstory (it's been over 10 years!!!) and it's... hard...

And everything else that's still WIP and untouched for more than a few months will probably have the same fate lol

Also have a few that haven't even seen the light of day at all, most recent a Mirandy ~what if Andy had been pregnant when Miranda hired her and how would it change the entire storyline~ bit - I wrote it in bulletpoints in one go as quickly as I could, I know I had the finished product in my mind, I don't remember anything now and don't feel like going through the bulletpoints painstakenly filling in the blanks

15. What are your writing strengths?

Writing one-shots quickly in one go

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Forgetting everything about a fic if I leave it in a draft for a second too long

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

There are many ways to go about it, and I think they all work (depending on the fic and the length and relevance of the dialogue)

I tend to leave single sentences as is, and for longer and important sequences use cursive and 'they said in xylanguage'.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

The Hobbit apparently? I remember thinking that fic was so long lol, it's 3k

19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

Kat/Ana from Reef Break, they have Such Shippable Chemistry, and it would totally fit Kat's player personality to bang both siblings (she's canonically friends with benefits with Ana's half-brother)... but the ship has one (1!) fic on Ao3 *cries*

20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

TOG Andromaquynh longfic In Your Stead has had the title since last year and probably for a while to come! I loved the story idea so much I really worked with several drafts and only! worked on that fic until it was finished so I wouldn't get distracted & forget about it, and the result was wonderful.

Tagging, if you want to do it, @sarah-fiers @purlturtle @cookie-sheet-toboggan @ussjellyfish @onaperduamedee @startrekgeorgiouery @rosalie-starfall @lonely-night @banashee @xvnot15 and everyone else who sees this

Questions to copy:

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?  4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? 5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? 6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending? 7. Do you write crossovers? If so what’s the craziest one you’ve written? 8. Have you ever received hate on a fic? 9. Do you write smut? If so what kind? 10. Have you ever had a fic stolen? 11. Have you ever had a fic translated? 12. Have you ever co-written a fic before? 13. What’s your all time favorite ship? 14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? 15. What are your writing strengths? 16. What are your writing weaknesses? 17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? 18. What was the first fandom you wrote for? 19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to? 20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

[inklingofadream]

Ink’s 2020 Fics

If you’re reading this post, you’re either a) a beloved follower of this blog, here on tumblr on new year’s eve as we wave this shockingly calamitous year into the sunset, or b) someone who’s seen one of my posts and clicked through to my blog, bc this is my new pinned post. Welcome!

According to my AO3 stats, I have posted 93,925 words of fic this year! So I’m gonna round it all up! Descriptions don’t match those on AO3, they’re somewhere between summary and stream of consciousness liner notes. check the links for full content warnings, pairings, etc

Of the fics I wrote this year, all were for The Magnus Archives with one exception. So because this is my post we’re starting with the exception! Also it ups the chances of someone seeing this v niche fic.

Love, love love- 1.2K, complete- Have YOU ever read Kurt Vonnegut’s seminal 1963 satire Cat’s Cradle for a college class and thought “gee, the narrator and Philip Castle’s first meeting would make a hilarious story in a first words soulmate au!” Look no further, because that’s exactly what this is! Also if you had that thought independently and organically dm me, i think we’re soulmates.

TMA fic (in chronological order by date of first posting)

Ache- 800, complete- y’know the period where Jon’s in his coma and Martin’s started working with Peter Lukas? That means Basira and Melanie are the only people in the Archives for a few months, and they’re both rlly messed up and traumatized. What my book presupposes is: what if they were angsty lesbians about it?

Magnus Drabbles- 19.5K, wip but with self contained chapters- a 100 word drabble for every episode of tma! including the q&as and such! except when i don’t have anything interesting to say, or i have a lot of thoughts and i wrote multiples. will be finished someday. Features some of your iconic faves, like the pioneer wife whose hubby wants her to eat him!

Fiance- 400, complete- Evan Lukas/Naomi Herne is my favorite rarepair. Herein, I took the line about her proposing and ran with it! Originally MAG 13′s Magnus Drabble, but it got too long.

she’s got you- 800, complete- Kind of a sequel to Ache. But doesn’t share continuity, just the concept of Basira/Melanie when there’s no one else around. This is Daisy’s pining perspective post-Buried. The beginning of my irrepressible urge to title tma fic after country music, even though it’s the least british thing i could possibly attach to this british podcast.

Excavation- 1.4K, complete- Jon and Daisy come out of the coffin and Daisy is like “:) best friends now! also i’m traumatized and touch-starved, so i don’t want you to stop touching me but i’ll make an exception so long as you stay in my line of sight :)” and Jon is like “:( I am a monster and she wants me to stay close so she can keep an eye on me :(” Jon gets a bit of a clue though, and then there’s platonic cuddling and showering and bed sharing :) I will never let go of the fanon illogical Archives Shower.

Till Things Are Brighter- 26K, wip- First Daisy time travel fic of many. My magnum opus, this bastard’s gonna be so long when it’s done. Daisy time travels and ends up back in 2011. Updates Tuesdays (what Tuesday will it come back from holiday break? idk, maybe the 12th, maybe the 19th. the muses will decide) Coming soon: Daisy, Gerry Keay, Naomi Herne, and Evan Lukas become a best friends squad; Annabelle Cane continues to freak Daisy out by matchmaking; Jon finally appears and there’s a 75% chance he will immediately be whumped (the other 25% is he gets a chapter or two of screentime and then gets whumped)

daisy time travels and jon suffers au- 53K, 3 works, complete- how the hell is this so long?! Daisy time travels and arrives mid-making-Jon-dig-his-own-grave. Then she forgets that context in the face of being Delighted to have her dead friends back and ends up kidnapping him into living with her. That was the whole original concept, but then people were really nice and kept giving me ideas, so it got sequels in which Jon gets rescued from Daisy, moves in with Martin, and comes to a mostly healthy friendship with Daisy. whump heavy

Reminder- 1K, complete- Oops! No one told Jon there were other Leitners out there until immediately pre-MAG4 and now he’s freaking out! Prompt fic for Rye 💖

horror molded to the shape you chose- 1.3K, complete- arguably my year’s most underappreciated fic. Contains multiple passages of my favorite prose I’ve written this year, but also bad ending/whump/body horror, so it ain’t for everyone:

Long-fingered and well-manicured; familiar; a squeeze of paternal affection that had flustered him as a young researcher, settled the anxious insufficiencies of the newly-promoted employee, pressed frustrated dread into the ill-informed Archivist, now endowed with the weighty sense of ownership they had never been allowed to express before. A voice as soft as their palms, too close to his ear. “It’s so good to see you arrived safely at last. Was the journey very difficult?”

Elias Hunt UK: Now Hiring- 1K, complete- prompt fic for peachyindeed, Melanie desperately wants a murder partner, missing scenes from S3

Coffee Date- 1.2K, complete- Daisy and Jon go out on a Regular Human Outing. Then Daisy both causes and talks him down from a panic attack. Gotta have that platonic touching bumping up against Jon’s issues with touch :3

hold you closer- 8K, complete- Flesh!Martin slowly falls into lovingly holding Jon captive (look I have a theme). Title is because while I was writing and editing it I had “Bubblegum Bitch” by Marina and the Diamonds stuck in my head, but only the lines “so hold me closer/and kiss me ha-ard!/I’m GON-na pop your bubblegum he-ART!”

Take Care- 1K, complete- cut scene from hold you closer edited so it’s unrelated to Flesh!Martin. So now it’s just a vague au where Basira’s working with Peter instead of Martin and Jmart are Being Honest With Their Feelings. Received one of my favorite reviews, from AO3 user takethebreadsticksandRUN:

Wow! What A Well-Written Ending To The Magnus Archives, A Podcast Distributed By Rusty Quill And Licensed Under A Creative Commons 4.0 Non-Commercial Share-Alike International License! It's So Strange That Jonny And Alex Decided To Let You Write The Ending Of All Seasons, But I'm Not Complaining! They Lived Happily Ever After And Never Ended The World! Nope! 

After- 1K, complete- Jon! Goes! To! Therapy! featuring my funky lil headcanon for the world where tma doesn’t end tragically, everyone not named Jonah Magnus makes it out alive, and the world goes back to normal except for everyone remembers the apocalypse happening and people who died there or from their injuries w/out Fear Vibes keeping em alive are still dead, so the whole world’s dealing with mega trauma, but not even the same trauma for everyone. and featuring a funky lil OC who thinks the other therapists Jon shopped around to who said they wouldn’t take him on bc of the whole starting the apocalypse thing are dicks.

[incomprehensiblelentils]

@dollsome-does-tumblr​ does this and opened it up to anyone and I am feeling chatty today SO!

Because I co-write a lot with my lovely wife, I might answer some questions including those co-written stories, or I might not, depends on how I feel when I get there.

name:

Megan but I go by Lentils most places on the internet, Shadowcrawler over on AO3

fandoms:

at the moment: MCU, especially Agents of SHIELD and Daredevil; Terminator: Dark Fate; Halt and Catch Fire. Oh and I wrote Dollhouse fanfics a thousand years ago. Sometimes I will watch a movie/show and think “those two girls should be gay” and bang out 2k of fic about it and then never write for that fandom again. (I THOUGHT this was going to be HACF but as it turns out, no, it’s not done with me yet.)

where you post:

AO3, at Shadowcrawler. I also have a tumblr @lentils-writes​ where theoretically I post links to fics/advertise them in the tags, because I used to be real precious about not putting porn on this blog, but fuck it.

most popular multi-chapter fic:

Co-written, it’s definitely mallverse, which is I think the reason most writers definitely hate us because it’s very long and there are a lot of tags lmao. The problem is that every tagged character HAS shown up in a significant fashion at some point so we can’t just...untag them! It doesn’t update weekly anymore because we’re exhausted by life lmao so at least there’s that???

As for a multi-chapter fic that was just me, I don’t tend to do that so much, so actually it’s say you will, my 3-chapter Endgame fix-it where Clint dies instead of Natasha and Natasha and Laura have a past. It actually has over 1000 hits which is very exciting! I feel like it’s...niche in a way that is frustrating but understandable lol. I put a lot of my heart into it and some people really liked it, so that’s gratifying.

favorite story you’ve written so far:

Co-written, I think our SHIELD Dollhouse AU is very underrated for the amount of work we put into it. Author bias evident here because I love Dollhouse warts and all, and it’s a lot of fun translating episode plots as well as the general trajectory of the show into stuff that will work with SHIELD characters. We don’t just rewrite episodes, we really try and rework them as needed. Also it features both Skimmons and my beloved rarepair Bobbi/Kara, though of course they won’t get together until later.

Of my own stuff, I’m still really really proud of the AU where Kara Palamas didn’t die. I think that was a pretty severe misstep of the show and I think I did a good job of fixing it. (I haven’t forgotten Kara, promise!)

fic you were nervous to post:

lolololol I wrote some uh. Terminator pornography last year and. They are very porny! I had co-written a bunch of smut obviously, but that was the first time I’d posted like, PWP all by myself on purpose??? and that was TERRIFYING. Also I was very nervous to post the Engame fix-it because that was my own personal goodbye/tribute to Natasha.

how you choose your titles:

They are always either song lyrics or jokes (such as Three Lawyers and a Baby, my Daredevil Accidental Baby Acquisition fic). My WIP docs are always titled either obvious shit like “RoseJannah horse girls” or memes like “what if we belonged to a fire cult and we fucked haha just kidding unless...?” or “Morgan has two mommies.”

do you outline?:

B and I typically outline for the co-written fics, although it’s more often chapter-by-chapter outlines since that’s how we write them. On occasion we’ve fully planned multi-chapter stuff out in advance but that’s less common. Oh and the one-shots are nearly always outlined as well, just to keep ourselves organized.

When I have written planned multi-chapter fics in the past I have used outlines - particularly for the Kara one and I had to do that for the SHIELD Kill Bill AU because I was trying to follow the format of the movie. For things that are allegedly supposed to be one-shots I almost never outline, which turns out to be a terrible idea when they inevitably balloon beyond my control and become 45k like say you will. That one, I wrote out a list of scenes I thought needed to be in it and then I wrote about 75% of those scenes and then I wrote a bunch more scenes I hadn’t planned for. Don’t be like me, kids!

complete fics:

According to AO3, 89 as of right now. Uh, you do not want me to list all of them, here’s a link, I guess!

in progress:

I don’t understand what the difference is between this question and the WIP questions lmao help????

posted WIPs that I have active plans to continue at this time:

Cowritten: mallverse as I said, and its femslash smut oneshots spinoff and character flashbacks spinoff and older characters/teachers spinoff (these get updated, uh, irregularly), the first half of a Piper/Snowflake SHIELD s7 fic that we are planning on finishing the second half of soonish, SHIELD Dollhouse AU, SHIELD Teen Beach AU, SHIELD Buffy AU. You may notice a pattern!

By myself, I have: Have Your Elf a Merry Little Christmas, a Terminator Hallmark Christmas fic that I ambitiously posted the first chapter of in 2019 and then lost steam immediately (I am going to go back to it sooner or later bc I had some cute ideas for it); the SHIELD Fate of the Furious AU that has one chapter to go and which I do intend on finishing eventually; Three Lawyers and a Little Lady, the Daredevil Accidentally Baby Acquisition AU that is literally just cute kidfic and poly avocados and which I have a bunch of ideas for and just need to buckle down and finish some.

posted WIPs that I have given up on:

Lol so there’s a Dollhouse Caroline/Bennett Doctor Who AU that I wrote purely as idfic and which nobody ever cared about except me, and I think that ship has sailed! RIP darlings. I also had an ongoing Skimmons series waaaay back when where I posted oneshots that were like missing scenes or gay readings for each s1 episode, and I just feel like it would be inauthentic to even try and finish it at this point. (It does include the first ever Skimmons fic to be posted on AO3! Really truly, there’s one fic that shows up as older but it’s an ongoing fic and was updated with the tag way after I posted mine.)

exchange fics due soon/unrevealed:

I haven’t done an exchange since like 2015 lololol I am so bad at them. I am currently working on finishing up my MCU Femslash bingo card, very late, and I do have plans for almost all of the remaining squares!

WIPs that live in my fanfic folder and are incomplete and who knows when they’ll be finished:

“RoseJannah horse girls,” which has been put on hold temporarily but is literally just Rose and Jannah being gay while riding orbaks

half of a Daisy/Gwen fic from Marvel Rising because I know they’re not making any more of those but I stg those two were really gay

multiple fics about Elise Nelson-Page including: avocados Halloween with smol Elise, Aunt Elektra very reluctantly taking smol Elise shopping until she realizes smol Elise also likes weapons (she buys her a fake katana), Uncle Frank is a pushover and spoils the shit out of Elise, and baby Elise has a high fever and everyone freaks out but then she gets better and smile at them for the first time (inspired by baby me lol).

coming soon/not yet started:

“Morgan has two mommies,” yet another Endgame fix-it where Maya Hansen did not die in Iron Man 3 and she resurfaces and she and Pepper kiss and eventually she adopts Morgan

Claire and Colleen go on a nice date to get coffee/tea where Danny doesn’t interrupt them goddammit

Bobbi/Kara Warehouse 13 AU which is sort of like “For the Team” but gayer ft. grappling hook

X-Men: Evolution Tabby/Amara fluff

Cameron/Donna character study disguised as smut

Grace proposes to Dani with a ring made out of the metal from her power source and Carl officiates the wedding 

Dani gets horny watching Grace eat a peach and jerks off and Grace ends up hearing her and then they fuck (I have been calling this “the peach fic” in my head but I gotta stop being delicate about it lmfao it is just porn)

B and I have plans to do a Nico/Karolina Jasper in Deadland AU but we keep forgetting

I MUST WRITE FOGGY AND KAREN SADLY FUCKING IN A CHURCH WHILE THEY MOURN MATT THIS YEAR I STG

do you accept prompts:

uhhhhhh I have on occasion written a prompt for someone before but it’s pretty rare and I have enough trouble writing the shit I come up with in my own head lol. but never say never?

upcoming story you are most excited to write:

I’ve got a bit of the Bobbi/Kara Warehouse fic written and it’s nice to go back to that world. Also I’m weirdly excited about the Cam/Donna smutty character study I mentioned above, I have a lot of what I think are good ideas for it and it’ll be fun.

tagging @unwind-myself @swiftzeldas @swashbucklery @loved-the-stars-too-fondly and, if you want to, you!

[damienthepious]

happy lizzer kiss babes! also, as mentioned in the notes of this one, lil heads up that i’m gonna be taking a little break from posting fic in november! and by “little break” i mean i’ll be writing 50k of a novel lmao what a good “break” i am so terribly smart. anyway love you!

A Moment As An Optimist

[ao3] [Ch 2]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Established Relationship, Forbidden Love , (alas.......), miscommunication followed quickly by communication

Summary: It is one of Damien's favorite events of the entire year, all revelry and romance and joy, and he cannot wait to share it with his lovers. Or- with one of them, at least.

Notes: Title from the song Heart of a Pessimist, by Be Steadwell, a song which also p well vibes with the fic as a whole. Also, just to... get out ahead of this a little, but I'm gonna be taking a break from fanfic for the month of November so I can properly do NaNoWriMo again this year! Which is exciting! But it also means that I'm gonna publish fic on tuesdays for the rest of October, and then November is gonna be radio silence from my end, on here at least. You can come hmu on tumblr @jakkubrat if you wanna see me just, shrieking at the void about writing in general, but I doubt any of y'all are interested in that. Anyway I love you. Hope you like this one! I intend to get the second chapter out before my little hiatus :3c

~

"And then," Damien says, gesturing wildly with his hands, "after the sparring demonstrations and the feast, the square is cleared and the musicians take their place of honor. They will play, and play, and play the whole rest of the evening. Songs quick and full of giddy joy, songs steeped with contemplation and longing and love, all manner of melodies in the in-between, and they will not cease playing- not until the very last of us has grown too fatigued for further footwork. Only when the very last of the revelers has succumbed to exhaustion, only then will the music finally fade into the more natural song of the night."

Damien sighs deeply, then, his hand pressing over his heart as he fixes his eyes on the middle distance.

"I'll admit the dancing is pretty fun, at least," Rilla says with a shrug, her own tone much more casual. "Food's not too bad either."

"Pretty fun!" Damien cries, his eyes sparking with excitement. "Oh, damning with such faint praise, my love! It is quite reliably among the most enjoyable events of the year! Why- oh, I could not possibly forget the year when you and I danced clear through until the dawn, and when finally we relented we were so terribly exhausted that we barely clung to each other long enough to stumble to the closest inn to properly collapse- a battle more draining that my greatest conquests, and still I do not think there has been a day I have laughed quite so heartily, nor been so blessed with your own laughter and love! Oh, Rilla, perhaps this year they will play that one particular song- that one with those quick triplets, the one that played just as they lit the lanterns last year, oh, and Arum! When the drums begin, then we could-"

He pauses.

"We- y-you and I could- could-"

Damien notices, quite suddenly, the low growl emanating from his lizard love. He notices the wince upon Rilla's face, as well.

Damien swallows, pulling his hand back to press over his heart as it sinks, and sinks, and sinks.

"We could... what?" Arum murmurs, slow and measured and vicious. "What, precisely, could we do at your festival, honeysuckle?"

"I-" Damien's breath catches. "I... I only..." he buries the hitch in his throat in a slight cough. "I... I managed to get quite ahead of myself, I'm afraid," he says in a muted voice. "So excited was I to share such joy... I did not even think."

"You certainly did not," Arum hisses. "How little prompting you require to forget, hm? To forget entirely that I am a monster."

"No," Damien says quickly, shaking his head. "I- I did not forget- how could I possibly? Arum-"

"Or to forget me entirely, perhaps-"

"I did not forget you," Damien says. "I forgot them. I forgot- I forgot every single thing in the world, besides you, and Rilla, and I, and... and the idea of spending a whole long evening with you both, dancing in the lamplight."

"I imagine the evening would be rather short, in fact. Hardly a minute would pass before I was slain."

"That's not fair," Rilla snaps, pushing off from the wall and glaring at the monster, but Damien's heart is still swirling and tumbling and the image- Arum at the festival, dancing at their sides, the cries of alarm and fear and hatred, the blades-

"Very little is," Arum snarls. "I am merely pointing out the obvious. It does not matter what we want- what he wants. That door is not open to us, and to pretend otherwise is foolishness itself."

"You know he wasn't trying to make you feel left out-"

"I-" Arum laughs, bitter and brittle and unconvincing. "I feel no such thing. I do not care. In fact- in fact, I do not have the first clue why we are still discussing it. Should you not be on your way already?" He snarls, and then he folds his arms over his chest, visibly settling himself. "Go on, then," Arum says, his voice flat and toneless, but Damien- Damien can't help but hear the current of pain beneath it. Judging by the way Rilla's expression shifts, just slightly, she can hear it too. "Go on. If this event is so terribly exciting, you should scuttle off to your Citadel and start your revelry already."

"Arum," Damien starts, his voice gentle, and Arum's snout wrinkles.

"I don't need your pity, honeysuckle," he hisses quickly, turning to pace with his cape billowing behind him. "We all know exactly what time we may steal away with each other. We all know what we are allowed, and what we are not." He turns his head away, his lip curling up to show the edges of his teeth. "It hardly matters anyway. I do not expect that any human celebration would be of any interest to me whatsoever. Music is only music and food is only food and I can very well find some of my own anywhere I should like."

"Arum," Rilla says, her voice quiet but firm, and Arum's scowl deepens.

"What? What, precisely, have I gotten wrong? In what way is my understanding of the situation flawed? I have no interest in-"

"I won't go."

Arum blinks, stumbling from his pacing to a halt, and his frill begins to sink as Rilla turns towards Damien again.

Damien shakes his head, feeling the tightness in his throat and attempting not to let it become evident in his voice. "I won't. I- I do not want to. It is only by necessity that I am ever anywhere that you cannot safely accompany. By Saint Damien above why should I ever want to revel and ramble and partake in such a joy if I cannot share it with the both of my loves? Why-"

"Oh, Damien-"

Rilla steps closer, one hand reaching to grip his wrist, and Damien feels the heat at the corners of his eyes and shakes his head again, more fiercely.

"This festival has always and only ever brought me joy, brought me closer to and more familiar with love, with beauty and delight, and- and I could not even consider those concepts for one moment without thinking of you as well, Arum, and- and- and I cannot bear the idea of suffering an event I once loved so dearly without you by our sides. It is unthinkable, I could not- I will not."

Arum stares at him for a long moment, his frill sinking further, his throat rattling.

"I won't," Damien says again, more quietly. "Not without you."

Arum inhales slowly, his expression folding into more visible pain, and he hisses through his teeth and winces before he responds.

"No," he says slowly, his voice low and rumbling. "No, I can't abide-" he pauses, and then sighs, dropping his eyes. "No. I didn't- I did not- I spoke rashly and- no. I didn't mean to- to-" he clenches his teeth again, lifting a hand to scrub down his face. "No. This... this event is... significant to you, honeysuckle. I know that it is not your fault, nor hers, nor mine, that we cannot enjoy it together. It is no one's fault, it is simply the truth. It is simply... the world, as it is. But-" he hesitates, and then he sighs again and steps closer, reaching to brush his hand down Damien's arm.

Damien sags instantly at the contact, immediately closing the remaining gap, folding himself against Arum's chest as Rilla lets go of his wrist, stepping up behind him instead and touching his back with soothing hands.

"But, little honeysuckle, that does not mean you both should not enjoy it regardless. Clearly I should not like to be without you, but I would be much more unhappy if my mere existence kept you from something you so clearly adore."

Damien blinks, and then he lifts his face to frown up at the monster. "But, Arum-"

"This is important to you," he murmurs. "And it is important to me that our arrangement does not prevent you from taking little joys where you can. I apologize for... for snapping at you, in my frustration." He leans down, nudging their foreheads together and sighing. "I am sorry that I allowed my own... that I turned my own pain outward to cause you distress as well. I want you to go. I want you to go, and I want you to enjoy the evening as much as you are able."

Damien makes a small noise, helpless, and then he wraps his arms around the monster and squeezes, hugging him tightly enough that Arum gives a surprised exhale, and then a low soft laugh.

"Oh Arum-"

"I want you to be happy, Damien. I want you both to be happy, even if I cannot be always by your side to be happy with you."

Damien hugs Arum even tighter for a moment, until the monster makes a small breathless noise, and then he loosens his grip enough that he can tilt his head, pressing a kiss to the edge of Arum's jaw, and he cannot help but feel the tears rallying again at the gentle purring noise that rumbles deep in Arum's throat.

"I love you," Damien croons, his lips still touching scales. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry we cannot-"

"It is no one's fault," Arum says again, even more gently. "What we have together already, despite the current conflict... what we have together is already something miraculous. We should not be greedy, I think," he grumbles, his voice performatively grumpy, and Damien chokes on a laugh.

"Oh, so greedy of us, wanting to dance together," Rilla grumbles behind him, her hands gentle on his sides, and he's surprised to hear a small note of sourness in her voice.

"Still," Damien says after a moment, soft and sad. "Still. I cannot help my feelings, cannot help how much I wish..."

Arum nuzzles Damien's cheek with his snout, sighing. "I know. Loathe as I am to admit it... clearly I wish, as well. We knew this would be... complicated when we began together. This is simply something we must swallow, for the moment. Perhaps, someday, we will not need to."

"I do not want to leave you here alone while Rilla and I-"

"I will be fine, honeysuckle," Arum says, shifting back enough that he can lift a hand to brush Damien's hair from his forehead. "I promise. To begin with, I am not alone, so to speak. I am never alone within my Keep."

"You know that isn't what he meant," Rilla says, and Arum rolls his eyes.

"Obviously. But I meant only to assure him that I will not be curled into a ball and wallowing. I will have company, should I desire it, and I will be fine. I apologize, again, for speaking cruelly to you. I've... gotten it out of my system, as Amaryllis is fond of saying," he says with a light sneer, and Damien can see him burying a grin as Rilla raises a skeptical eyebrow at him. "I will not be too terribly bothered by anything but the lack of your warmth. It is only one evening, after all."

"Well... I suppose, if- if you are certain-"

"I am certain, honeysuckle." He nudges his snout against Damien's temple, then, a sweet echo of a kiss, and then he steps back, squeezing Damien's hands before he drops them. "You should go. I will be dearly disappointed if I have managed to entirely ruin this evening for you."

Damien frowns, his stomach still twisting with uncertainty, with how wrong it feels to leave in such a way. "But-"

"He said he'd be fine, Damien," Rilla says, and her shrug is exactly as casual as her words, but when Damien turns towards her to continue to voice his distress, she-

Winks, with the eye that Arum cannot see in their current positions.

"It's just one night. We'll all manage to muddle through for just tonight, and then we'll all do something together later this week. Okay?"

Damien frowns, very lightly, his confusion bubbling, but-

Well. He knows her, knows that particular quirk of her lips, knows the way her eyebrows raise when she silently tells him to trust, to trust her.

He does, of course. He always does.

"I... I suppose..." he murmurs, still confused enough that he cannot think of any better words to say.

"We'll make an appearance, at least. If we aren't enjoying ourselves, there's no reason not to just... slip out early, yeah? And-" she turns to Arum, ducking her head slightly as she lifts a hand to touch his shoulder, smiling when he leans into the contact. "Can we just... come back here later tonight? Just to sleep, or- whatever. You don't have to wait up for us, if you don't want to, but-"

"Of course you may," Arum says quickly, frowning. "Always. You are always welcome and wanted, here." And then, as if to soften the certainty, the enormity of the always he has just offered, he scowls. "And I certainly will not wait up, so you may waste no consideration on that outcome."

Rilla grins, soft and bright and sweet, and Damien knows as well as she does that the monster is lying.

"I love you," Damien says again, because he cannot hold the words inside while they sit scalding at the back of his tongue.

Arum's expression softens, surprise and aching fondness shaping his features, and he steps closer again so he may pull the both of them into his arms.

"I love you as well," the monster murmurs, sighing into their hair. "Now go and have your fun, will you? I expect further tales of glory and exultation when you return."

"Love you too," Rilla says with a snorting laugh, rolling her eyes as she pushes his scaled arms away, but Damien's heart still aches.

"I..." he trails off, uncertain, and he clings to one of Arum's hands for another moment.

"Please," Arum says softly. "Enjoy the evening for me, if you cannot enjoy it with me. I will still be here, when you tire of the lamplight."

"Alright," Damien says slowly, and then he kisses the back of Arum's hand before he releases it. "Until tomorrow, then, Lord Arum."

When the Keep opens a portal for them back to Rilla's hut, Damien does his best not to allow his eyes to linger on his lily for too terribly long. Rilla takes him by the hand, thankfully, and her unruffled feathers soothe Damien's own jagged edges as the portal closes again behind them.

When they are alone, Damien sighs, but he rallies his nerves in only a moment, and he raises an eyebrow as Rilla's grin goes toothy and wild.

"Alright. Alright, my flower. May I know, now, precisely what you have planned for our love?"

"Okay," Rilla says, her voice nearly trembling with her sly delight, "so, tell me if you like this idea-"

[pepethehobbit]

VDS College AU

Okay so first of all, Hi everybody. I have never written anything in my life before, at least not a fan fiction, so please be gentle with me. Also notice that English isn’t my first language, so if there are any mistakes I am sorry and I am asking you to please point them out to me. In general, any constructive criticism is welcomed.

I originally wanted to wait for vds week to post this but I finished it and I would really like your feedback and reactions. I am truly very nervous, I usually don’t put myself out there, so please be kind, yeah?

Now to the fic itself. It’s sort of a little cracky, but not really, I tried my best okay? I was inspired by a fic called “I have hella feelings for you” by MacksDramaticShenanigangs on AO3. It’s an evak fic and it’s really funny and angsty, it has it all, you should all go read it. She was inspired by one particular tumblr post which you can find here.

Okay anyway, enough from me, I hope you enjoy the story, I had certaintly had fun writing it and for my first try, I actually kind of like it. Apart from the title, please ignore the terrible title, I couldn’t come up with anything else.

Speechless

It was Lucas first real day at the University of Antwerp and also the day he saw him for the first time. The week prior had been solely for orientation and no real courses had started. It was just a way to show the freshmen how the Uni works and a chance for getting to know your fellow students. The group he was sorted into was full of other art students like him. There was one student though who he clicked with immediately. He had platinum white hair and always wore, as far as Lucas could tell, a black leather jacket and chunky Dr. Martens. Lucas and Sander discovered that they share a portraits class together and decided to meet in front of the building before classes would start.  

So that’s where Lucas found himself right now, in front of the art building, waiting for Sander with a coffee in his hand. He was feeling a mixture of excitement and regret. He was truly happy that he could finally begin his new life, to study what he loves and away from the controlling grasp of his father’s hand. But did he really have to pick his first class on a Monday at 8 o’clock in the fucking morning? His thoughts went back to his friends back in Utrecht and he decided to text them about his poor life choices, throwing in a miss u guys for good measure. Obviously there was no immediate response, as they probably were a bit smarter than to take 8 am classes. When he looked up from his phone he was greeted with the sight of Sander jogging up to him.

“Hey Lucas, I am so sorry I’m late. Did you wait here long? I’m sorry but Robbe was being his extra cuddly self this morning.” said Sander in a way of explaining that made Lucas think he was supposed to understand.  

Lucas was a bit confused by this statement as he had no clue who Robbe is. “No worries, I only got here 5 minutes ago. But let’s go inside, I don’t want to sit in the first row.”  

They found some free seats at the back of the classroom and while they were sitting down Lucas asked who Robbe is.

“Oh, yeah sorry, of course you wouldn't know. Robbe is my boyfriend, we just moved in together. Everything is still a bit stressful with unpacking and we are waiting for the kitchen to arrive, so he needed some morning cuddles.” While Sander was talking Lucas noticed how his voice filled with excitement and how his smile got considerably wider as he talked about his boyfriend.  

Lucas was kind of jealous. Not of Robbe of course. But he wished for that kind of intimacy and love in his life. He knew he was gay and there were a few hook ups here and there back in Utrecht but never anything serious and always hidden from the outside world. His friends and his mum knew but he wants to have a person that would make him happy and that he could show off with pride. He doesn’t want to hide anymore.

“The kitchen should be there by Wednesday, and we are planning on throwing a housewarming party on Friday. You should come. I’ll introduce you to Robbe, I’m sure you guys will get along great, I can feel it.” Sander was grinning as he said it and Lucas easily agreed.  

“Yeah sure, I would love to come. I’ve never been to a housewarming party, anything I should bring?” Before Sander could answer the professor walked in and the class started. Sander whispered: “We’ll talk later.”  

The next one and a half hours were filled with mostly boring organizational stuff and one homework assignment. The professor wanted to have an overview of his students’ skills. After class Sander had to rush to his next course and yelled over his shoulder as he ran the other way that he will text Lucas the address for the party and that he looks forward to introducing him to Robbe.  

Lucas waved him goodbye and headed to the campus cafeteria, he didn’t have time for breakfast this morning and just bought a quick coffee to feel more awake. On his way there a group of three boys caught his attention. Actually it would have been hard to overlook them as they were laughing loudly and gesturing wildly with their skateboards in their hands.

But one of them in particular made Lucas steal a second glance. He was tall, maybe even taller than Lucas, brown eyes, a jawline that could cut glass, a smile that made Lucas’s inside fill with butterflies and dark brown hair that looked so soft and fluffy that Lucas had the sudden urge to go over there and pull his hands through it.He wore a red sweater that looked like it experienced a lot of love throughout the years and loose hanging jeans.

Lucas stopped dead in his tracks as he stared at the beautiful stranger. He only vaguely noticed the other boys, one with blonde curly hair and the other with a red and black striped jacket. The boys continued talking and it looked like they were trying to convince Hot Guy to do something. He was vehemently shaking is head while laughing as the others were nodding their heads enthusiastically and making a look around you motion with their arms.  

Lucas noticed that he was still staring at Hot Guy and quickly snapped out of it, he didn’t want to be creepy. And he had places to be and was actually really hungry now. One last look at the boy with the most beautiful and kind looking eyes Lucas has ever seen and he would be on his way.  

Only now Lucas was directly looking into them. An expression came across Hot Guy’s face that looked pleasantly surprised and caught off guard at the same time. Hot Guy held his gaze for what felt like forever and Lucas knew he was doomed. He needed to get going or he would develop a useless crush on someone that was probably straight anyway. So he quickly looked away and continued down his path to the cafeteria trying to get those eyes out of his mind.  

He was nearly at the entrance when he felt someone tap on his shoulder. He turned around and was once again met with Hot Guy’s face. Only now up close he was even more beautiful than Lucas could have seen from afar. He didn’t know what to do as he kept staring up at him in shock. Turns out he actually is taller than Lucas, if only by a little bit.  

Before he had a chance to say anything though, Hot Guy just raised his hand in the universal sign of expecting a high five while lifting his eyebrows expectantly. Lucas was dumbfounded, stared at him for a while longer and then just raised his own hand to slap it against the strangers. Because what else are you supposed to do when the most beautiful boy you have ever seen just comes up to you and silently demands a high five.  

Lucas is still in shock but the moment he wants to pull his hand away Hot Guy links their fingers together, swings their now joined hands back and forth a few times and says:  

“Hi, I’m Jens. We’re dating now. Love you, babe!”  

Before Lucas had a chance to respond or to even fucking process what the hell just happened, Hot Guy winks at him, let’s go of his hand, puts his skateboard on the ground and skates back to the direction he came from.  

Lucas was speechless. Truly and utterly speechless. What the hell? He looked after Hot Guy, or Jens apparently, as he skated away so smoothly Lucas was a bit jealous of his skills. He turned a corner and Lucas couldn’t see him anymore. Still being in shock he began to shake himself out of his stupor. He started to laugh as he saw how ridiculous this whole situation was. A few faces turned his way while he just continued to silently shake his head in amusement and disbelief of what the hell just happened.  

He stood in front of the cafeteria a while longer still unable to process what that was until the growling of his stomach finally brought him back to reality. He went in, bought himself a croque and sat down near the window to look outside to the other students still mingling around the lawn. Another smile began to spread on his face as he began to recall the feeling of Jens holding his hand tightly in his own.  

This is ridiculous, Lucas thought. Don’t get attached, that was just a stupid joke, there is no way that Jens was actually interested in him. Still the situation made him smile and secretly there was a part of him that hoped he would see him again even if the rational part of his brain tried to drown out these thoughts. As he ate his croque Lucas was unable to stop smiling.

The following days were normal. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. He hadn’t seen Jens again and Lucas tried to forget the incident as well as he could. He had met with Sander once in a break between classes to eat lunch. As much as he tried to forget Jens, he found himself telling the story to Sander. He told him he saw him before he was approached by him and that he thought that he was beautiful. Sander smiled knowingly at him but didn’t say anything and let Lucas continue. Lucas finished with: “Well I know it was just a joke anyway and I know he wasn’t serious, how could he have been, he doesn’t know me.”

“That sounds like there should be a but somewhere.” Sander smirked at him. He has this expression as if he knew something Lucas didn’t.  

“No, there is no but. Sure, he was the most beautiful man I have ever seen, but it was a joke and I shouldn’t get my hopes up in ever seeing him again. This is a big campus with lots of students. I am sure he pulls stuff like this with a lot of other people.” Lucas tried hard not to sound jealous, because that would truly be a bit pathetic. Jealousy for hypothetical people? Get a grip, Lucas.  

“Well now I am just offended, what about me? I am clearly prettier than Jens.” Sander smiled teasingly at Lucas but something else caught his attention. “Wait, wait, wait, I didn’t say his name was Jens, Sander!” Lucas saw a flash of an “oh shit” expression cross Sander’s face and before Sander could say something back, Lucas nearly shouted in surprise: “You know Jens! Holy shit! How? Is he a friend of yours? Did he tell you about that already?” There were some more questions racing through his head right now but before he could utter them Sander stood up abruptly and mumbled an excuse of being late to meet with Robbe.  

“You can’t just drop a bomb like that and go Sander, who is he? I want to know him!” Lucas said in disbelief. But Sander was already on his way, at the exit he looked back at a still very much in shock Lucas and said: “I’ll text you the address for our party tomorrow. Who knows, maybe your mystery man will be there. Then you can ask him yourself.”  

And with that, Lucas was left speechless for the second time in just one week.  

His initial plan to forget about Jens turned out to be quite hard after Sander had accidentally revealed that he knew the person that had left him so amazed. With the connection to Sander, Lucas let himself hope that he would have a chance of getting to know Jens. The rational part of his brain told him that he shouldn’t go to that party, Jens will be there and Lucas will just embarrass himself in front of him with his obvious crush. But his heart told him to go and to take the chance. Even if Jens really was only joking and he wasn’t the least bit interested in Lucas, it was still a great opportunity to make new friends here in Antwerp and maybe even laugh with Jens about the whole situation. Without revealing Lucas giant crush of course.  

So, that’s how he found himself in front of an older looking apartment building looking for the doorbell of Driesen and Ijzermans being rather nervous. What if Jens was really there? Or worse, what if he wasn’t? He was just about to contemplate leaving when a girl with platinum blonde hair like Sander’s arrived at the door and asked: “Are you here for the housewarming party as well?” Lucas took that as his sign that he should just suck it up and give it a chance. He smiled at her and said: “Yes I am. I’m Lucas. I met Sander at orientation week and he invited me here.”

“Oh so you are an art student as well? I’m Zoe by the way.” She said it while she pressed the door bell and a few seconds later they were buzzed in. They held small talk in the elevator all the way up to the top floor. Zoe apparently was Robbe’s old roommate and they knew each other from school. She now also studies law at the University of Antwerp.  

When they arrived at the top floor the door to the flat was already open, signalling any visitors where the party was happening. They could hear the music and faint conversations from the hall. Zoe confidently entered the flat and was immediately greeted by a boy with brown, long, wavy hair, in clothes that were at least one size to big for him.  

“Robbe! It’s so nice to finally see you again, it’s been way to long.” Zoe exclaimed while she hugged him hello. Sander appeared behind Robbe and hugged Zoe as well once his boyfriend was done cuddling his old roommate. He noticed Lucas standing somewhat awkwardly at the side of the doorway and ushered him inside.  

“Hey Lucas, you came! I wasn’t sure if you really would after our last conversation.” At that Robbe looked a bit confused. Sander turned to him and just said with a certain conspirational and suggestive tone to his voice: “Robbe, that’s the Lucas, the one your best friend and I told you about.” At that Robbe’s confused expression turned into one of recognition and he hugged Lucas enthusiastically in greeting.  

“Oh Lucas, of course. I have heard so much about you.” Now it was Lucas turn to be confused, because he genuinely doesn’t have a clue as to why Robbe would be so excited to meet him. Also who is Robbe’s best friend, how does he know Lucas and why would he talk about him a lot? It doesn’t make any sense.  

He tried to shake himself out of his confusion, just greeted Robbe in return and told him that Sander basically never shuts up about him as well and that he feels like he knows him already. At the mention of Sander talking about Robbe, he just blushed and looked up into his boyfriends eyes. Sander leaned down and pressed a quick but firm kiss to Robbe’s lips and it seemed like Robbe needed a few seconds to come back to earth.

“Anyway, it’s really nice to finally have a face to put to that story. Make yourself comfortable, drink anything you want, beer is in the fridge and if you want to smoke we have balcony.” At the last part of the sentence Robbe wiggled his eyebrows suggestively making it clear that he did not talk about smoking cigarettes.  

Lucas laughed at that. “I do actually have some with me. I don’t trust you Belgians with something so precious as weed.”

As Robbe laughed Lucas noticed someone coming out of a room, stepping into the hall and he had to suck in a breath. It was him. Jens. Hot Guy. But not in his red sweater this time. He was dressed in a blue button down, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His rather loose hanging pants from the first time Lucas saw him were replaced with tighter black jeans and that just really wasn’t fair to Lucas. His hair though looked still as soft as Lucas remembered and he is again overcome with the urge to run his fingers through it.  

“Robbe, what is taking you so long? I thought we were gonna smoke.” Jens made his way over to them and Lucas tried to prepare himself as best as he could. But nothing could have prepared him for the glory that is Jens up close. He must have already drank a fair amount, his cheeks were flushed slightly red and when he saw Lucas he stopped dead in his tracks and swayed a little having to hold on onto the wall next to him.  

It seemed like Jens got his chill back rather quickly though. He threw his arms up around both Sander’s and Robbe’s shoulders, standing in the middle of them. He didn’t look at them but held Lucas gaze steady when he uttered the sentence that would leave Lucas speechless for the third time this week. All of these moments had something to do with Jens.  

“Robbe. Sander. Allow me to introduce you to my future boyfriend.”  

Lucas gaped at him, not really knowing what to say, while Sander and Robbe laughed at this ridiculous comment. But then Lucas saw an opportunity. Didn’t he say Jens and he were already dating? He looked up at Jens and tried to infuse his gaze with as much confidence and cheek as possible.  

“Future boyfriend? I thought we were already dating?” At that Jens’s smile grew wider and he stretched his hand towards Lucas and said: “I’m Jens.”  

Lucas smirked at him and took Jens’s hand in his for the second time this week. “I know. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t even know your name?”  

“Well, looks like our help is not needed here anymore. We’ll leave you to it.” Sander pulled Robbe and Zoe, who was still standing next to Lucas with an amused face, away from the doorway and further into the flat leaving Jens and Lucas alone in the hall, still holding each other’s hands.

They stared at each other for a few moments without saying anything. Lucas noticed that the blush was still present on Jens’ cheeks and a hoop earring that he hasn’t seen before, that somehow just made him even hotter. It was becoming a bit awkward just standing there, staring at each other but Lucas for the life of him did not want to stop. He scrambled his brain for something to say but was saved by Jens interrupting his thoughts.  

“I must say, you are at an unfair advantage. You are definitely the better boyfriend. I don’t even know your name.”  

Right, yeah. Lucas totally forgot to introduce himself. He felt like they knew each other already, it was really weird what Jens made him feel in these short interactions they had until now.  

“Well that’s just rude. You always go up to random boys, claim them as your boyfriend and forget to ask their names?” Lucas said instead of introducing himself. He had way too much fun with this situation. He was finally talking to Jens, he seems funny and if Lucas is reading the signs right he is even flirting with him a little bit.  

“You were not a random choice.” Jens mumbled under his breath and looked down at his hand. Lucas wasn’t quite sure if he heard that correctly.  

“What did you say?” Lucas asked but instead of answering Jens just pulled at his hand that he was still holding and led him into the flat. As he walked in front of Lucas with their joined hands he turned his head back over his shoulder to look at Lucas and asked: “Wanna smoke?”  

There really only was one simple answer to that question. “Sure” Lucas said with a grin on his face so wide it could split his face in half. Jens answering smile was just as wide and he pulled Lucas through the kitchen onto the balcony. Thankfully they were the only ones with this idea, as they were alone once again as they stepped into the cool night air. Lucas was not quite ready to share Jens yet. He wanted to get to know him more.  

“This is actually a little bit embarrassing, again. I didn’t bring any weed.” Jens looked at him sheepishly and Lucas had to laugh.  

“You invite me to smoke with you, without having anything on you? That was a great plan really, you really have thought this trough, haven’t you?”  

Jens tried to level him with a look that Lucas read as “I am not impressed” and Lucas just raised his eyebrows at him in return in a playfully mocking way.  

“Okay, yes, I admit, not one of my best moments. Maybe I just looked for an excuse to be alone with you some more, you are my boyfriend after all. I don’t like sharing you.” Lucas was truly baffled. How could Jens seem almost shy at one moment and then just say stuff like that with a confidence that Lucas wishes he had. Lucas just tried to keep up with the banter and not completely melt at the sight of Jens so close to him.  

“Oh you mean the boyfriend you still don’t know the name of?” Lucas said with a cheeky smile up at Jens.

“Because you won’t give it to me.” And that was just the perfect opportunity for Lucas to tease Jens even further.

“Woah, woah, woah, that’s moving a bit fast don’t you think? We haven’t even kissed yet.” Lucas can’t help the pleased smile as Jens is having a coughing fit and trying to control his breathing again. He didn’t know where his confidence was coming from but he liked that it seemed to have an effect on Jens. The blush that went away when they stepped onto the balcony is back at full force as he sputterd out incoherent sentences.

“That’s not what I… I just wanted… That came out so wrong! I mean not that I would mind if we did, you’re gorgeous. Oh god sorry I’m making you uncomfortable, you barely know me and I just…”  

Before Jens could continue though, Lucas decided to save him. “Jens, oh my god, shut up.” He laughed while he says it, took his hand in his again and introduced himself. “My name is Lucas. And I actually have some weed we could share. It’s better than your Belgian shit anyway.” Lucas got his already rolled joint out of his pocket, lit it up and took his first drag.  

At that, Jens seemed to return to his chill demeanour and relaxed his shoulders again. He huffed out a relieved laugh and said: “Come on, you probably haven’t even tried Belgian weed. Don’t knock it till you tried it. Next time, I’ll bring the weed. I promise.”  

“Next time?” Lucas couldn’t help but ask, as he really wanted to see Jens again after tonight. He handed the joint over to Jens and he didn’t make a great effort to avoid their fingers brushing over each other.  

Jens smiled at him in a way that can almost be described as fondly. He took a drag, exhaled the smoke, looked Lucas in the eye intently and said: “Yeah next time. You really expect to never see your boyfriend again?”  

Lucas laughed at that but it came out weak. He didn’t know if this is still just part of the joke for Jens or if there is a part of him that really wants to see Lucas again. He just had to ask.  

“Why did you do it?” He looked down at his hands, avoiding Jens’ gaze while he waited for the answer.He didn’t specify what he was talking about but Jens knew anyway.

“Honestly, it was a dare. My friends came up with it. I was supposed to go up to anyone, give them a high five and say that we are dating now and then just leave without saying anything else. I didn’t really wanna do it, but I thought the idea was funny.”  

Oh. Well, that definitely wasn’t the answer Lucas was hoping for. Part of him thought about this as well. That it was a prank would be the most logical explanation for it. But the other part of him had hoped that Jens did it because he was interested in Lucas.  

“Oh, okay.” Lucas didn’t know what else to say to that. He must have done a poor job of concealing the disappointment in his voice as Jens chuckled, lifted his finger to Lucas’ chin to make him look him into his eyes again. Lucas saw amusement there and maybe also a bit of hope.  

“But then I saw you.” Jens said in explanation as if this would clarify any of the insecurity in Lucas’ brain.  

“What do you mean?”  

“Well, I didn’t want to go up to just anyone and do what I did with you. I thought the idea was ridiculous and I would only embarrass myself. But then I saw you… and I don’t know. I wanted to talk to you. So I decided to suck it up and accepted the dare. It was just an excuse to hold your hand really.” Jens explained with a chuckle. He then looked into Lucas’ eyes with hope and an edge of vulnerability.

“Oh, okay.” This time it was not disappointment filling his voice but absolute wonder and amazement. He didn’t know what to say to Jens so he just continued to stare into those beautiful brown eyes. Jens’ hand was still under Lucas’ chin. When did their faces get so close? He saw how Jens’ gaze dropped down to Lucas lips and as if on instinct Lucas couldn’t help but pull them between his teeth to wet them. He inched his face closer to Jens, dropping his gaze to his mouth just as Jens looked up into his eyes again. The corner of Jens’ mouth curled up as he made the distance between their lips even smaller. Lucas could feel the other boy’s breath across his lips. They were only inches apart now and Lucas was desperate to know how those soft looking lips would feel on his own.  

The balcony door opened and two other boys Lucas didn’t know stepped on to it. Jens and he scrambled apart in shock and looked at each other sheepishly.  

“Hey, one of you have a lighter?” One of the boys asked. Lucas, glad for the distraction, gave his lighter to him so he could lit up his cigarette. He was still trying to process the intensity of the moment he and Jens just shared.

“Thanks, man. You planing on sharing this?” He asked with a smile and pointed to the joint still in Jens hand which wasn’t even lit anymore. Jens looked at Lucas for confirmation as it was his weed. Lucas just nodded and for the duration it took to smoke the rest of the joint he found himself trapped in awkward small talk with these two boys and Jens. He just wanted to be alone with Jens again and maybe finally find out what those lips feel like on his. But the moment was gone and Lucas couldn’t help but feel disappointed.  

When the boys stepped back inside, Jens and him followed them. But before Lucas could step back into the kitchen, Jens reached for his hand and linked their fingers together. Lucas looked up at him in surprise. Jens only shrugged with his shoulders and motioned for Lucas to follow him to the living room, where many people were already dancing.  

And so Lucas spend the rest of the evening dancing with Jens and talking to him and his friends on the couch when they needed a break. He found out that Jens is Robbe’s best friend and at that he leaned into Jens’ space and whispered in his ear: “So you talked to Robbe about me, huh?” Jens only blushed and pushed him away just to pull him close to his side again. He found out that Jens is studying music, has lived in Antwerp his whole life, that his baby sister is called Lotte and that he loves her a lot. He found out that Jens came out as bisexual in the last year of high school where he just kissed a boy in the middle of a party for everyone of his classmates to see. Everything he found out about Jens that evening made his crush on him grow even bigger. He wasn’t just the most beautiful boy he had ever seen, he was also funny, confident, loving and just the nicest person Lucas has ever met. During the evening they sat closer and closer together, Jens never let go of his hand and sometimes he would play with Lucas’ curls in a way that it seems he doesn’t even realize that he was doing it. Lucas loved these moments the most.  

When the party died down and it was time to leave, Jens insisted on walking Lucas home, even though it was only a fifteen minute walk.  

“You really don’t have to. I know the way.”  

“Do you though? You just moved here, I need to show you the way around the city.”  

And who was Lucas to say no to such an offer. The walk home was spend in comfortable silence. Here and there Jens pointed something out to Lucas, a great cafe at the corner or the best place for fries in the city. Lucas tried to remember these tips but it was currently hard for him to concentrate on anything other than the feeling of Jens’ hand in his.  

When they arrived at Lucas’ dorm building, Jens turned toward Lucas and just looked at him nervously.  

“I… I had a really great time tonight. God, that sounds so lame.” Lucas just laughed but before he could say anything in return Jens continued. “Okay just let me say this. I just… I just want you to know that… that it may have started as a joke, but I would really like to see you again and take you out on a real date. If that is something you would want, I mean. You don’t have to of course. I know I am not your boyfriend or anything, that was just a joke. And even if you were my boyfriend you are of course not forced to go anywhere with me and you don’t need to fee-”  

Lucas just couldn’t wait anymore. A rambling and nervous Jens is just about the most endearing thing Lucas has ever seen. He pushes himself on his tiptoes into Jens’ space and presses their lips together. His hands go up to Jens waist and stay there even when he pulls back. He looks up at Jens who still has his eyes closed and his mouth hangs open a little, as if he is waiting for another kiss.  

“I really want to see you again too.”

At that Jens opens his eyes, looks at Lucas in disbelief and awe, like he can’t believe his luck. He smiles and pull his bottom lip between his lips as he asks: “Yeah?”  

Lucas answering smile is just as dopey and wide and he can’t help but look at the way Jens bites his lips. He wants to kiss those lips again. “Yeah.” Lucas says with a definite and happy tone in his voice. He has never been more sure of anything in his life.  

“That’s really good. Not gonna lie, it would’ve really sucked for me if you didn’t want to see your boyfriend again.”  

Lucas laughed out loud and Jens looked at him in wonder. Lucas hands travelled from Jens’ waist up to his neck in an attempt to pull him in even closer. Jens came willingly and encircled Lucas’ back with his arms. This time it was Jens who closed the distance between them. He rested his forehead against Lucas’ and just breathed him in for a few seconds. The intensity of this moment threatening to overwhelm both of them, but then Jens leaned his head down to capture Lucas’ lips once more.  

As Jens’ lips glided smoothly across his own, as Jens hugged Lucas so tightly there wasn’t even an inch of space between them, as Jens let out a soft moan when Lucas bit his bottom lip gently, as Lucas was finally able to feel the soft curls of Jens’ hair between his fingers, that’s when Lucas decided that he would never want to stop kissing Jens.

[ironhusbandsbingo]

And our final roundup!

Title: Halves of a Whole Collaborator: newnewyorker93 Link: Tumblr Square Filled: B5 - Halves of a Whole Rating: Gen Major Tags: N/A Summary: A new Iron Husbands-themed felt sachet design using the War Machine and Iron Man armors! At the suggestion of some lovely people in the TSB server, I flipped the arc reactor colors at the center so that they have each other’s “hearts” 💙 Word Count: N/A

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Title: Music Make You Lose Control Collaborator: Ducky Link: AO3 Square Filled: B4 - WTF Rating: Explicit Major Tags: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Object Insertion Summary: Tony gets himself a speaker buttplug. How long before the Avengers can tell where the sound is coming from? Word Count: 892

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Title: This Is Not Gardening (You Can’t Fool Me) Collaborator: Faustess Link: AO3 Square Filled: O3 - Post Canon: CACW Rating: Gen Major Tags: IronWarHawk, shapeshifters, sleepy cuddles, domestic fluff, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: Civil War, Cute Ending Summary: Tony and Clint are waiting for Rhodey to come back from his run. Tony's got an event later that day, but some things are more important than galas. Word Count: 1605

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Title: The Prince and the Knight Collaborator: cami-chats Link: AO3 Square Filled: O3 - Bedtime Stories Rating: Teen Major Tags: MIT Era, Established Relationship Summary: Tony demands that Jim tell a story before going to bed, but he keeps interrupting. Word Count: 658

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Title: My Very Own Tron Collaborator: cami-chats Link: AO3 Square Filled: B5 - Inside a Computer System Rating: Gen Major Tags: Established Relationship, Hijinks and Shenanigans Summary: Jim gets stuck inside Tony's computer, and he works on getting him out. Word Count: 584

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Title: I die with variety Collaborator: simi Link: AO3 Square Filled: B2 - Multiple Orgasms, B4 - Bruises I1 - Out of Spoons I4 - Workshop Sex I5 - “I’d Kill for You” N4 - Forgiveness N5 - Howard Stark G1 - Tight Shirt O3 - Words Unsaid Rating: Explicit Major Tags: major character death, immortality in a way but it will end at some time, explicit sexual content. Summary: The first time that Tony dies, he is four and he’s building his very first circuit board from scratch. He’s connecting the finished product to the multimeter to check the voltage, the current and resistance, when a lead slips, a shock ricochets up through his spine, and he sees black. He’s on his back, when his eyes flutter open, and he’s staring up at the ceiling. He gets up, frowning, rubbing at his eyes, and then, he sees the frayed wire on the end of the multimeter. Huh, he thinks and moves on almost immediately. Word Count: 3992

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Title: partner Collaborator: half wheeze Link: AO3 Square Filled: N2 - Study Partner Rating: Teen Major Tags: Alternate Universe - High School Summary: In which James Rhodes has 3 million things to do at school, and yet all of those things are interrupted when one thing comes into his life: Tony Stark, his new Fury assigned study partner. Word Count: 3322

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Title: Birthday Pancakes Collaborator: newnewyorker93 Link: AO3 Square Filled: N3 - Free Rating: Gen Major Tags: Fluff and Humor, MIT Era Summary: Rhodey's first birthday at MIT, ft. a special treat from his chaotic roommate Tony. Word Count: 789

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Title: to forgive is not to forget and sometimes you cannot do either Collaborator: halfwheeze Link: AO3 Square Filled: I2 - Forgiveness Rating: Gen Major Tags: Post - Captain America: Civil War Summary: Having meetings after the Civil War is essential if they want the Avengers Initiative to survive. That doesn't mean that Rhodey has to like it. Word Count: 1386

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Title: Baby Let Me Swallow You~ Collaborator: J_Gun_i Link: AO3 Square Filled: N1 - Deep Throating Rating: E Major Tags: explicit deep throating Summary: Rhodey finally is seeing his boyfriend again. He had made plenty of plans, which got derailed the moment they eagerly pressed against each other.

Or-

Tony enjoys himself, especially with Rhodey kneeling in front of him. Word Count: 966

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Title: credit differential Collaborator: halfwheeze Link: AO3 Square Filled: B2: Dum-E Rating: Gen Major Tags: MIT Era Summary: According to the newspaper, Tony Stark had invented Dum-E all by himself. That wasn't quite true, but he hadn't wanted to take all the credit either. Word Count: 1072

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Title: The Day Rhodey Met the Captain Collaborator: J_Gun_i Link: AO3 Square Filled: B1 - Crossover Rating: Teen Major Tags: N/A Summary: When Rhodey came home, he was perplexed to say the least.

Tony explained his sudden brust of cleaning away with a simple phone call and some guests coming over.

No wonder that Rhodey was cautious when two men knocked on their door.

After all, someone that managed to get his boyfriend in a frenzy was in a position to hurt him. Word Count: 1849

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Title: A Love That’s Insured Collaborator: Nathan Link: AO3 Square Filled: B3 - Bodyguard AU G3 - Howard Stark O3 - “I’m used to the pain” Rating: Teen Major Tags: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - No Powers Summary: Apparently, people had tried to kidnap Tony one too many times and now Howard and Maria were pushing bodyguards on him left and right. As Howard had put it, the kidnappings “weren’t good for business,” but Tony thought this was taking it a stretch too far. Word Count: 1599

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Title: Medical Suite Collaborator: MagicaDraconia16 Link: AO3 Square Filled: O3 - Doctor AU O2 - Wanda Maximoff Rating: Teen Major Tags: Humour, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously Summary: In today's episode: Tony Stark wakes up from his coma; Doctor Rhodes and Nurse Romanoff share a stolen moment of passion; and Wanda makes a mysterious phone call. Er, wait, that's not right... Word Count: 2173

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Title: I’m Here for You Collaborator: J_Gun_l, honestmischief, Ducky Link: AO3 Square Filled: I1 - Howard Stark (J_Gun_l) B2 - Don’t Touch Him” (Ducky) N2 - Fireworks (honestmischief) Rating: Mature Major Tags: Child Abuse, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, child neglect, verbal abuse Summary: Rhodey knew that not all was good and dandy in the Stark household. Hell Rhodey saw the evident in the fall of Tony’s face after a call one too many times, in the way Tony sometimes wouldn’t sleep until something for SI was finished. But what happened on Tony’s sixteenth birthday took the icing of the cake. Word Count: 1963

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Title: Wonders of Wakanda Collaborator: Honestmischief Ducky Link: AO3 Square Filled: B5 - Sharing Body Heat (Ducky) B5 - M'Baku (Honestmischief) Rating: Gen Major Tags: Established Relationship, Huddling for Warmth Summary: Rhodey and Tony explore the mountains of Wakanda. They get lost. Good thing a certain tribal leader happens to find them. Word Count: 1207

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[adverb-slut]

Empty Wallets and Empty Stomachs (Fanfiction)

Hiiiii, another AO3 repost from me, mainly ‘cause I’m trying to spread out my stuff on both platforms.  This is a short four-chapter story that I’m going to post all in one go (that’s why it’s so long) since I think it’s hard to navigate between different chapters on Tumblr.  If you’d like to read this story on AO3, click here.  I apologize in advance for the really bad title; I just couldn’t think of anything better at the time.

Title: 

Empty Wallets and Empty Stomachs

Summary: 

No summary, really.  Just chilling with Mammon and Beel and MC  and being dumb.  Mostly just MC and Mammon go shoppin’ and you cook with Beel.  Other shenanigans ensue.

Genre: 

Humor/Fluff/Slice of Life

Rating:

T

Word Count:

6645

Additional Note: 

Sorry to take too much of your time up with the super long stores, but again, on AO3, this is formatted and was originally meant to be a four-chapter story! :)

-

Chapter 1

“ … and that, class, is the true nature of the Twin Paradox.  As you can see—” Your professor, a gangly demon with round glasses and a haircut that reminds you vaguely of the Backstreet Boys, is promptly interrupted by the low gong of the school bell, signaling that class is over.  

Upon hearing this, you whip out your D.D.D and make your way to the door as your teacher calls, “Don’t forget to read Chapter Seven, Section Nine through Twelve of your Physics IV: Mind Over Matter textbook for class on Wednesday!”  

You scroll through the messages on your Chat app, doing your best to keep one eye on your D.D.D and one eye on the sea of demons bustling to get to their next class.

Lucky for you, Physics is your last class of the day.  As you make your way to the House of Lamentation, you notice that you have a missed call dating back an hour ago from Mammon.

Feeling it’s too late to call back, you decide to send a text instead.

Mammon MC:  You called?

MC:  What’s up?

You see an ellipse bubble pop up immediately, indicating that Mammon is typing.

Mammon:  MC HOW DARE YOU MISS MY CALL

Mammon: You can miss everyone else’s calls, but not *mine*, got it?

Mammon:  I have important things to say, y’know!

You feel a smile grow on your face and shake your head.

MC:  Important things?  Like what?

Mammon:  WELL, it just so happens that I get paid today!

You stare at the message in confusion.  Paid?  Before you can question his statement, you remember that Mammon frequently did various modeling jobs to make cash.  It was supposed to be a way to earn a little spending money and pay off his debts, but unfortunately for his creditors, the latter very rarely happened.

However, you are still unsure as to why Mammon is telling you this.  You send a confused-looking sticker.

Mammon, surprisingly, doesn’t respond right away.  You close out of the Chat app and begin to put your D.D.D away.  As you fumble around for a pocket to put it in, you crash headfirst into someone.

Oh, crap, you think.  The demons at R.A.D normally don’t bother you, but that’s because you usually don’t headbutt them accidentally.

“I’m so sorry—” you start, but your apology is cut short as the demon turns around.  “Beel! I apologize; I didn’t see you there!”

Beelzebub pivots to face you.  “Oh, hi, MC,” he says, greeting you with a melancholy nod. 

You cock your head curiously.  The sixth-born demon’s face is set into a sorrowful frown, and the five-pound bag of Scummy Bears that he’s holding is only half empty.  “Is something wrong?”    

He looks down and shakes his head.  “Nothing you need to worry about.” Beel looks back at you.  “Are you going back to the House of Lamentation?”

You want to ask him some more questions, but at the same time, don’t want to pry.  “Yep!”

“Let’s walk together, then.”  He flashes you an unconvincing smile as the two of you begin to make your way down the R.A.D halls.  

Unsure of what to say, you keep silent, smiling internally as Beel walks slower than his usual long strides so that you can keep up with him.  By now, most students have either gone to their dorms or have made it to their last few classes; the only sounds that echo through the hallway are you and Beel’s footsteps.

You keep your silence until the two of you near a trash can in the hall, where Beel dumps what remains of his bag of Scummy Bears into the garbage.

You gasp and your eyes widen.  What in the Devildom just happened?

Beel puts a hand over his taut stomach in response to your astonished look.  He peers at his feet as he explains, “My stomach feels queasy. I can’t eat right now.”

In the few months that you have known Beel, you can hardly remember a time where he has turned down food, let alone thrown it in the trash.  Whatever problem Beel is facing, you wager it has to be serious.  

Beel turns away and continues to walk down the corridor.  You want to grab his hand and get him to stop, but knowing Beel’s strength, you know that there’s no way that you could physically do that.  Instead, you run in front of him and put your hands out, causing him to halt and tilt his head in confusion.

Furrowing your brow, you poke Beel in the chest.  “Tell me what’s bothering you, Beel.  It’s not good to keep things bottled up.”

Beelzebub still won’t meet your eyes.  “I know.” He sighs, as he glances up and notices that you still haven’t left his path.  “I’ll tell you later.”

You don’t want to push the soft-spoken demon and step to the side.  “I hope you do.”

As before, you and Beel continue to the House of Lamentation in silence.  Once you two arrive, Beel heads directly to him and Belphegor's room without his usual stop to the kitchen.  You shake your head and make your way over to your own room.

Dumping your backpack onto the floor, you head over to your downy bed, breathing in the floral scent of jasmine and roses.  Only Asmodeus uses that scent of detergent, so he must be on laundry duty this week. You mentally thank him for using such a pleasant scent, unlike the strange musk of the sandalwood and papyrus fabric softener that Satan had used two weeks earlier.  

Your laundry-related musings are interrupted by rapid, deafening knocking on your door.  You hope it is Beel, finally ready to talk about whatever is bothering him, but you know better than that.  Beel, for all his muscled glory, has a very quiet, almost timid knock. The only demon in the House of Lamentation that has a knock so boisterous, so cacophonous, so incessant is … 

“How come you’re not dressed yet?” Mammon demands, walking straight into your room as soon as you open the door.  “Didn’t you get my messages?”

“I haven’t checked my D.D.D in a bit,” you admit, pulling the device out of the pocket of your uniform.  You open the Chat app, noticing that you indeed have some message notifications from Mammon.

Mammon Mammon:  HUH?  How’re you confused by *that*?

Mammon:  Getting paid means I’m going shopping!  And you’re comin’ with me!

Mammon:  Be dressed by the time I get home from *barf* tutoring!

Mammon:  Curse Lucifer and Satan for making me go to that crap, by the way.

Mammon:  I mean, who *cares* if I have a D- in Statistics?

“I don’t think I can go shopping today, Mammon,” you sigh.  Grabbing your backpack from off the ground, you begin to rifle through it until you find your Physics IV textbook.  “I have a lot of homework due soon.”

“Homework, shmomework,” Mammon chides, yanking the book from your hands.  “There ain’ t nothing wrong with not doing it once in a while.”

You give him a look.  No wonder he has a D- in Statistics.  

Mammon grabs your hand, leads you off the bed, and pushes you over to the closet.  “Tell ya what, if you come with me, I’ll be super generous and buy you anything you want from the store—only something super cheap, though, but still!”

You want to protest, but figure Mammon won’t let this go.  Instead, you get dressed into something more casual than your uniform and step out of your closet.

The second-born, who was absentmindedly flipping through your Physics textbook as you changed, immediately sits erect once as you appear.  “I swear that I wasn’t going through your things,” he claims. “Much.”  He gives your outfit a once-over and two thumbs-up.  “I always forget how nice you clean up for a human, MC!  You’re officially fashionable enough to stand by my side!”

You blush ever so slightly, but before Mammon can notice, you busy yourself by emptying your backpack of any school-related content.  That way, you have an empty bag to carry as you go shopping.  “And if I don’t want to stand by your side, Mammon?” you tease.  

The demon’s face flushes with a blush even deeper than yours.  “O—of course, you want to be by my side! I’m the Great Mammon, don’t you forget that!”

You smile as you take out your last notebook from your bag.  “Okay, I’m ready to go shopping with you,” you say, putting your backpack on.  “Let’s go.”

“Say it with a little more enthusiasm, will ya?” Mammon complains as he opens the door to let you through. 

You shake your head, smile, and decide to tease him some more.  “Fine. Let's go!”

“That’s not the part I said to be more enthusiastic about!”

-

Chapter 2

“Are you serious, Mammon?” Leviathan growls. “I already checked ahead—the Ruri-chan figurine, if you buy it in the Majolish collectibles department, is only four hundred and fifty thousand Grimm. I’m not paying you a cent more.”

Mammon waves his hand nonchalantly. “And if I ain’t mistaken, Levi, ya want this figure today, right?”

Levi grinds his teeth. “Right.”

“Well, then! Ya want me to go buy it for you today, you pay me my two hundred and twenty-five thousand Grimm labor fee!”

“I’m not paying you that much Grimm extra.”

“Then go buy it yourself!”

“I can’t. I have to finish this gaming campaign today. I already put it off long enough, and it’s not my fault that the Ruri-chan neko maid figure releases today, too!  It's gonna sell out, fast!”

“Then pay me my damn labor fee!”

“You just made that up, and I already told you—I’m not paying you that much, you ass!”

And on they go.  

You’ve been listening to the two brothers argue for the past fifteen minutes. You had thought by now maybe Mammon and you would have gotten a start on his shopping, but no, he had insisted on barging into Levi’s room to see if he could make a little extra Grimm off of his younger brother before the two of you left.  

“You’re scum, Mammon, you know that?” Levi growls. He turns to you, pouting. “What about you, MC? Will you buy my precious Ruri-chan figurine for me?”

You sigh. “Give me the money, Levi. If I see the figure, I’ll buy it.”

The third-born demon grins. “Thanks! I knew I could count on you.”  

He rummages through the pocket of his coat and begins to count out the right amount of Grimm. Once he has enough bills, he hands the stack to you, but before you can grab it, the money is intercepted by Mammon.

“I’ll hold onto that for you, MC,” Mammon assures, a coy smile lighting his face. “You don’t have any pockets in that sweatshirt.”

You smile sardonically and pull Levi’s money back. You know better than to trust Mammon, the Avatar of Greed with money of all things. Secrets? Maybe. Schemes? Definitely. Being a tsundere idiot? There was no one more capable. But money? You’d be rivaling him in idiocy if you did that.  

“It’s fine; I got it,” you promise, sliding the money into the deepest pocket in your backpack.

Levi scowls at Mammon as you two leave. “Please die.”

-

“Here we are, MC!” Mammon grins, waving his hand for you to take in all the scenery. “The most expensive shopping district in all of the Devildom!”

You look around at your surroundings; it was a horribly gaudy site. There are huge building complexes, studded with stores selling items from the most famous brands in the world. What really brings out the garishness of the location is that every store seems to be covered in gold.

There’s a gilded Ralph Goren shop, a Chanhell showroom that sparkles with a yellow brighter than the sun, and even a Burbury emporium that glitters with a fine flaxen coating.  

“Why … why does everything look like this?” you can’t help but ask.

Mammon, who had been staring lovingly at the lurid buildings, looks over at you, pulled out of his reverie. “What? Oh, the gold? It’s just to show how expensive everything is.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, MC,” Mammon explains, suddenly grabbing your hand as he leads you further into the shining abyss. “All this stuff—” He gestures toward all the name-brand stores. “You can find in any of the regular couture shopping districts in the Devildom. However, the stuff sold here specifically—the very same stuff in all the other stores—is more expensive.  The buildings are all covered in gold to represent that.  It’s great, huh?”

You dig your heels in the ground. “Wait … you mean … you’re only shopping here … because it’s expensive?”

“Duh! Things that cost more make ya look cool.” He yanks your hand harder to get you moving again. “Not that I need help looking cool or anythin.’”

“Of course.”

Wow, you realize. He really lives up to his title of the Avatar of Greed.

“Oh! Look over there! Silver-plated spurs! Let’s go see if they have ‘em in bronze or somethin’—silver kinda clashes with my look, y’know? And holy crap, they’re selling diamond insoles for your slippers in that store! Can’t imagine they’d be comfortable, but still, why wouldn’t you want ‘em?”

Before you know it, you and Mammon are standing in line for the register at Versucky, with the second-born demon holding at least seven or eight different, high-end items, all of which you wonder if he has any use for.  

“I know what you’re thinking, MC,” Mammon says, looking at your confused expression. “How much money does the Great Mammon make from modeling if he can afford to buy this much stuff?”

You want to point out that that was not in fact, what you were wondering, but he barrels on ahead.

“Well, a lot, of course, ‘cause y’know, I got all this.” He gestures toward his body sensuously. “But still, even if it’s not enough, I got my beloved Goldie!” Mammon shuffles all his desired items to one hand, and with the other, whips out a shiny black credit card from his pocket.

Your eyes widen. “Didn’t Lucifer confiscate that from you two days ago?”

“Yeah,” Mammon admits. “But I found it. He left it in one of the oysters in Levi’s aquarium—don’t ask how I figured it out.”

You shake your head and can’t help but smile at his rebelliousness. You wonder how Lucifer is going to punish Mammon for his craftiness this time.

As you and he reach the front of the line, Mammon suddenly drops everything he’s holding. “Oh, crap.”

You reach to pick up all the items that had tumbled to the ground. “What?”

“Well … “ Mammon scratches the back of his neck, a slight blush coming over his tan skin. “I just realized that I promised I’d buy ya somethin’ if you came with me, and heh, here you are.”

“It’s okay, Mammon; you don't need to get me anything,” you reassure him. You hadn’t really expected him to keep his end of the bargain, and honestly, you didn’t really care. You hadn’t actually needed anything from the store, and in fact, the only reason you had tagged along was, well, for the company … and the fact that Mammon wouldn’t have shut up if you hadn’t.  

“No, it’s not,” he says. He grabs your wrist and leads you out of Versucky. “I said I’d buy ya somethin’ and that’s what I’m gonna do. Here, we’ll buy whatever you want first, so then I’ll know how much Grimm I have left to spend.”

“But you don’t have to worry about how much money you can spend,” you remind him. “You have Goldie.”

Mammon’s blush deepens. “W—well, yeah, I know!” He looks down, grinding his heel into the ground. “But I just remembered that Lucifer put a control lock on her that notifies him every time she’s being used, and then he’ll know I took her back.” His head whips up immediately. “And just so y’know, it ain’t like I’m afraid of him, or anythin;’ I just figured not using her would be the smarter thing to do, that’s all!” 

You smile at his display. “If you say so.”

“Wh—what! Ya don’t believe me?”

“No, no, of course, I do.” 

“You—you better!” He coughs and tries to regain his composure. “Now, where do you wanna go? Unless ya wanted to shop at Versucky, ‘cause I guess we could go back in there.” 

“I’m not really sure,” you admit. Even in the human world, you weren’t very familiar with couture brands, and you’re even more lost in the Devildom. Your eyes scan the apparently endless miles of gilded shops until you spot a strange blip of steel gray in the sea of gold. “What’s that?”

Mammon squints in the direction you point. “Never seen that store before in my life. Kinda gross, though. The whole ashy color scheme really clashes with the rest of the buildings here.”

To be honest, you find the dull color of the edifice somewhat soothing compared to the sheer gaudiness of its surroundings. You begin to make your way over to it, Mammon in tow.

“Thrifty’s Cheap Finds,” Mammon reads as you near the building. He dry heaves. “Cheap finds? What is this? Some kind of lame way to attract broke-ass degenerates like …” He trails off when he sees your raised eyebrow and blushes. “I wasn’t gonna end that sentence with ‘you,’ I swear! Calm down!”

You shake your head and don’t respond as you enter the store. As you begin to wander around the shop, not even Mammon can keep his jaw from falling open in wonder. Inside Thrifty’s Cheap Finds is everything from hairspray to mattresses to books to cookie sheets—all of them branded with human company labels.  

“No wonder everything here is so cheap,” Mammon realizes. “No one in the Devildom wants human stuff. Well, unless you’re Satan and Lucifer and like all that antique crap.”

You resist the desire to glare at him and instead pore through everything in the shop, your eyes never failing to examine each item. It’s been months since you’ve been home and seen any of these types of knickknacks.  

A wave of homesickness washes over you as you finger a timeless gingham tablecloth, as Mammon ambles off to the electronics section, which is filled with ancient-looking cellphones and computers. 

You swallow the feeling away before it can cause a lump in your throat and tears in your eyes. You wander farther down, realizing that all the mismatched pots and pans mean that this is the cooking aisle.  

You pause in the section of this aisle that displays cookbooks and remember the miserable look on Beelzebub’s face earlier today. Perhaps, you wonder, there is something in here that would cheer him up.

The cookbooks are all in disarray, and you shuffle through the many stacks of them several times before you find a book that you think Beel would like. You flip through the cookbook and nod in approval; the pictures are large and detailed and the human recipes are quick, simple and hearty—perfect for the always hungry Avatar of Gluttony.  

You flip the book over and read the price tag. “Nine thousand Grimm.”  

You worry that that’s too much, especially since you remember Satan once mentioning that books from the human world usually weren’t economical. You haven’t really gotten the idea of how much a single Grimm is worth yet, and you keep hearing Mammon’s voice in your head, insisting that whatever you buy today be cheap.  

“Hey, what’cha got there, MC?” Mammon asks, materializing as if on cue. “This what you want?” He grabs the book from your hands and gives it a mildly disgusted look. “A cookbook?”

“It’s for Beel,” you say, defensively.

Mammon raises an eyebrow. “The only demon ya should be buying stuff for is me, but I’ll let it slide this time.” He too flips the book over. You grimace nervously as his eyes widen when he sees the price.

“I’ll put it back if it’s too expens—” you begin, pulling it away.

Mammon blushes. “Ar—are you kidding, MC? When I said to buy something cheap earlier, I didn’t actually mean it! Hell, I’m willing to splurge on ya if you really want somethin!’ You didn’t actually have to go find something this dirt-cheap!”

Huh, so nine thousand Grimm is considered inexpensive, you note. You smile at Mammon’s uncharacteristic generosity. “It’s okay, I really do want this.”

He runs a hand through his hair and tries to regain his composure, but to no avail. “Y—you sure? I mean—if ya wanna get somethin’ from Ralph Goren or somethin,’ I’m cool with that!”

You hold the cookbook to your chest and nod. “I’m sure.” You grab his hand and lead him to the register.

As Mammon pays the nine thousand Grimm to the lanky demon clerk, he shakes his head and looks at you. “You really are something else, y’know that, MC?”

-

Chapter 3

As soon as you and Mammon return home, you walk over to Leviathan’s room and knock on his door.  Hung on your wrist is a bag from a store called, Look At Me, I’m a Stupid Otaku (or at least, that’s what Mammon had told you the building sign had said.  You don’t know how to read Japanese.), which held a Ruri-chan figurine. “Levi? It’s me, MC.”

“Come in,” the third-born demon calls. 

You open the door, only to see Levi slouched over on his computer.  You take the figurine out of the bag. “Where do you want this?”

“Oh, is that my darling Ruri-chan?” he asks, his eyes never leaving the screen.  “You can bring it here. Sorry, I’d come over and get it myself, but there are only two minutes left on this boss stage, and he still has half of his HP left.”

You bring the figure to his desk and leave it next to what looks like a box of granola bars.  “Super high-energy chocolate-covered cricket snacks,” you read. “Now with extra protein.” You blanch because despite living in the Devildom for a while, you still have yet to become accustomed to the food.  

“Yeah, sometimes when I’m really in the gaming zone, I don’t leave my room for days, not even to get meals and stuff lololol, so I keep those here if I get hungry.”

“Can I have one?”  You are planning to check in on Beel after making this stop to Levi’s room, and realize that it would be better to show up with food.

His eyes glued to his computer, Levi nods.  “Go for it.”  

As you reach into the box to take one, Levi suddenly turns toward you, even though you can see the timer counting down on his game.  “Better take the whole box. Beel’s not gonna be satisfied with just one.” He sighs. “Everyone’s been kinda worried about him, you know?  He’s been down all day, but he’s not saying anything to anyone, not even Belphie.” He perks up. “But! If there is someone who can make him feel better, it’s you, MC!”

You smile at his worry for his brother.  “Thanks, Leviathan.” You stuff the box into your backpack.

He nods, before turning back to his game, frowning when he realizes that the onscreen timer read 00:00 and he hadn’t been able to finish off the boss.  “He’s in the gym.”

“Of course,” you say, as you leave his room.

-

Just as Levi had said, you find Beel in the House of Lamentation’s fully-equipped gym. 

The sixth-born demon is sitting cross-legged in front of an elliptical, a towel slung across his shoulders.  Unsurprisingly, his twin—Belphegor—is with him, napping with his head resting on Beel’s lap.  

Beel frowns nervously when he sees you.  “Oh, hi, MC.” He sighs. “ I guess you’re not here to tell Belphie how cute he looks sleeping like this. ”

You cock your head curiously.  “I can if you want me to.”

Beel shakes his head.  “I was just checking to see if he's awake.”

“Ah,” you realize, sitting down next to him.  “Is there something that you don’t want Belphie to hear?”

Beel nods but doesn’t say anything more.  Instead, he fiddles with the hem of his rather tight-fitting tank top.  You try not to stare at the bulging silhouette of his abs that show through.  “It’s funny,” he begins. “When either of us is upset, I get less hungry, but Belphie becomes more sleepy.”  

You remember learning of the twins’ connection a few days earlier.  The two had a bond so strong that they sometimes shared each other’s feelings, and if one had an extreme emotion, the other would often experience it, too.  You put a hand on his arm. “What are you so upset about, Beel?”

He groans.  “It’s nothing, really.”

You decide to try a different tactic.  “You’re worrying your brothers,” you admit gently.

“I know.”  Beel takes a deep breath.  Twisting around, he pulls out his navy backpack from behind the elliptical.  After rummaging through it for a moment, he pulls out a telltale Physics IV: Mind Over Matter textbook.  He flips to the end of the book and releases a packet of paper, which he hands to you.

You examine it for a moment, surprised to see in obnoxious red ink, the phrase F - sprawled across the front.  Maybe stick to lifting weights, meathead is written underneath it.  Although the words cause your blood to boil, you swallow your anger and calmly move your hand up to Beel’s shoulder.  “You’re upset because you did bad on a test?”

Beel slouches, his back sliding down one of the supports of the elliptical.  He continues to fiddle with his shirt and doesn’t meet your eyes. “It’s not just that,” he confesses.  “If I fail another one, my professor is going to make me repeat the subject.” He sighs. “Belphie’s always helped me study in Physics; we almost always have the same class schedule—except I take Weights and he takes regular P.E—and he always made sure I knew the material.”

“But Belphie doesn’t go to R.A.D this year,” you realize.  “He’s supposed to be enrolled in a human school for the exchange program.”

“Yeah,” Beel sighs.  “I can’t ask him to learn the information at home with me—I know he would if I asked—he’s already been through so much this year.”  He gulps. “Lucifer is going to be so mad when he finds out I’m failing.”

“Why can’t you just get a tutor, like Mammon does?”

“You see how everyone makes fun of him because of that.”

You want to point out that Mammon usually brought the teasing upon himself  and justified it with his unrelenting moronness, but an idea strikes you instead.  “Hey, I 'm in Physics IV, too.  Why don’t we study together?”

Beel’s face lights up.  “Really, MC? You’d do that?” 

You laugh as you hear his stomach growl in excitement.  “Of course!” You remember the cricket snacks you took from Levi’s room and begin to take the box out of your backpack.  You see the cookbook you bought for him and take that out, too. “You’re hungry, now?”

He grins sheepishly.  “Yes, I’m famished!”

“Look here, I brought you snacks,” you say, handing the box to him.  “Thank Levi next time you see him.”

Beel immediately rips open a package and begins to eat.  “Hi wroh.” He swallows, and repeats, “I will. Thanks to you, too.”  He looks at the cookbook in your hand curiously. “What’s that?”

You place the book in his lap, balancing it precariously on Belphegor’s head.  “It’s a cookbook from the human world. I bet it has all kinds of recipes for foods you haven’t tried before.”

Beel grabs another cricket snack as his eyes widen.  “I haven’t eaten many human foods before.  Let’s look at it together.”

You nod, opening the book and flipping the page as Beel munches.  

“Haha,” he laughs.  “Angel Food Cake. Maybe we should make some for Simeon and Luke.”  

You smile and turn to the following page.  The next recipe is for Devil’s Food Cake. “Or maybe you can make this one for dessert someday.  Or this one—look—Deviled Eggs.”

“Those look good.”  Opening another snack, Beel suggests, “Hey, MC, I’m on dinner duty tomorrow.  Want to help me cook some of these foods? Or maybe, I can cook and you can help me study?”

“That sounds like a good idea, Beel,” you muse.  “What do you think we should make, then?”

“Well, Satan won’t eat animals, Leviathan refuses to eat seafood, and Belphie—” He pats his brother on the head.  “—doesn’t like to eat beef or veal. If we use any of those, we probably have to substitute the meat with other things.”

You and Beel pore through the cookbook for several hours, finally deciding on Deviled Eggs as appetizers, Garlic Parmesan Risotto and Savory Mashed Potatoes for the main course, and Black Forest Cake for dessert.  

“This will be fun,” Beel promised, yawning.  “I’ll pick up the ingredients after school tomorrow.”

You curse the contagiousness of yawns as you yawn, too, feeling your eyes grow heavy.  You can feel Beel’s head rest on your shoulder as he begins to snore lightly. Without thinking, you lean your head to the right, feeling Beel’s under you.  You promise yourself that you won’t fall asleep as you close your eyes and mutter, “Sounds … like a … plan.”

-

Chapter 4

“I’m gonna kill him,” Mammon whispers, his voice low and colder than ice as you, him, and Beel huddle over your D.D.D.  “I’m really gonna kill him.”

Beel frowns at his elder brother.  “Why are you so upset? You’re not even in the picture.”

“Yeah, if anyone should be mad, it’s me, Beel, or Belphie,” you comment, zooming in on the photo, which had been taken yesterday.  

It was from when you and Beel had fallen asleep together as you two pored over the cookbook you had bought for him.  Strangely enough, Asmodeus—who had both taken and posted the photo—was in the picture, as well; he was posing as if he had been napping sweetly on your shoulder the whole time.  To everyone’s surprise, the only one “awake” in the photo appeared to be Belphie, who had wriggled his way from lying in Beel’s lap to having his legs rest on his brother while his torso and head were sprawled all over your lap.  He was too deeply engrossed in reading Beel’s new cookbook to notice his brother taking the picture. Asmodeus captioned the photo, Just getting a bit of beauty sleep with my babes 😘. 

“Yes, you should!”  Mammon says. “ Why aren’t you, by the way?  This photo is a total invasion of your privacy!”  He whirls toward Beel, his eyebrows downturned in anger.  “And what’s the big idea, Beel? Sleepin’ on MC’s shoulder like that?”  He puts a hand on your head patronizingly. “You shouldn’t touch anyone like that without their permission!”

Beel smiles.  “Well, I think MC looks cute in this photo!  And it’s not my fault that we fell asleep like that.”

Mammon rolls his eyes.  “Well, I’m still gonna kill Asmo for postin’ it.”  He taps on your Devilgram feed to unlike the photo.  “Anyway, why’d ya call me here?” he asks, gesturing toward the Hall of Lamentation’s kitchen.  

“No one called you here,” you remind him, taking a seat at the kitchen table.  You reach down, grab your backpack and pull out the cookbook you had bought for Beel, as well as your copy of Physics IV: Mind Over Matter.

“Yeah,” Beel agrees, his mouth downturned in a frown.  “You just heard that MC was going to be in the kitchen helping me cook and decided to come along.”

Blushing, Mammon takes a seat next to you.  “Maybe I just wanted to help ya cook, Beel.”

“No way.”  Beel sticks out his arms, barring him from entering the kitchen.  “You’re not helping me cook. If you cook, I won’t eat it.”

“Okay, okay, fine, jeez.”

As you flip through the cookbook to find the recipes that you and Beel had decided to make yesterday, Mammon grabs your Physics textbook, whipping through it boredly.  “Why’d ya bring your textbook to the kitchen? You having trouble in Physics and want to study here or somethin’? ‘Cause if you are, never fear—The Mammon is here!”

You look at Beel—who glances at you nervously—from the corner of your eyes.  You yank the textbook away from Mammon. “You’re not even taking Physics.”

“Yeah, I’m taking Chemistry, and have a C in it, so I’m still passing—so what?”

“How are you supposed to teach me Physics when you’re not even in it?”

“MC!  Don’t doubt the Great Mammon’s abilities!”

“Oh yeah?  Does the Great Mammon know the formula for … angular acceleration?”

“The change in angular speed divided by the change in time,” Beel pipes up, as he hovers over the stove, checking for the water to boil for his Deviled Eggs.

Mammon laughs and waves his hand at his brother.  “Don’t be ridiculous, Beel.” He turns to you. “C’mon, MC, don’t mess around with me.  I know ‘angular acceleration’ isn’t even a real word.”  

You turn to the glossary in the back of your book and point to the term with the formula next to it, which Beel had recited.  “Seems like the Great Mammon’s abilities have failed him.” You watch Mammon blush furiously and smile. “And besides, Beel and I are having a Physics study session, since we’re both in the class.”

“And we’re not getting much studying done with you here,” Beel quips.  He retrieves four dozen eggs from the refrigerator and begins to carefully drop them into the boiling water on the stove with a ladle.

You do a double-take and glance at the cookbook.  “Beel, the serving information here says that to serve eight people you only need sixteen eggs, at the most.”

Mammon and Beel shake their heads.  

“If my brothers are going to get a chance to eat anything, we’re going to have to make this many,” Beel decides.  He hoists up a giant pot of potatoes that had been already boiling on the stove and plops it in front of Mammon, handing him a potato masher.  “Mash these.”

“I thought you said you didn’t want me to cook anything,” Mammon whines.  

“Yes, because whatever you make tastes gross.  Mashing the potatoes isn’t cooking anything, so you can do just that.”

Mammon grumbles something that sounds curse word-y, but stands up and begins to work the masher into the potatoes.  “Just for that, I’m making ‘em creamy. No lumps.” He whispers to you, “Beel loves lumpy potatoes.”

“Fine, Belphie will like it smooth, anyway,” Beel assures.  He walks over to the refrigerator and yanks out an entire wheel of parmesan cheese.  He sets it in front of you and hands you a cheese grater. “Can you shred this cheese, MC?  I’m about to start getting the arborio rice for the risotto ready and the whole process is going to take a while.”

Your eyes widen.  He wants me to grate the entire wheel of parmesan.  “Sure, but what about our … you know, study session?”  You had promised to help Beel with Physics, and you were by no means going to forget about it.

“Ask me questions as we go?  Sorry, I didn’t realize how much there was to do,” he says sheepishly.  

You nod, laying your Physics textbook flat open to Chapter Seven, which was your assigned reading for your next class.  

You cut off a block of cheese and begin to run it against the serrated surface of the cheese grater for several hours, asking Beel problem after problem from the book.  He stumbles on quite a few of them, but you correct him only if you know how to—after all, you yourself aren't a master in Physics. The ones you don’t are questions that you skip, mentally circling them to come back to later.  

Every so often, Beel grabs a scoop of the mound of grated parmesan that you have shredded and adds it to his pot of risotto.  Surprisingly, Mammon also throws several handfuls of cheese into his potatoes, as he mashes them until they are so smooth that you were sure that not even an ant would be able to find the tiniest lump.

Beel doesn’t notice that Mammon adds the rest of the ingredients in the recipe to the potatoes—copious amounts of cream, whole stalks of herbs, salt, and more butter than you have ever seen in your life, and stirs them together.  

“Beel says he won’t eat anythin’ I make ‘cause he’ll hate it,” Mammon explains to you when you stare at him for disobeying his brother’s explicit orders of doing nothing but mashing the potatoes.  He smirks. “But wait ‘till he gets a load of these.  They’re gonna be great.”

You roll your eyes at the mischievous demon, wondering how his little fling with deviancy is going to bite him this time. 

“Okay, time to assemble the cake,” Beel announces, plopping all forty-eight freshly-piped Deviled Eggs onto the table, along with a steaming casserole filled with Garlic Parmesan Risotto.  “MC, can you sprinkle the rest of the cheese on top?”  

As you begin to do just that, he brings over three round German chocolate cakes, a bowl of whipped cream, and a dish filled with cherries macerated in sugar.  One of the three cakes is already topped with a layer of cream and cherries.  

“I hate cherries,” Mammon grumbles.

As if on cue, Asmodeus walks by.  “That’s why you’ve never popped one.”

You stifle your laughter as Mammon’s face turns a very unbecoming shade of red.  “Asmo!”  He sprints after his brother, leaving you and Beel alone in the kitchen.  “I was already gonna kill you once, but now I’m gonna kill you twice! C’mere, you bastard!”

You turn towards Beel, who is putting the third layer of cake onto the growing tower and covering it with whipped cream.  

Putting his spatula down, Beel looks at you.  “MC, thanks so much for helping me today—with the food, with the studying, with everything.”  He looks down. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

You smile at him.  “It’s no problem, Beel!”

“No, really,” Beel insists, staring into your eyes with an intensity that sends shivers all the way down to your toes and causes you to flush pink.  “I feel so much more confident now in Physics. I think if I took a quiz today, I’d at least know enough to pass.”

“I’m just glad I could help,” you say honestly.  

Beel grins and carefully lifts the Black Forest Cake by its base and puts it on a cake pedestal.  “It’s time to put all this food in the dining room,” he says. He then notices Mammon’s mashed potatoes.  He frowns as he sees the green herb fragments, signifying that his brother had done something other to the potatoes than simply mash them as he had told him to.  He dips a spoon into the pot and tastes them.  Beel’s face becomes a blazing inferno. “I’m going to eat him.”

“What?” you ask, noticing the sudden shift in his mood.

“Sugar.”

“Sugar?”

“He put … sugar … in the Savory Mashed Potatoes.” 

THE END   

[cindyburman]

and every day is like a battle (but every night with us is like a dream)

ao3

Summary: At school, Cindy always has to be in control: of her emotions, of her powers, or her so-called "friends." If she ever let her guard down she'd be stabbed in the back before she could say, "Et tu, Brute?" So it's only outside of the oppressive confines of Blue Valley High and in the presence of her two favorite people (and the only ones she fully trusts) that Cindy allows herself to relax and truly be herself.

Notes: title is from "new romantics" by taylor swift. the only explanation i have for this spur-of-the-moment fic is that one tumblr post that says something like "fandom seeks to create what the original source material is missing." and i'm just filling the voids of "gay characters/relationships" and "the characters all being happy and safe" recently on stargirl. anyways @ geoff johns make them girlfriends or else. go check out my ao3 for more of me believing that pretty much all of the girls on stargirl (and pretty much any other show) are gay with little to no proof!!!

Cindy drives through the meandering streets of Blue Valley faster than is really necessary, but that's not her fault. The driver that her father created usually drops her off at Courtney's (or at a location nearby that Cindy walks to Courtney's from once the driver's out of sight so as not to make him suspicious about how often she goes there), so it's only when he's busy performing other various nefarious tasks that Cindy is allowed to drive herself. These times are so few and far between that Cindy doesn't even know the speed limit here--she thinks that it ends in a 5, though, so she took a wild guess that it was 45 miles per hour and tacked on another 5 for good measure because everyone knows that going 5 over the speed limit is technically allowed.

She's pulled out of her thoughts by the now-familiar sight of the Whitmore-Dugan household. Cindy slows down to turn into their driveway, grateful that it isn't trash day and that she doesn't have to risk a repeat of last time, and parks next to the grass on the left side. Getting out of the car, she locks the doors and tosses the keys into her purse before striding purposefully toward the front door. Cindy's barely finished ringing the doorbell when the door abruptly opens, startling her and (for some reason) Barbara, who was the one to open the door in the first place.

"Hey, Courtney's mom," Cindy recovers smoothly, pasting on her most charming smile.

"Hey, Courtney's friend," Barbara replies bemusedly, stepping aside to let Cindy into the house. "She's upstairs in her room."

With that, Cindy starts up the stairs, her anticipation already building. At school, Cindy always has to be in control: of her emotions, of her powers, or her so-called "friends." If she ever let her guard down she'd be stabbed in the back before she could say, "Et tu, Brute?"

So it's only outside of the oppressive confines of Blue Valley High and in the presence of her two favorite people (and the only ones she fully trusts) that Cindy allows herself to relax and truly be herself. Speaking of...

Cindy opens the door to Courtney's room and steps inside, immediately spotting Courtney sitting against the headrest of her bed and seemingly studying.

"Hi, babe," Courtney says cheerfully without looking up from her textbook. Cindy frowns at the lack of attention--and for some boring school book?

"How did you know that it was me?" Cindy prompts, attempting to get Courtney to look at her. "Or do you just greet your family members like that too?" Courtney's mouth twitches into a smile, and she finally looks at Cindy.

"My family members knock before coming in," she remarks dryly, watching Cindy set her purse down on Courtney's desk and then turn back towards her. Looking directly at Courtney, Cindy slowly stalks towards her, putting far more sway in her hips than usually would.

Courtney falls for the bait hook, line, and sinker, and Cindy can't help her victorious smirk as her girlfriend looks at her with renewed interest. Unfortunately for her, though, Courtney has one more card to play before she puts aside this facade of disinterest.

"So." Courtney presses her lips together in an attempt to contain her smile, but it doesn't matter--her mirth shines from her eyes, as bright as the sun. "Ready to start studying?" Cindy rolls her eyes but can't help herself from smiling, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Yeah, how about we start with chemistry?" she suggests playfully. Courtney snorts at the double meaning before catching herself and scrambling to revert to her faux-seriousness. She pretends to consider Cindy's words for a moment before nodding decisively, shoving her book off to the side.

"Excellent." Cindy grins and scoots further onto the bed, throwing one of her legs across Courtney's hips and settling into her lap. Courtney's hands rest on Cindy's waist almost automatically and Cindy settles her arms in their customary place on Courtney's shoulders, her fingers tangling in Courtney's hair and scratching at her scalp. Ever the tease, Cindy leans down as slowly as she can manage, drawing this moment out as revenge for Courtney's (successful) attempts to rile her up. It lasts for a solid few seconds before Courtney grows impatient and, in a somewhat surprising (because Courtney's deceptively small and lean frame often leads Cindy to forget how powerful she really is) but definitely exhilarating show of strength, flips them over so that Cindy is lying on her back, her legs still bracketing Courtney's hips, and Courtney is leaning over her with a shit-eating grin, one hand holding herself up while the other loosely pins Cindy's wrists against the pillows.

"Did I forget to mention that I'm really more of a hands-on learner?" Courtney murmurs, so obviously pleased with herself for continuing the joke. Cindy wants nothing more than to lunge forward and wipe that self-satisfied smirk off her mouth (preferably with her own mouth), but this time it's Courtney who leans down and connects their lips.

Cindy's eyes flutter closed as she allows herself to melt into the kiss, to feel the all-consuming fire that's been licking at her insides since Courtney showed up in Blue Valley. Being with Courtney is like an roller coaster she never wants to end, and kissing Courtney makes her feel like she can do anything. There's only one other person she's ever felt anything like this around, and she's--

"I don't know if I'll ever get used to this sight." Yolanda's voice breaks through their reverie, and Cindy and Courtney stop kissing and look up to see their other girlfriend, who's just entered the bedroom and is now looking on them both with affection.

"Yolanda! C'mere," Courtney encourages her, patting the bed emphatically. Cindy reaches out for Yolanda as well, giving her the best "come hither" look she can muster, although it's not really necessary--unlike the two of them, Yolanda's less about playing the world's most homoerotic game of Chicken and more about simply being honest and open about her feelings and wants, which is honestly the only reason the three of them finally got together in the first place (although to be fair, it did take Yolanda quite a while to figure out her feelings)--and Yolanda easily acquiesces. She sits down next to them, her knees tucked under her and her hand seeking out Cindy's own to intertwine their fingers.

Wordlessly, Courtney and Yolanda lean toward each other and share a sweet, lingering kiss. Cindy watches them through hooded eyes, worrying her lower lip with her teeth as the bubbling heat in the pit of her stomach rises to a boil once more. She instinctively squeezes her legs together, forgetting that Courtney's still between them.

"Needy," Courtney chides, running her hand up Cindy's thigh as she breaks away from Yolanda, but there's no venom to it. And as both Courtney and Yolanda look at her, nothing but pure, unadulterated fondness in their eyes, Cindy feels more loved than she's ever felt with anyone else and can't help but think, How did I get so lucky?

"I mean, can you blame me? I do have the hottest girlfriends in the world," she replies earnestly. Yolanda snorts.

"Flatterer," she says warmly, flopping down next to her and beginning to pepper kisses all over Cindy's face except her lips.

"I don't know if that's completely true, though," Courtney says with a wide smile, her fingers tracing small, repetitive circles on the skin of her stomach where her shirt's ridden up. Judging by the matching grin Cindy can feel Yolanda pressing against her cheek, it's a buildup to another one of their bad jokes, and she prepares herself accordingly.

"There's this really attractive girl at school, right, babe?" Courtney continues, directing the last part of her statement to Yolanda.

"Oh, yeah, I know exactly who you mean, Court," Yolanda says, hamming it up as she momentarily pulls away from Cindy. "I think her name is Sandy or something?" Ugh, so that was where it was going, Cindy thinks, letting out a loud groan and pinching the bridge of her nose. Unfortunately, her audible disapproval doesn't deter the two at all--in fact, it seems like it only serves to spur them on.

"Really? I thought it was Sydney," Courtney says, faking confusion.

"Actually, I'm pretty sure it's Candy," Yolanda corrects her.

"No way, it's totally Mindy!"

"Close. It's Linda."

"Is it Cindy??" Cindy blurts out exasperatedly. Her girlfriends look at each other and nod with faux-thoughtfulness, muttering yes, that's it, absolutely, and Cindy dramatically covers her eyes with the back of her hand.

"You two are the worst," she grumbles halfheartedly.

"Come on, you have to admit that it was at least a little funny," Courtney wheedles as Yolanda gently tugs her hand away from her eyes.

"If I do, will you promise never to do it again?" Cindy asks, only half kidding. Courtney and Yolanda laugh but shake their heads, and so Cindy shrugs haughtily and attempts to remain aloof. However, she can only withstand the power of both of their beseeching gazes for so long, and she breaks faster than she'd like to admit.

"Fine. I guess it wasn't the worst joke you've ever told," Cindy concedes, allowing her lips to curl into a rueful grin. Courtney pumps her fist and cheers theatrically at this hard-won victory, finally extricating herself from between Cindy's legs in favor of lying next to her instead.

"High praise," Yolanda murmurs teasingly before finally giving in and pressing her lips to Cindy's. Yolanda's tender kisses and hands oh-so-carefully cradling Cindy's jaw, like she's something precious that might break if she's treated too roughly, are the perfect juxtaposition to Courtney practically mauling her on her other side, leaving a ragged trail of kisses and nips across her neck because she knows that Cindy can take it, knows that deep down she wants to. Yolanda makes her feel safe and so, so very loved, and Courtney makes her feel brave and alive. These are the reasons why she fell for both of them in the first place, the reasons why she could never just choose one--and thankfully, she didn't have to.

Cindy's train of thought is derailed when Courtney bites down particularly hard right on her pulse point, causing her to let out an undignified, breathy moan into Yolanda's mouth. Yolanda's grip on her jaw tightens slightly at the sound, the change in pressure so minute that Cindy doesn't even think Yolanda knows she's doing it. But then Yolanda's tongue slips into her mouth, and yeah, she definitely knows she's doing here.

When they finally break apart, both of them are breathing hard and flushed. Courtney detaches from Cindy's neck, where she's been trying to suck a bruise into her skin (key word: trying. Her healing factor doesn't make it that easy to leave hickeys). All three of them lay there quietly as they allow heartbeats to return more or less to normal until Cindy sits up and breaks the silence.

"I miss you two," she confesses in a rare moment of vulnerability. "Not now, obviously, but at school. Hanging out with other people just doesn't feel the same." Her girlfriends quickly move to sit up as well, arranging themselves in something resembling a close-knit triangle.

"I'm sorry, babe," Yolanda says simply, squeezing her hand in support.

"Me too. I hate that we can't always be together," Courtney adds, hugging Cindy tightly. Yolanda joins in only seconds later, and although Cindy knows this won't change things, she still somehow feels better--Courtney and Yolanda always manage to do that. Suddenly, Courtney gasps and breaks the embrace, looking... angry?

"Wait, is Henry being a jerk again? Because I can totally go kick his ass if you want," she declares. Cindy and Yolanda share an amused glance--this isn't the first time that Courtney has offered to go beat up their ex-boyfriend on behalf of one or both of them, and they know it won't be the last.

"Not any more than usual," Cindy replies dryly. The JSA and Cindy have had a tenuous alliance with Henry ever since he figured out their identities (but in all fairness, he could literally hear their thoughts), but considering that he's one of only three people who knows that Cindy, Courtney, and Yolanda are dating (the other two being Beth and Rick), it was best for them to focus more on the 'alliance' part rather than the 'tenuous' considering he hadn't done anything truly heinous (yet). They hadn't even wanted to tell him, but mindreaders and secrets don't go very well together, as was evidenced by how he found out--Courtney couldn't stop thinking (very loudly, Henry had noted), Don't think about the fact that you're dating both of his ex-girlfriends whenever she saw him. "He's mostly just pissed because he thinks that either he 'turned us gay' by being a horrible boyfriend or that you 'turned us gay,' specifically, to spite him."

Yolanda scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Why do men always think that it's about them?" Cindy laughs, high-fiving her and nodding.

"Did you somehow gain telepathy too?" Courtney asks, confused. "Because I highly doubt that he would just tell you all of that."

"No, Henry's just still learning how to use his powers," Cindy explains. "So sometimes he accidentally projects his thoughts into my head--and other people's too sometimes, I presume--without realizing it. And this was one of his tamer thoughts."

Courtney shakes her head with a grimace. "I don't even want to know."

"Yeah, gross," Yolanda says, wrinkling her nose up. "I still can't believe I ever dated him."

"Join the club," Cindy sympathizes, nudging her shoulder in solidarity.

"Now that's one organization that I hope I'll never join," Courtney laughs. "Honestly, I'm simultaneously kinda flattered that Henry thinks I could 'turn' both of you and kinda terrified that people still think that's a real thing that happens."

"Straight boys: can't live with them, can... actually really easily live without them," Cindy says thoughtfully. The other two chuckle.

"While we're on the topic of straight boys... where's Rick?" Yolanda wonders aloud.

"Date night with Beth," Courtney supplies promptly. "I think they said something about bowling?"

"Ooh, that sounds like fun," Cindy says, perking up. "Wanna go crash it?"

"Depends, are you any good?" Yolanda teases.

"I'm good at whatever I apply myself too," she says smoothly. There's a long pause, and then...

"You've never gone bowling before, have you?" Courtney asks suspiciously.

"Maybe..." Cindy hedges. Her girlfriends gape at her in horror.

"Well, now we have to go!" Courtney exclaims, acting as if Cindy having never bowled before is a personal affront to everything she stands for. "Come on, Cindy, you can drive us." She gets up and starts grabbing her stuff, and Cindy and Yolanda follow her lead.

"Mom! We're leaving to go meet Beth and Rick!" Courtney yells as they head downstairs.

A muffled "Okay, stay safe!" comes from somewhere in the house, and Courtney opens the front door and holds it for Cindy and Yolanda with a dramatic half-bow.

"Why, thank you," Cindy says as she bats her eyelashes exaggeratedly.

"What a gentlewoman," Yolanda adds, giggling.

"Shotgun!" Courtney calls out once they're all outside, jogging a little to catch up.

"And just like that... chivalry is dead," Yolanda deadpans, clasping her hands to her chest and staring off wistfully into the distance. "Where, oh where, did you go?"

"Oh, shut up," Courtney says, punching her lightly in the shoulder with a bright smile. "Do you really want shotgun or did you just want to make that joke? Because if you're so attached to it you can have it."

"No, I just wanted to make that joke." Yolanda grins and plants a kiss on her cheek, leaning into her side as Cindy rifles through her purse for her keys.

"Here we go!" Cindy declares when she finds them and unlocks the car.

"So, what's the speed limit again?" she asks, only half joking, as her and Yolanda get into the car and Courtney goes around the the passenger side.

"You're kidding, right?" Yolanda says, sounding vaguely alarmed. "It's 25."

"Yeah, I was totally kidding," Cindy reassures her with a nervous laugh, because there's no way she's telling her that she was doing twice that on the drive here. Courtney gets in and begins fiddling with the radio, nodding in approval when she finds a station she likes as one of the presets.

"Okay, babe, since you've never bowled before, we're going to have to go over all of the basics," Courtney instructs. "Some of it we can talk about on the way, but most of the teaching has to happen at the bowling alley, like proper stance and how much run-up distance you need."

"Yes, I think you'll need a lot of help with stance in particular," Yolanda confirms from the backseat as Cindy pulls out of the driveway.

"I think you two just want an excuse to stand really close behind me and maneuver me around," Cindy teases them, smirking.

"Well, stance is actually really important for knocking over the maximum amount of pins and making sure not to injure yourself," Yolanda explains, and the thing is that Cindy actually believes her--it's a very Yolanda thing to do, to care so much about other people and their well-being (Cindy took advantage of that many times before. Yolanda has since forgiven her, but Cindy still doesn't know if she'll ever be able to forgive herself for all of the torture she put Yolanda through). Then, her voice turns mischievous and although Cindy can't see her, she knows that she's smiling as she continues, "That's just a fun bonus."

"And someone has to," Courtney reasons. "Wouldn't you rather it be us than Beth or Rick?"

"True. Beth and Rick are nice, but I'm not going to put out on my first date with them," Cindy says, chuckling, and then, sultrily, "You two can adjust my stance all you want, though." Both of her girlfriends laugh, but Yolanda leans forward to lightly slap Cindy's arm semi-reproachfully--she still hasn't quite overcome all of her Catholic upbringing.

"Okay, but I'm going to hold you to that," Courtney warns her with a grin. "Just a heads-up, bowling can get pretty, well... intense with us, but really, what doesn't? The competitiveness is strong in the JSA."

"Yeah, but bowling isn't all about competition, it's also just plain fun," Yolanda says. "Knocking down the pins is actually really therapeutic, you'll love it. Bowling is one of my favorite sports because I get to throw stuff at other stuff in the same way that boxing is one of my favorite sports because I get to hit stuff."

After that, Courtney and Yolanda begin to debate exactly how far bent over you should be by the end of your throw for maximum pin-hitting potential, and Cindy half-listens to their good-natured bickering, a big smile on her face as she drives through the streets of Blue Valley (this time at the actual speed limit).

I love them, she thinks, not for the first time. Even Cindy isn't brave enough to say it aloud--none of them have yet--but she knows deep down that it's absolutely true. Of course she's managed to fall in love with two of her father's worst enemies: Stargirl and Wildcat, impulsivity and stability, her better wholes (because really, neither of them are half a person).

And she wouldn't have it any other way.

Notes: this was meant to be like 2k words but ig my creative juices were just flowing!!! anyways i love these three w my entire heart and would both kill and die for them, so chances are i will be writing more for them, either by making this part of like a series of oneshots or maybe i'll be making a multichapter fic sometime soon idk 👀 once again, check out my ao3 for more like this!! please leave ur questions/comments/concerns below, i thrive off of others' validation :') and of course, here is the blm carrd, please do what you can to support, whether it's protesting, donating, or even just signing petitions!!