#the hollowness that comes after revenge; how it's never quite what you thought it would be

[jahiera]

I'm going to be turning this over in my brain for hours...

[onyourhyuck]

Crimson Lace Part Two.| Mark Lee (M)

Prologue: “I don’t like him around you.” + “You can’t tell me who to not hang around with. And secondly it sounds like you’re jealous.”

Summery: After you slept with Minhyun that night, Mark starts noticing the distance between you and him as you get closer to Minhyun. He grows jealous and becomes angry when you tell him the truth, making him confess sinful things you didn’t know about.

The Warnings: Love Triangle. Mark Lee Twin Tropes. Mark looks like he’s a complete loser in bed but he turns out to be amazing trope >>>. Fem Reader. Jealous and angry! Mark. Twin rivalry. Degrading. Extreme Mean Mark. Edging (so much edging) ice play (ice cubes mentioned a lot) fingering and eating out (Female receiving) begging, Mark has a massive darcyphillia kink. Everythings consensual. Cum play. Thigh riding. Public setting (they’re doing it in university class closet) Nipple play.

The Taglist: @yesohhsehun @chardonnayyyy @dearj43 @jwicore @nuttie-nv-blog @nctzcrime

Cover Credit: @dearj43 tysm<3

THE NOTE: sorry this took so long man. I was very busy. However part 2 is out now <3 enjoy

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It’s been two weeks since that night you’ve slept with Minhyun and let’s just say you’ve probably done it almost everywhere on campus but the dorms. You tried your best to control it. Try to make things go back to normal with the boy but all it took was one touch from him and things lead to a kiss and another more, it baffled you; with how much Minhyun had this control of you.

He knew how to tick the right boxes physically, sure, but mentally you were somewhere else. You were deeply thinking about Mark, his twin brother, wondering what he would think of you for fucking his brother behind his back.

You’re both scared to confess but you want to confess the truth to him. Unlike Minhyun who shown zero care if he’s railing his brothers crush, you were actually more disheartening about the situation more than anyone right now. You thought if this happened to you you’d be raging with fire in your eyes and demanding revenge. Though, you’re unsure how Mark will react. Mark is mostly a very patient guy. Only a few can tug his patience and test the waters, he’s respectful, friendly and never— and I tell you never gets angry. It’s like he’s perfect. A totally chill, laidback and nice guy.

But today it felt quite the opposite in your class. Writing away on your lined paper the front work essay to do in class, every student in the lecture room was doing the same thing. Trying their best to analysis their view point and perception of Oscar Wilde. You weren’t the biggest fan of Wilde but you do have to admit he does have classical literature. Something you could never forget no matter what. Your cheeks become hollow as you suck in your final breathe before pressing the pen down on the table, finishing the last structural paragraph needed to be done. Your conclusion was the best if you’d have to say so yourself.

Mark caught up with you leaving the class. You’re outside walking up the pathway to the girl dormitory. Something you recently signed up for and moved into. You don’t have a roommate yet, but that’s okay. Honestly you prefer the large dormitory to yourself. As Mark suddenly cuts off your pathway, with an expression you dearly avoided for so long till it finally contacts you.

“Y/n we need to talk.” Mark huffs, out of air.

You look up at the man with a raised eyebrow. “Mark I’m really busy with—“

“Fucking my brother?” He suddenly cuts your sentence off leaving your chest to rise, going tighter and tighter leaving little to no oxygen surpassing through your protected lungs. You felt your world stop and crash instantly like a car has ran into you in the five dimensional realm. You weren’t sure how he came up with that idea, but you knew he was correct. You were cornered by him. Questioned by Mark’s suspicion. For whatever evidence he has. You told yourself to come clean, telling yourself now’s the chance to fully address the issues you’ve done. The bad sins you’ve done behind Mark’s knowledge.

Your voice came out like a murmur. “I’m sorry Mark, I was planning to tell you.” Mark heard you say, though all he could look at was the images of you naked, possibly aroused and more, god, how badly he wished it was him who did those things to you. Minhyun took the pleasure of telling him every fucking detail; the way your moans were so disconnected because you cannot speak while fingered by him deep inside your cunt. He described the way your hair gets messy in the cutest way possible. Minhyun didn’t spare Mark the heinously bragging, what fun was that if he did not? He wants to see Mark rage. He wants to see Mark explode with infuriating frustration that he lost you. His dreams and feelings flat out rejected even though he didn’t confess to you.

All the boy could do was lean back and grab forward your wrist with those boba-like eyes, resembling a round onyx seed. A hint of honey brown flicks in those eyes when bright light slants on the wide iris’ it always makes you so mesmerised. It was only simple brown eyes but the way he looks at you through them, the way you see yourself through his eyes makes your tamed heart skipper quicker than anything in this world. Which heartbeat got faster and faster the more he pressed your wrist in his palm in a harshly given gripping hold, he did not spare you the weakness nor mercy. His voice taunts your skin like a shadowed mercenary ready to kill you while you’re unaware.

“A sorry cannot cut out for the way Minhyun purposely tortured me with the details of your beautiful, romantic night, Y/n.”

He sorely refused your apology leaving you to stand there in middle of nowhere outside the all girl’s dormitory awkwardly as the space minute by minute closes like a maze.

“I don’t like him around you.” Mark trailing with a softer growl containing jealousy that you won’t ever prescribe . It felt more than a normal amount of Jealousy.

It was envy. It was the need to be superior than the other. It was the over-loading amount of covetousness that the boy has for you, it felt like an addiction. You were his wrong addiction with no rehabilitation enough to provide Mark to save himself from your magnetic field.

Mark dislikes the way Minhyun claims he has you wrapped round his fingers yet he doesn’t know the way you have Mark chained to you spiritually. The way your bodies speak in such a hidden language from your conscious mind, gently paving your way, as your eyes tremble to the hold.

Your lips fell from this blank thin line to a sudden choke scoffing softly out your beautiful heart shape mouth, your minds were repeatedly thinking that. “You can’t tell me who to not hang around with.”

You pause staring blankly at him.

“And secondly it sounds like you’re jealous.” You strike at him with your indifferent tone. Mark was indeed bothered by the fact that you and Minhyun have gotten closer, have ended up with a physical relationship. He was jealous and he didn’t dare hide it in his voice or bodily language.

“I’m not fucking jealous I’m more than that.” The grip on your wrist tightens as he pulls your bodies inside the dormitory. “I’m wishing it was me with you that night doing those dirty things, Y/n. Call me jealous all you want but I had my eyes on you first. Minhyun could careless about you.” He adds snarking. “Don’t whore for him who can’t even memorise your Starbucks-go-to order and your favourite movie of all times.”

It’s the way he knows your future moves and the next step seeps to be inebriated, you were left alone staring at Mark deeply who’s chest risen up aloof. Your tongue was bitten down against your teeth harshly as you chew on your words, mentally planning your next dialogue. Just about when you open your mouth, “Mark this is ridiculous-” Mark cuts in right again, leaving you down and flat with your dimmed voice.

“Shut the fuck up.” Mark brushes as the palms creep on your face with their cold temperatures solitudes your warm heated face growing warmer by the way his lips crash on to yours giving them the quickest peck, before fully interrogating your mouth as his own home. His tongue slips in with a barge and a venom to strike. Teeth brush against your soft skin layering your lips to picker and become swollen. Your breathe was harsh and a gasp escaped you. Mark wasn’t trying to be gentle. In fact he was simply rough round the edges, like he had enough of you and your stupidity, that he will finally explode and show you just how much he wants you, how much he loves and wishes to be with you and only you. It’s nothing Minhyun could ever compare to, as your emotions were in the way, but Mark was so much physically intending to use you now.

“Mark- Mark please, slow down, we can’t be doing this…”

He was whispering such degrading terms you weren’t sure how to process. It started off with telling you to be quiet, in which you didn’t oblige to. Your voice came off with multi-stuttering in between the kiss. His fingertips gracefully graze down your jawline and reaching your neck where he grabs you firmly on it before pushing you inside the girl dormitory building. He lead you against a wall pushing you down on it. His voice darkens line an abyss wanting to suck you in and trap you there for eternity and more. “Don’t say anything. Let me indulge a little more before you leave.” He achingly told you, as if it hurt to say. Your reddish swollen lips turned red and you couldn’t believe but feel the way his drunk sad eyes longing on you,

You whisper softly. “I’m not going anywhere.” As Mark leans closer adjusting himself to close the gap between your chest and his. “Don’t get my hopes up.” Mark warns leaning down capturing a passionate and helpless kiss to you, but this time you’ve returned it with just as much eagerness he couldn’t compete with.

He knew you were never going to choose him. He knows Minhyun has stolen your heart and made it his own home before he could, and he only has himself to blame for losing you to his own twin brother. He was late. He was slow and too scared for ruining your friendship between you, Mark often stays up late at night thinking to himself that he should’ve made the first move. He should’ve confessed. He shouldn’t be a coward but he did become one at the end of the day. The moment Minhyun slept with you, he lost a part of himself. He lost all self-control.

You want to tell him you won’t ever leave him. That Minhyun and you sleeping was a simple mistake that you enjoyed and wish to keep on the low, that you’re not interested in dating his brother — you wish to tell him this but all you could focus solely on was the way he was kissing you as if it was his last dying wish. You weren’t sure how far it was going to go, but you felt yourself lose control and all together you grip on his neck finally adjusting to it all. You want Mark.

You came to a conclusion that you want Mark now. Your voice came off as a surprise, if anything, it came off as a dropped off bomb combusting a large sparking ember in his heartbroken heart. “Let’s take it to my dorm…” you said with no shame.

With a nod you were leading Mark inside your dorms welcoming the man in with your bodies aching desperately for each other. The door slams shut and Mark had all his strength pinning you down on your bed gasping in the rough kiss marking your swollen mouth. He was gaping at your body, squeezing his fingers on your clothes and under the fabric crewing on your empty skin practically screaming for him to dirty it, to use you, each time it reminds him of the way you look right now telling that this might be the first and very much the last time he shall ever have the chance of sleeping with you. He must savour the opportunity. Seize the opportunity of all opportunities. And he did.

He did do exactly that when the way he stripped you naked before he shown all his skin in front of you. Your breasts were kneading round like they were his personal items, shifting in your bodies flat on your belly. As his lips press on your shoulder and back. He squeezed at your hips, hoarsely whispering to you; “Lift your hips up for me darling.” It gnaws at your subconscious to hear this man, the man who’s always been your friend, respectful and kind to you was completely out of the picture now that he’s treating you with so much rough and rawly strengths, it purged you with sinful thoughts because it turns you to see him so… berserk. Your lower body arches to his demands and Mark reaches to squeeze your ass before spanking it.

Your voice comes through the pillows that Mark purposely buried your face in. You couldn’t see what he’s looking at but you felt his stare on you everywhere. “Good girl. Always so obedient for me aren’t you? Such a good girl.” He knows how to get you riled up with words. He doesn’t even need to touch you to get you going. The clothes on your body did not last a second on you it was a whole new situation with Mark it even surprised you how well he was good at undressing you from head to toe. The lower clothing came off like it was a slipper from your feet. His fingers weren’t the only thing good at taking clothes off. They were starting to please you down below occasionally slipping out your underwear to the side so his fingers can slide deep inside your wet cunt which was soaking for him.

Mark was pleasantly surprised by how wet you were and his thoughts tread on to his twin brother wondering if he was going through back getting you more wet than this. If this was how soaking you are for him than you must be a waterfall when this continues. He is determined to be better than his brother. Better for you and better for himself. If he lives down as the worse brother in bed he would rather have hell take him back and never come out. As your cunt slowly sinks breathing in his fingers he starts to finger you with a medium length pace causing every wall in you to tighten and loosen just round his shape of the fingers going in and out. The second finger slips in and Mark can hear you moan out more at this rate it was only furling him to continue and add the third finger; your voice becomes slightly louder when your hand covers your mouth to shut it down. He smirks seeing you become so self aware of how you sound so pretty and helpless like a little lamb in the open.

Your body shivers when the ice cube melts on your stomach as he kept pressing on it on the skin. Your lips pull away from his as he looks down at you darkly. “Is it cold?” He slants at you and you could only dumbly nod. Mark smirks. “Good, that’s the point.” His voice lingers as he lifts his hand with an ice cube pushing it to your lips.

You look up at the ice cube and then at him again. “Suck on it.” He orders from you and you couldn’t resist leaning into the cube sucking on it letting it melt on your tongue. He would watch fascinated by the heavenly sight.

Mark stares into you so deep in your eyes refusing to break the minimal eye contact even though he is fingering you so hard to the point your thighs are shaking and hugging side to side with how much he was ramming in you he never once broke away. You couldn’t help but moan as you watch him. He didn’t make you look away at all and if you did he would punish you with a spank to the thighs or to your ass it was unbelievably hot however it made you feel things you did not before. Mark whispers seeing you come close. “That’s right baby keep those eyes on me and come on my fingers Hm? I can feel you throbbing so much around my fingers.” He’d tell you describing every little detail about how your body was round him and you couldn’t believe how arousing it was. You ache jolting a little as you push against his fingers. Mark stops moving them as he saw the juice spewing out and at awe taking them out of you.

He’d lick the remaining juice out of you on his fingers clean off not leaving anything behind. He was staring at you as he did so and you relax there stunned by how he could look so good doing something so dirty? You couldn’t even figure out an answer. It was just a Mark Lee thing. But this wasn’t the end. Mark did not get enough of you and he pushed you down to the side to make you lay down where he forcefully re opens your legs splitting them apart like they were a piece of candy and as he did so his mouth comes to attack you with his tongue on your soaking cunt. He was eating you out and the juices on his tongue tasting so good. It was better than his imagination. It couldn’t compare to his lewdness thoughts. The real deal was the best part.

You weren’t sure how to deal with all this pleasure you couldn’t simple handle all of this but knowing it’s Mark you couldn’t bring the urge to push him away. The pleasure was just something you were hunting down all the time. In disbelief as how fast he was eating you out like he was going through a whole decade of starvation it made you also screaming into your hand. Mark wanted people to hear you however. He wanted you to get caught. He loved the idea of Minhyun coming round and walking in on you with him on your bed knowing it isn’t him. Knowing it’s not his brother. Knowing he got a taste of you it will surely piss his brother off too to see you look so beautiful with him in this rightful moment.

“I… I can’t take it anymore Mark— please— please please can i come?” Your voice was as clueless as a little wren walking around the lonely road. Mark looks up from your wet cunt covering in the saliva and your lubricant ghostly smirking above your clit. Mark’s mouth softly perks up kissing your clit and kissing down again. You shiver at his silent response.

He was taunting you slowly. “Hmm…you can take some more y/n. I know you can. If you can take my brother all night why can’t you take me Hm?” His head tilts so condescendingly at you and your eyes clench tight watering at the pleasure ending just to start again to edge her body into nonexistence. His mind wonders of to you laying down Mark suddenly shifts on the bed seeing how you were pleading for a release. How about he gives you one?

Mark sits on the edge and you look up seeing him pull away suddenly and act as if nothing has happened. He motions you with his finger pointing you up and you sit up slowly coming forward to him. His hand pats his thigh as his dark gaze shines straight at you. “Do you want to cum, Y/n?” His voice strikes you down but you nod in response. Mark hums trailing. “Then ride my thigh and make yourself cum on it.” Mark was making you do the work if you want it so badly.

You felt your skin shiver as you tried to wobble over to his thug pushing your wet pussy on the fabric on his clothes. He was barely dressed but the dry fabric pressing to your womanhood was enough to make you squelch and slowly thrusting your thighs on the area made you want to squeeze Mark’s shoulders down in a heavy way. Mark watches you struggle and he loves the view he was getting just seeing how much you were working for the release. The way your thighs and cunt were grinding on his leg was enough to make him aroused at the sight. You were whimpering all sorts of noises out of your mouth. It made his ears only long for more and more.

He laughs watching you shake already and you only just started riding his thigh. He wraps his hands round your hips pushing it further down to his thigh making you squirm and groan at the sensation of you harshly climaxing on his thigh now bursting out a long streak of water and tears going down your cheeks. “Atta’ girl. Look at you finishing on my thigh so quickly… and you crying…” He carries on darkly chuckling. He was laughing at you, but in such a twisted way you couldn’t help wonder where did the Mark you know was? “You’re such a pretty crier. How about you cry for me some more as i fuck the absolute shit out of you.”

And you did. You were bawling with each thrust in that his thick and wide cock buried deep in you as his body was quenching you underneath hardening and moulding your body into his own temple was just as amazing as the pleasure his cock provided to your womb, ramming and splattering in you widening your spine and back letting your body fall and break into pieces just so he could fix you up and move you like he wants you. He had you in so many different positions in just a few minutes he has you squirming begging for more and more and more; Mark can only give so much and he did give you his all where he had you screaming his name.

Chanting his name more like as if it were a mantra. Mark could only wish he can have this on repeat and recorded forever on. You sigh forward with your soft moans humming about into the bedsheets as Mark had you lift your hips up to go on all fours . Your head was buried deep on the bedsheets and pillows where you can barely breathe but the overwhelming pleasure has you slipping out. “P-Please fill me up Mark. I beg you. I bet you Mark.” You we’re pleading so nicely it was almost tempting. Mark smirks pulling your head up by grabbing handful of your hair lifting you this way so he can whisper into your ears.

One hand was roaming your stomach that you were arching in the all four position. “Yeah you want to be filled? You want me to put a baby inside you? Want me to show everyone how much of a whore you are?” You whimper closing your eyes shut as tears come out. He smirks watching them slip out. “That’s right cry some more. It will make me finish quicker.” He growls throwing your head back on the pillows ramming deep in you leaving your womb feeling a warm stretching sensation.

It continues until a liquid was speedily put inside you at a sudden rate leaving you stunned at how good it felt to have Mark finish deep within you letting a string of his come stay in you as he did for a while. He pants heavily as his hands press down on your back. He helps you turn around where he grabs your neck gently but kissing you so roughly speaking against your swollen lips. “Guess who was hearing us behind the door all this time…?”

You couldn’t believe your ears at first until Mark stares straight ahead of you and your eyes widen at the sight. Mark pulls the phone outta the pocket of his jeans scattering on the floor where you stare at the contact name ‘Lee Minhyun’ on the screen phone. Your gaze turns back to the door seeing a shadow outside the dorm door.

“You… called him over on your phone…”

Mark smirks back at you. “That’s right. This will show him who you truly love and belong to.”

He turns around pointing at the crimson lace that you wore before. “Oh by the way… you should wear this Crimson Lace more often. It suits you.”

NCT SMUT FICS.

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@onyourhyuck please refer from translating and copyrighting my work thank youu! Please reblog the fic and follow me for more updates it helps a girl out.

[lizardthelizard]

Every word you wrote about Tamara is just FACTS!!!!!!!!!!!! What I would have given for Grag & Tamara to be so broken because of magic, that they both had plans of revenge. Getting more people involved behind the scenes even. Tragic, yet understandable backstories and a real threat to Storybrooke from the outside world. The fears of some folks in town coming true (the whole E.T. thing Leroy mentioned in the hospital after Greg first showed up). The danger of having magic in a non-magical world.

EXACTLY!!! 'Tragic yet understandable' is the perfect way to phrase it, because OUAT is very good at including antagonists with these kinds of backstories (although, the effectiveness of this varies from character to character) and I'm sad that Tamara didn't get enough attention to receive the same treatment!

Okay, so, I'm gonna lay out some thoughts properly because why not:

(Disclaimer: I'm adding a read more because this got VERY out of hand. But please read on if anyone is interested in headcanoned Tamara backstory!)

(Second disclaimer: I've actually used this general backstory for Tamara in one of my fics before, although I wasn't able to go into quite as much detail at the time)

So, imagine. Tamara is a child (maybe 10 or 11). She has a happy family; parents that love her, a younger brother that she cares about a lot, a pet goldfish, whatever. And then imagine that, one night, 10 year old Tamara hears a noise from her brother's bedroom. She goes to investigate it but, when she opens the door, she finds herself frozen in shock. The window is wide open and her brother is floating in the middle of the room.

There's the faint sparkle of a glowing green dust on him and a dark shadow with bright, hollow eyes floats just beside him. Tamara pinches herself. She thinks she's dreaming. She's not. The shadowy figure spots her and before she can do a thing to stop it, the creature has taken her brother's hand and flown out the window with him. Maybe he cheerfully waves goodbye, maybe he doesn't even notice that she was there at all.

When Tamara finally works up the courage to move, she rushes to the window. Her brother is long gone, but there's a very fine sprinkle of green dust on the windowsill left in his absence.

Of course, she goes to tell her parents and, of course, they panic. Tamara tries to tell them what she saw but they naturally ignore any claims that she saw her brother flying or that the person that kidnapped him was nothing but a shadow with white, glowing eyes.

There was no sign of a break in from anywhere in the apartment. And the investigation team are baffled as to how anyone could have clambered in and out of the window when the room is situated on the third floor of the building. Tamara's brother never comes back and it's eventually considered a cold case.

Tamara has always considered herself honest, logical and responsible. For a long while, she insists that what she saw was true. It's only after she starts getting therapy that she begins to doubt things.

Therapy does little to fix things. Her family is completely broken. A year or so down the line, her parents divorce. Tamara starts to visit her Grandmother more and more often and she develops a very tight bond with her.

Tamara grows up and moves on from it all as best she can. She eventually stumbles into the same conspiracy group that Greg is a part of. They don't connect right away, but, after a couple of meet ups, they discover that they have a lot in common and also come to realise that, perhaps, they're the only two people in this group that have actually seen real magic.

They eventually confide in one another, talking about how 'magic' has ruined their lives. How it's hurt them in ways that no one else in this group that they're a part of will understand. They connect (idk, they can still get together romantically if they want, although I personally didn't see much chemistry between them and the show only really paired them up for shock value let's be honest) and they start talking about fairy tales and Storybrooke.

(Side note, since Greg is kind of aware of Regina being the Evil Queen (right? or is he not aware of that until he reaches Storybrooke again?) maybe he's even able to suggest that it could have been Peter Pan/Peter's Shadow that kidnapped her brother. I like the idea that he's very overly familiar with a lot of fairy tales and stories is more than willing to consider them in the real world ever since his interaction with Regina)

Anyway, I don't know HOW (and forgive me if I'm missing something from canon here, I'm guessing it maybe had something to do with Pan) but I like the idea of Greg in particular managing to track down either August or Neal (since, aside from Emma, those two are the links that lead back to Storybrooke). And, from here, the pair of them start working on plans to get to Storybrooke.

Greg and Tamara are both therefore stuck with these similar backstories, involving someone they loved being taken from them by someone magical. And ALSO similar in the sense that...no one believed them when they tried to tell the truth about this... Not only would this be about getting some kind of revenge (Greg wanting to get closure on his father and then kill Regina when he confirms that she did murder his dad, and Tamara desperate to find some trace of the shadow that took her brother), but it would also be about proving that they were right this entire time. That they weren't lying or 'crazy' or making things up. That magic is real and it's dangerous.

I guess the dilemma for Greg and Tamara is: how? How are they able to prove that magic actually exists, in a world where magic is unseen to those that don't believe in it? (This is a question that I will be pondering on, but not one that I'll be answering here. This ask has already gotten too long, ahahah)

(Still, there's one final thing I'd like to address)

Because, you see, there's something so deliciously tragic about Pan being the one to cause this trauma in the first place. For him to be so heavily responsible for Tamara's tragic childhood and then him continuing to have a chokehold on Tamara years later on. OUGH.

That said? yeah, I absolutely would have preferred if the Pan arc had been kept entirely separate from Greg and Tamara's (aka, they were there exclusively for their own reasons and not just because Pan said so). Greg and Tamara deserved their own arc that had nothing to do with Neverland. No 'home office', no dumb crystal that was triggered to explode the town or whatever (or! DO include those things! but tie them exclusively to John and Michael's story instead!)

I just!!!!!! I have way more feelings about Tamara (and to a lesser extent Greg/Owen) than I know I should and I'm getting a bit weird thinking about her lately!!!!!!

[shakinblindandhazy]

my favourite midnights lyrics!

this is purely self indulgent

lavender haze

"Staring at the ceiling with you

Oh, you don't ever say too much

And you don't really read into

My melancholia"

maroon

"When the silence came

We were shaking, blind and hazy

How the hell did we lose sight of us again?

Sobbing with your head in your hands

Ain't that the way shit always ends?

You were standing hollow-eyed in the hallway

Carnations you had thought were roses, that's us"

☆

"The rust that grew between telephones

The lips I used to call home

So scarlet, it was maroon"

anti-hero

"I should not be left to my own devices

They come with prices and vices

I end up in crisis"

☆

"I'll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror

It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero"

☆

"Did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism

Like some kind of congressman?"

snow on the beach

"Life is emotionally abusive

And time can't stop me quite like you did"

☆

"This scene feels like what I once saw on a screen

I searched "aurora borealis green"

I've never seen someone lit from within

Blurring out my periphery"

☆

"My smile is like I won a contest

And to hide that would be so dishonest

And it's fine to fake it 'til you make it

'Til you do, 'til it's true"

you're on your own kid

"I search the party of better bodies

Just to learn that my dreams aren't rare"

☆

"The jokes weren't funny, I took the money

My friends from home don't know what to say

I looked around in a blood-soaked gown

And I saw something they can't take away

'Cause there were pages turned with the bridges burned

Everything you lose is a step you take

So, make the friendship bracelets, take the moment and taste it

You've got no reason to be afraid"

☆

"You're on your own, kid

Yeah, you can face this

You're on your own, kid

You always have been"

midnight rain

"I broke his heart 'cause he was nice

He was sunshine, I was midnight rain"

☆

"All the love we unravel

And the life I gave away

'Cause he was sunshine, I was midnight rain"

question...?

"Can I ask you a question?

Did you ever have someone kiss you in a crowded room?"

☆

"Does it feel like everything's just like

Second best after that meteor strike?"

vigilante shit

"Draw the cat eye sharp enough to kill a man

You did some bad things, but I'm the worst of them

Sometimes I wonder which one'll be your last lie

They say looks can kill and I might try

I don't dress for women

I don't dress for men

Lately, I've been dressin' for revenge"

☆

"Ladies always rise above

Ladies know what people want

Someone sweet and kind and fun

The lady simply had enough"

bejeweled

"Familiarity breeds contempt

Don't put me in the basement

When I want the penthouse of your heart"

☆

"Baby boy, I think I've been too good of a girl

Did all the extra credit, then got graded on a curve"

labyrinth

"You know how scared I am of elevators

Never trust it if it rises fast

It can't last"

☆

"Uh-oh, I'm fallin' in love

Oh no, I'm fallin' in love again

Oh, I'm fallin' in love

I thought the plane was goin' down

How'd you turn it right around?"

karma

"You're terrified to look down

'Cause if you dare, you'll see the glare

Of everyone you burned just to get there

It's coming back around"

☆

"Spiderboy, king of thieves

Weave your little webs of opacity

My pennies made your crown"

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

"Karma's a relaxing thought

Aren't you envious that for you it's not?"

sweet nothing

"Outside, they're push and shovin'

You're in the kitchen hummin'

All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothin'"

☆

"On the way home

I wrote a poem

You say, "What a mind"

This happens all the time"

☆

"Industry disruptors and soul deconstructors

And smooth-talking hucksters out glad-handing each other

And the voices that implore, "You should be doing more"

To you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it"

mastermind

"And the touch of a hand lit the fuse

Of a chain reaction of countermoves

To assess the equation of you

Checkmate, I couldn't lose"

☆

"You see, all the wisest women

Had to do it this way

'Cause we were born to be the pawn

In every lover's game"

☆

"No one wanted to play with me as a little kid

So I've been scheming like a criminal ever since

To make them love me and make it seem effortless

This is the first time I've felt the need to confess

And I swear

I'm only cryptic and Machiavellian

'Cause I care"

the great war

"You drew up some good faith treaties

I drew curtains closed, drank my poison all alone

You said I have to trust more freely

But diesel is desire, you were playing with fire"

☆

"And maybe it's the past that's talking

Screaming from the crypt

Telling me to punish you for things you never did

So I justified it"

☆

"It turned into something bigger

Somewhere in the haze, got a sense I'd been betrayed

Your finger on my hairpin triggers

Soldier down on that icy ground

Looked up at me with honor and truth

Broken and blue, so I called off the troops

That was the night I nearly lost you

I really thought I'd lost you"

bigger than the whole sky

"No words appear before me in the aftermath

Salt streams out my eyes and into my ears

Every single thing I touch becomes sick with sadness

'Cause it's all over now, all out to sea"

☆

"Every single thing to come has turned into ashes

'Cause it's all over, it's not meant to be

So I'll say words I don't believe"

☆

"Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye

You were bigger than the whole sky

You were more than just a short time

And I've got a lot to pine about

I've got a lot to live without

I'm never gonna meet

What could've been, would've been

What should've been you"

paris

"Romance is not dead if you keep it just yours"

☆

"I wanna transport you

To somewhere the culture's clever

Confess my truth

In swooping, sloping, cursive letters"

high infidelity

"Lock broken, slur spoken

Wound open, game token

I didn't know you were keeping count"

☆

"Do you really want to know where I was April 29th?

Do I really have to chart the constellations in his eyes?

You know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love

The slowest way is never loving them enough"

☆

"Oh, there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love

And it's never enough, it's never enough"

glitch

"I think there's been a glitch, oh, yeah

Five seconds later, I'm fastening myself to you with a stitch, oh, yeah"

☆

"I was supposed to sweat you out

In search of glorious happenings of happenstance on someone else's playground

But it's been two-thousand one-hundred ninety days of our love blackout"

would've could've should've

"I would've stayed on my knees

And I damn sure never would've danced with the devil

At nineteen

And the God's honest truth is that the pain was heaven

And now that I'm grown, I'm scared of ghosts

Memories feel like weapons

And now that I know, I wish you'd left me wondering"

"And if you never saved me from boredom

☆

I could've gone on as I was

But, Lord, you made me feel important

And then you tried to erase us"

☆

"God rest my soul

I miss who I used to be

The tomb won't close

Stained glass windows in my mind

I regret you all the time

I can't let this go

I fight with you in my sleep

The wound won't close

I keep on waiting for a sign

I regret you all the time"

☆

"If clarity's in death, then why won't this die?

Years of tearing down our banners, you and I

Living for the thrill of hitting you where it hurts

Give me back my girlhood, it was mine first"

dear reader

"Dear reader, burn all the files

Desert all your past lives

And if you don't recognize yourself

That means you did it right"

☆

"So I wander through these nights

I prefer hiding in plain sight

My fourth drink in my hand

These desperate prayers of a cursed man

Spilling out to you for free

But darling, darling, please

You wouldn't take my word for it if you knew who was talking

If you knew where I was walking

To a house, not a home, all alone 'cause nobody's there

Where I pace in my pen and my friends found friends who care

No one sees when you lose when you're playing solitaire"

the end.

[theartificialintelligentsia]

i have a lot of thoughts about City of Blades, because, good lord, i think it's one of the best books i've ever read as an adult

(spoilers below, duh)

City of Blades is ultimately a book about war, and the associated glorification of death that comes with it, the implication that, even if you die, it will be for a higher cause. it's a lesson that's been constantly repeated throughout history. you saw it in ancient times, with the Norsemen and the concept of Valhalla, that dying in battle would net you the most desirable of afterlives. you saw it with The Crusades and the retaking of the Holy Land, for the Chosen Ones, from the dirty, heathen Muslims. you saw it in the recent past, with the Cold War and the fight against the evils of Communism to spread Democracy across the world. you see it today, with the War on Terror, continuing the good fight to spread Freedom and Democracy.

but City of Blades serves as a deconstruction of that idea, to point and say, "is this not wholly and utterly insane? death is death, no matter how much you try to dress it up." many characters in this book thought they were giving their lives to something greater, and yet that turns out not to be true.

Rada Smolisk orchestrated her scheme because she thought it would jump-start the Night of the Sea of Swords and destroy the world that took everything from her. what did she get for it? a bullet to the face.

Sumitra Choudhry made her way into the City of Blades because she thought that she was going to make the ultimate hero play to stop the Voortyashtani sentinels. what did she get for it? a lonely death of dehydration.

Pandey picked a fight with Turyin because he thought that he would avenge his fallen love and exact a measure of revenge for the wrongs that had been done to him. what did he get for it? a blade to the heart.

Lalith Biswal orchestrated his scheme because he wanted his opportunity to start another war so that he could claim victory and be lauded for it as a hero. what did he get for it? a bullet to the chest.

you see so many descriptions of this disbelief over the shattering of the idea of a glorious death. Turyin, upon finding Sumitra Choudhry's corpse:

There's a trace of irritation or discomfort to [Choudhry's] large, dark eyes, as if she can't believe this is happening to her, that she should come so far just to die here, alone on a bridge over ghostly waters.

and, after she shoots Biswal:

He stares at her in disbelief. Then he says, "I'm ... I'm not going to die, am I? I can't. I just can't ..." Mulaghesh watches him. "I wasn't ... I wasn't supposed to die like this," he says softly. "I was supposed ... to have a hero's death. I'm owed a better death." [...] She can't quite tell when he dies. She can tell his vision is failing him, and then perhaps he's passed out from blood lost but is still alive ... and then ... Nothing.

all of these people died ignominious, unremarkable deaths. because war doesn't give you these hero moments like you would read about in an epic, or a movie or TV show. those are often written by those who weren't there and would never understand what kind of hell war is like. war just takes lives, without any regard for a narrative or a story.

but this is a story. and one could reasonably expect the narrative expectation of important characters meeting just fates, because they have importance to the plot structure. but this is where Bennett also plays very well upon the expectations of the readers, as well.

it's easy enough to assume that Signe would survive, because she's Turyin's sidekick, and, of course, she has to make it, right? nope! one would also assume that Vallaicha Thinadeshi would have merited a more meaningful and fulfilling death, right? nope! it's a common trope in fiction that the good guys live, and the bad guys die, because that's how it's supposed to work, right? but what we see here is that good guys and bad guys, alike, meet ends that feel hollow, unfulfilling, and meaningless. it's a very interesting subversion of expectations on Bennett's part.

and, of course, Turyin is the one that has to pick up the pieces from all of this. you would think that someone who committed as many atrocities as she did during the Yellow March and committed just as many heroic acts during the Battle of Bulikov would have merited a heroic end? nope! it's almost ignominious and unremarkable, in and of itself, for Turyin to be the last one standing at the end of all of this.

anyway. all of this is to say that i truly enjoy the thematic elements that have been employed here. it's easy enough to think back to all of the books that i read in primary and secondary education, where i only really thought of those books in terms of the themes that i would have to describe in a paper or on a test. this book has really employed such a theme in spades, but it's also provided a very enjoyable narrative to read.

[badheart]

"Perhaps it is." The younger Fullbringer considered. Maybe its ego.. Maybe they're lacking something, so they murder others to try and gain it back. Like hollows losing their hearts-- Braids hung about her features shifted as her head swing side to side. Disagreeing with a thought. Come and gone. Left to the past as she closes her eyes with a small sigh. "Whatever the case - they're quite the destructive lot."

They met up so he could take their powers? That was... so bizarre.. And it was a little jarring. Could he take her powers? Would he ever want to? Fingers trailed a pouch against her hip with lips thinned in thought.

"Do you remember when we first met, and I told you I would tell you more later?" Questioned Jezebel. An uneasy shift where she sat, dragging her arms around herself protectively. "Before she was murdered.. My Mum encouraged me to use my powers.. I lost her when I was only three..." It was unbelievably difficult to share, but -- they were alike. He had so much more experience, and it seemed he was willing to teach her. It could only help but explaining a few things -- right? Maybe he was someone she could call a friend? It was a nice thought..

"To summarize my life following that - I became a weapon. The man I believe murdered her, took me to London where I lived isolated. Forced to do unspeakable things to people. When my powers grew, he began to fear my potential.. So he bound me. My life was deprived of -- everything that made me feel human. Anyone I became curious about.. he killed.. because they were a distraction.. Hueco Mundo was my one reprieve from that life. He would dump me there to survive on my own many times, believing it would make me a better assassin."

Brows knit upward and her head turned towards him with an apologetic glance, "You're only the second person I've shared that with.. It got a bit out of hand.. My apologies. " Feeling a touch uncomfortable having revealed so much, she tries to refocus the topic of discussion, "Tsukishima?" Jezebel questioned a bit more subdued, "Perhaps you could introduce us.. It may be.. nice.. to meet others like us... What other powers can Fullbringers manifest? What are you able to do? How is it you can take others powers?"

"I wonder what you gonna do then, considering your current position..." Surprised, that they would even accept another Substitute Shinigami. It is not like they ever really cared about the humans being attacked by Hollows in the real world. One more won't really do a difference in Ginjo's opinion but he had stopped caring anyway. He had never desired to change the world, not really, answers had been his bigger interest, and revenge.

"Vaguely," he admitted and slumped slightly down in his position, getting more comfortable, as he had the feeling, she would tell him quite a bit now. He would not consider himself a bad listener but his sympathy for others left him years ago. Even if they were Fullbringer as well, he was not the sensitive type. Ginjo would listen, but if she searched for comfort, he was not the right one as he would simply stare at her, when she told about the demise of her mother. While his own was still alive, most likely, she could be pretty much considered dead anyway, when she left them. "London?" That seemed to surprise him more, even perk his interest, considering how far away it was, and now she was back in Japan? "I've heard plenty of stories, and I guess you win... not that you want to win in this." Bearing one hellish life. "Kind of ironic, how you may go through the same again, you certainly became another weapon yet again and this time for our otherworldly military." He could not help the snort that escaped him when he spoke of the Shinigami. "Who can become quite scared too, if you grow too powerful, there I am sure... they trust no one, probably not even themselves."

At least he could somewhat understand her demeanour now, it made a lot of more sense after she shared her past. Becoming as cold as ice, before slowly opening up. "Life is a harsh mistress," he mumbled and looked into the far distance. "And turns out death sucks just as much, if not more." Well, if he could call it death, considering he was more of a spirit now, sadly with no one to haunt, that might be more entertaining. "An assassin... sounds like he had plenty of enemies?" Though who? That one would go through the whole hassle to train this woman, instead of hiring an existing one. He reads too less news, but assassinations seemed to be a rare case in the world and probably even more in western countries. Ah whatever, in the end it was pointless to wonder about this all anyway, considering his fate.

"Nothing to apologize for," he reassured her with a small smile of his, waving her off. "Just the second?" Faking a hurt tone, just to bring some humor into their talk again. Always preferring to rather enjoy than pitying himself. "And here I thought, I would be special enough to be the first, just as I was the first Substitute..." Almost grinning now, before momentarily closing his eyes. "He not really interested in girls, I think," Ginjo teased. "Books are his true love... but you can usually find him around here as well... he is taller than me." That made him purse his lips as he let out a huff. That idiot had been so small once in comparison to him and boom, growth spurt.

"I don't know, I just can... it's not like I picked this power... it just happened, developed into that... just like by other Fullbringer, though I don't recall anything traumatic happening to me... perhaps I wanted to get stronger, which boy doesn't want to be a strong hero with cool powers?" Ginjo snorted. Not much was remembered from his childhood and frankly he did not want to. "Though, I remember always finding the villains cooler..."

[august-anon]

prompt: one character knows how to read their partner like an open book so can totally tell when the other is in a ler mood even when they’re denying it, maybe with the line “oh hush, you know there’s no point in lying to me anymore” (or something along those lines)? dealer’s choice for fandom!

I don't even remember how old these prompts are at this point, thank you for being so patient all this time lol. Hope you enjoy this!!

----

You Want To

Fandom: Witcher

Ship(s): Geraskier

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Jaskier/Ler!Geralt

Word Count: 2308

Summary: Geralt's in a bit of a mood, and Jaskier thinks it'll be a bit fun to tease him. He doesn't account for the way Geralt teases him back once he finally convinces Geralt to give in and tickle him.

[ao3 link]

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

Jaskier liked to think he knew Geralt pretty well, after all these years.

He knew what each particular furrow of Geralt’s brow meant. He knew how to translate each and every hum and grunt. He knew how to measure the tenseness in Geralt’s shoulders, in Geralt’s jaw, in Geralt’s fingers. He knew exactly how Geralt liked his hair played with, and what scents Geralt preferred in his baths.

So, after well over a decade of learning to read him, Jaskier thought he knew Geralt rather well. And he was pretty certain he was right about what was plaguing Geralt, now. Twitching fingers, shifting eyes, hungry gazes. The fact that he couldn’t look away every time Jaskier had stretched so far (and maybe he had started doing it on purpose, just a little bit. Sue him, he liked feeling Geralt’s eyes on him, and the added element of teasing was just a plus).

Geralt seemed to be in quite the mood. Of course, Geralt nearly always seemed like he was in some sort of mood, with his scowling and his growling and his generally aggressive nature, but this was quite the different mood.

Geralt wanted someone squirming beneath those twitching fingers, squealing and giggling with abandon. He wanted to pin someone to the ground and draw out every mirthful sound they were capable of. He wanted to bury those fingers into someone’s flesh until they pleaded for mercy.

And luckily for him, Jaskier was more than happy to oblige.

But the thing was… teasing Geralt was just so fun.

It wasn’t often Jaskier could get Geralt’s full, undivided attention, and he was going to take advantage of this while it lasted. The way Geralt’s fingers twitched when Jaskier stretched his arms high above his head. The way Geralt’s nostrils flared when Jaskier slipped off his boots and wiggled his aching feet during a rest from their travelling. The way Geralt eyed him like a starving man eyed a buffet when Jaskier added a little more bubbliness to his laughter throughout the day.

Teasing Geralt was fun. The only downside was, it led to Jaskier himself getting trapped in a little bit of a mood as well.

A mood leaving him aching to be underneath someone’s twitching fingers, squealing and giggling with abandon. A mood to be pinned to the ground and have every mirthful sound he was capable of painstakingly drawn out of him. A mood to have fingers buried into his flesh until he pleaded for mercy, and then keep going until he truly couldn’t take it anymore.

And that just wasn’t fair.

So Jaskier convinced Geralt to let them stop and make camp far earlier in the day than they normally would. He agreed way too easily, and Jaskier knew his plans were set into motion.

They stopped next to a river that fed into a nearby lake. Jaskier stripped and bathed, washing his clothing as well, setting it all out on a rock to dry. It left Jaskier only in his underclothes as he rolled out his bedroll and settled atop it. He watched as Geralt deliberately kept his gaze away from Jaskier’s skin, putting an outrageous amount of attention to unpacking things for their camp and untacking Roach. Jaskier lasted all of five minutes before he groaned and flopped backwards on his bedroll.

“Geralt, come on,” he said. “Just tickle me already. We both know you want to.”

Geralt shot him a glare, but Jaskier watched on it glee as it froze on his face and he swallowed heavily at the sight of Jaskier stretched out on the ground. Jaskier tried to squirm tantalizingly, stretching his arms high above his head and leaving them there. This was starting to feel more like a seduction than a tease, and Jaskier had to force down the flush that wanted to rise to his face.

Geralt didn’t like him that way, and that was fine by Jaskier. He could pine perfectly in peace without it getting in the way.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Geralt ground out, turning away again.

“Oh hush, you big brute,” Jaskier said, wiggling his toes. “You should know by now that there’s no point in trying to lie to me. Not anymore.”

Geralt turned his scowl back onto Jaskier. Jaskier gave him a bright grin in return, and it only made Geralt narrow his eyes.

“You’ve known all day,” Geralt said eventually.

Jaskier bit his lip. “I have.”

“You’ve been teasing me.” Geralt’s face darkened. “All day.”

This time when Jaskier squirmed, it was neither intentional nor meant to be tantalizing. “Maybe. Just a little.”

Geralt stalked toward him. “A little?”

Jaskier was pinned to his bedroll by Geralt’s weight before he knew what was happening. He gasped and tried to wiggle out from under Geralt, vicious swarms of butterflies suddenly filling up his chest and stomach.

“Wait--wait wait! Let’s talk about this--”

“I don’t think there’s any more need,” Geralt said. “Unless it’s me reminding you how ticklish you are. Or how helpless you are. Or how I know all of your most ticklish places by heart.”

“Oh shit,” Jaskier breathed.

Geralt gave him a feral grin.

Jaskier very quickly found himself inside the grave he had been digging for himself all day, though he hadn’t noticed it was a grave until just now. He was practically naked, only smallclothes left on to protect his decency, and had been teasing a witcher all day, and a witcher with a proclivity for tickling him silly at that.

Jaskier really hadn’t thought this one through, had he?

Geralt reached up to grab Jaskier’s wrists where they still rested above his head, gathering them both in one of his hands. He gave them a brief squeeze before pulling away.

“These stay here,” he said. “Or I’ll make you regret it.”

Jaskier gulped and nodded.

And then Geralt did the most evil thing. Geralt teased back.

His fingers just barely brushed over Jaskier’s skin, so light that he wasn’t even sure Geralt was touching him despite the goosebumps erupting all over his body. He squirmed and clenched his hands into fists, biting back a whine. Geralt remained straight-faced and quiet the whole time, watching Jaskier’s every twitch and flinch and wiggle.

Jaskier finally broke. “Geralt, come on.” He tried to move into Geralt’s touch more, but Geralt followed and kept his fingers just as feather-light. “Geralt!”

A smirk tugged at the edges of Geralt’s lips. “I don’t know, Jask. I think this may be all you deserve, after teasing me so much.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to protest, but Geralt’s touch became firmer right at that moment and all that came out was a gasp. It wasn’t much firmer, not even firm enough to make him laugh -- and that was saying something, considering Jaskier often found himself cackling from only feathers -- but it was enough to make him jump and pant and let out breathy little whines.

Geralt’s fingers skimmed down his arms and through his hollows, across his ribs and sides, over his stomach and hips, and all the while not giving Jaskier what he truly craved. Surely Geralt was craving this as much as Jaskier at this point, right? Surely Geralt couldn’t hold out much longer, after a whole day of teasing. Jaskier certainly couldn’t hold out much longer, and he’d only been suffering a handful of minutes.

“Gods, Geralt, please!”

Geralt leaned down to whisper directly into his ear. “Please, what?”

At this point, Jaskier was considering pulling his arms down just to see if Geralt’s “punishment” would give him what he was searching for. Odds were, though, with as mischievously cruel as Geralt was feeling, it would be the exact opposite. Maybe he would tie Jaskier down to a tree or a rock and wiggle his fingers centimeters away from Jaskier’s skin, making it crawl and his nerves beg for the touch even more. Making Jaskier impossibly more desperate and never delivering. Just the thought of it made a pit of excitement swoop in his belly.

“Please, tickle me, Geralt.”

“Are you sure you’ve earned that?” Geralt murmured, still directly into Jaskier’s ear.

“Yes, yes, please. You’ve had your revenge, you terrible witcher.”

Geralt hummed quietly, and Jaskier swore the air around his neck was displaced by the vibrations. A sound alone couldn’t tickle like that, that had to be the explanation.

“Are you sure you deserve that?” Geralt asked.

“Please,” Jaskier panted. “Please, Geralt, I’ll be good. I’ll be so good.”

Geralt chuckled, lips directly against the shell of his ear. “Will you, now?”

“Yes, just tickle me already!”

Jaskier didn’t expect his outburst to get Geralt to comply so quickly. He thought there’d be a few more moments of teasing, a warm-up before the main event, but Geralt didn’t waste time with any of that. He immediately sat back and reached behind his own hulking form, latching onto Jaskier’s inner thighs and kneading.

Jaskier’s eyes bulged out of his head as he instantly started screaming in laughter. His eyes squeezed shut quickly after as he kicked his legs out, instinctively trying to displace the torturous feeling.

“No, please!”

Geralt rumbled with laughter above him. “Was this not what you wanted, lark?”

Jaskier couldn’t answer, he could only squeal and cackle. Geralt’s hands shifted upward, finding a particularly sweet spot inside Jaskier’s worst sweet spot, and Jaskier went silent. He tried to be good like he promised, he really did, but he couldn’t really help how he shot upright and into Geralt’s chest. He laughed into Geralt’s shirt -- beyond glad he had removed the armor for once, this was much more comfortable -- as he reached around, trying to pry Geralt’s fingers away.

“I thought you said you’d be good,” Geralt said, immediately stopping his fingers. Jaskier could hear the teasing smile in his voice.

Jaskier slumped against him, too busy catching his breath to respond. He felt Geralt’s hand sweep up and down his back, trying to help calm him despite his words. His eyes popped open when he felt Geralt’s lips press into his sweaty hair, and he tilted his head back to look at Geralt. Judging by the look on Geralt’s face, he was surprised too, like he hadn’t quite meant to do that.

Geralt cleared his throat. “Would you like to take your punishment now or later?”

Jaskier bit his lip. “I think I deserve a reward first, don’t you?”

Geralt shot him an incredulous look. “A reward? For what?”

Jaskier gave him a cheeky grin. “For holding out as long as I did. For being an outlet for your little mood. For being the best companion you could ever ask for. Take your pick.”

Geralt hummed. “And what would this reward entail?”

Jaskier straightened his back and tilted his head up, so that their noses were nearly brushing. “Take your pick,” he whispered.

Geralt searched his eyes for a moment longer before closing the distance between them, pressing their lips together. Jaskier sighed into the kiss and reached up to wrap his arms around Geralt’s neck. They kissed for long moments and Jaskier became dizzy with it, feeling like the sun itself was buzzing bright in his chest. When Geralt finally pulled back, it took all of Jaskier’s willpower not to chase his lips.

“You tease,” Geralt murmured against his jaw, having ducked his head to tuck his face into Jaskier’s neck.

“I can hardly believe it was that easy, myself,” Jaskier breathed out. “I’ve wanted to do that for years.”

“Tease,” Geralt repeated. “I should add onto your punishment for that.”

Jaskier gaped. “What did I do to deserve that?!”

Geralt didn’t answer him. Instead, he pushed Jaskier back onto his back and slid off Jaskier’s legs. He lifted one up, draping it over his shoulder. Jaskier gulped, his mind going in a very different direction.

“This may tickle,” Geralt said, a sly look in his eye.

Jaskier’s own eyes went wide again as he tried to catch up. Geralt’s lips attached to the thigh he had draped over his shoulder, nibbling and kissing in the most ticklish of ways. Add in the short, scratchy scruff that littered Geralt’s cheeks and jaw and Jaskier was in his own personal hell -- or perhaps this was heaven, not that he’d ever admit it.

Either way, Jaskier howled with laughter, his eyes welling up with tears of mirth. Geralt chuckled against his thigh, his breath fanning out over the skin and making Jaskier shiver. Geralt then had the brilliant idea of blowing a raspberry against his inner thigh and Jaskier’s nerves exploded, tears spilling over as his laughter went silent once more. Geralt blew another raspberry, this time shaking his head so his scruff tickled Jaskier just as much, his stray hairs brushing across Jaskier’s skin with the movement and doing plenty of damage itself.

After a third and final raspberry, Geralt finally pulled back, dropping Jaskier’s leg from his shoulder and letting him curl up on the bedroll. He reached down to wipe away Jaskier’s tears as he caught his breath.

“Next time,” Geralt said, “listen to instructions.”

Jaskier chuckled weakly. “It’s a bit easier to listen to instructions when they’re not quite so impossible,” he said. Then, quieter, “When’s next time?”

Geralt flopped down onto the bedroll next to him. “Soon as we’d like.”

Jaskier hummed. “I’ll have to get my revenge, you know. As well as you know my weak points, I also know yours.”

Geralt shifted behind him and Jaskier let loose a tired grin. His revenge could wait for tomorrow, at least. For now, he intended to catch his breath and figure out how to get Geralt to kiss him like that again. And again, and again, and again.

And maybe get a few more tickles out of it along the way.

[dr3amofagame]

Sooo... how about that reveal that c!Sam wasn’t feeding c!Dream? I mean, we all knew it was coming, but still. The auto food dispenser probably broke or smtg bc when c!Sam came down, c!Dream asked if he was there to give them potatoes. (Also with him being shaken up by learning c!Tommy is alive, c!Sam might not remember or care to feed c!Dream, who has none of his stores of potatoes left.) So, assuming the dispenser is broken and he doesn’t know, why would he come down in the first place? 🟩⛏?

hello anon !! yeah that reveal ,, dang, we already knew that c!sam had presumably been starving c!dream, but to see not only c!dream but c!sam confirm it as well as it having lasted AT LEAST a week ,, d a n g . they are Not pulling any punches in this arc (which, i mean, judging on the q stream, isnt exactly surprising anymore,, but still)

in the prison guard stream, we see how the dispenser works - it’s not automatic as much as it’s remote, as c!sam or the prison guards still need to press a button in order to dispense food. he also says “i havent even been around to feed the prisoner” or something along those lines in tommy’s stream, so we can conclude that the decision to deprive c!dream of food after c!tommy’s death is INTENTIONAL,, which i mean. again. yikes. 

anyway, here’s a snippet of c!dream finding out that the “automatic” feeder isnt as automatic as he might’ve thought - here, the dispenser + crying obsidian are installed at around the same time, so it’s between bad and sapnap’s visit

tw: starvation, disordered eating, abuse, mental illness, self-hatred, toxic relationship, gaslighting, disturbing imagery, dark content, c!sam/warden!sam critical (again, be careful with the content warnings)

Dream stares up at the hole in the obsidian, barely able to make out a glint of metal in the dark chute. The dispenser, just as expected, doesn’t respond to his glare, refuses to whir and click in the way that indicates food, and Dream bites his tongue, mumbles curses under his breath.

“Prick,” he blows a breath through his gritted teeth, only more irrationally angry when the dispenser, as expected, ignores him. “Some automatic dispenser, Warden.”

The walls don’t respond. Nothing responds, here, besides the dark dark thoughts swirling in his brain, and he thinks he’d prefer it if those didn’t - or maybe he doesn’t, because company is company, even if said company is the same litany of blood anger revenge pain you deserve this you deserve all of this you have destroyed the world now lie in the bed you have made pounding at the base of his skull. He drags his hand down his face; every minute is an hour, and every hour is a minute. Time has no meaning when your only frame of reference is eternity.

Even so, even he can tell that it’s been a long time since he’s had food, even by his usual standards - several days, at least, because the ever-present ache of hunger in his gut had swelled into something angrier, demanding, no longer as easy to ignore. Another stabbing round of pain nearly sends him to his knees, and just as he always he does, he clings to the feeling, gathers it into his hands, grabs it by the edges and directs the sharp edges into the words he spits at the indifferent walls. Let the Warden hear him - what can he possibly do?

Just as it always does, the fury in him peters out, drains, leaves him alone in the middle of his cell. He sinks the ground, arms wrapped around his stomach; a part of him wants to laugh at the irony. Some people think of silence as emptiness, void; he knows now that it’s anything but. Silence is suffocating, thick, so present that anything he says seems to get lost within it seconds after leaving his mouth. It grows and pushes into his limbs, becomes a weight tied around his throat, expands into the air in his lungs like a slowly inflating balloon until it’s pressed into every corner and space of the cell, every corner and space of him, taking up so much room that he can hardly breathe around it.

The hunger hollows him out, and the silence fills the space that’s left; Dream wonders how much more there is for him to lose before he’s completely empty, just a husk filled with the same liquid misery that drips down the walls. He wonders if anyone would care- laughs. As if.

“Dream.” The intercom crackles; Dream perks up at the voice, spine straightening against his will, and his hands tighten into fists as he realizes - prime, how pathetic is he, now? The voice deepens, becomes more insistent. “Prisoner.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Or maybe I’m not; you better come and check, yeah?” A humorless smile tugs at his lips, and a static-filled sigh comes through the speaker.

“This isn’t the time for games, Dream.”

Dream rolls his eyes. It’s not exactly the time to be a dick, either, but you don’t see me complaining. A flutter of something warm, joyful, rises in his chest at the sound of something- someone, other than his own voice, and he strangles it with a hand wrapped around his own throat - he won’t let them break him, won’t let himself become desperate enough to crave the attention of a man that hates him - he won’t- he can’t-

“Do you need something? Or were you yelling at the wall for no reason again?” Sam’s voice is steely, indifferent, on a knife’s edge between apathy and anger. “Don’t waste my time, prisoner.”

Dream bites down the snarky reply sitting on his tongue, breathes in, out through his nose until the fury is no longer blinding.

“Your fancy automatic jig is broken. The potato one. It’s not- working.” The hunger fogs his mind, makes it hard to think. He feels caged and weak and pathetic and he hates it.

“That’s because it’s not automatic.” Footsteps echo on the speakers, Dream tapping along to the rhythm before he realizes and stops himself, and a moment later the familiar whirring and clicking of the metal box comes from behind him and a small pile of potatoes fall down and splash into the water. “There. Is that all?”

Dream feels the fury rise, again, but doesn’t quite to keep the words back, this time.

“So what was the point of the whole automatic feeder, asshole? You’ve changed nothing! What’s the difference between that thing and you coming over to my cell besides that you’ve wasted a couple stacks of redstone? Congratu-fucking-lations, you’re a goddamn genius-”

“It’s remote now, so I don’t have to come into your cell.”

“Oh, so it’s just the good ol’ Warden looking for more ways to make the prisoner suffer, huh? Should’ve figured, you fucking self-righteous prick-”

“Dream.”

His mouth shuts with a click, a flash of fear searing through his muscles, white-hot, and by the time he’s blinked back the ringing in his ears the silence has stolen all the words from him, once again. Pathetic, he screams in his head, but his jaw remains firmly locked in place - the Warden’s won, per usual, and they both know it.

“Is that all?” He sounds impatient. Part of Dream wants nothing more than to never hear his voice again, and the other half of him rails at the idea of being alone with his thoughts once more. All of him hates himself, and all of him hates the silence; they’re the only two constants in this place. “You’ll have to speak up if you want anything.”

“How- long was it, since you last gave food?”

Static for a moment, then another. “It’s only been about a day.”

“Bullshit.”

“You’d know if you took care of your clock instead of destroying it, prisoner.”

“I’d know if you were less of a fucking prick.”

“Behave, and you might get it replaced.” The Warden’s breathing is harsh, almost labored - he must be angrier than Dream thought, then. “Speaking of which, you won’t be getting any for a day after this stunt.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared. It’s not like you don’t do this - what, every other day?”

“Do you want food or not?”

Dream’s teeth grind against each other; he breathes in, out. He hates this, hates the potatoes, hates the Warden, hates himself. Hates the way that a part of him recoils at the thought of making the Warden angry at him, reaches desperately for a chance to earn his clock- his approval. Attachments are weakness, he tells his traitorous heart, knowing that it, as always, will fail to stay away.

“Yes. Thank you.” The pleasantry burns on his tongue, tastes worse than the bitterness of raw potatoes that seems to be the only thing it knows, anymore.

“Good-bye, prisoner. Don’t make me come into the cell.”

The intercom cuts off with a click, the space that the static made immediately filled by silence. Dream watches it blankly, jaw sore from how tight it had been clenched, and begins to work his way through the first potato, nibbling at the pale flesh just enough to tide over the worst of the pain.

This is fine, he tells himself, and the walls stare at him impassively. He’s not sure they believe him.

He’s not sure how much longer he can believe himself.

[silverstarlightwrites]

An alternate AU to this one that occurred to me just now

Team Seven take the mission to the Land of Waves. On the bridge, they fight Zabuza and Haku.

On the bridge, Naruto dies.

Something in Sasuke breaks, and he goes berserk. Haku and their ice mirrors scream as they flashboil in the black flames Sasuke summons forth, and it takes only a howl and a wild gesture to send Amaterasu blazing across the bridge to consume Zabuza and Tazuna as well. The stone melts underneath them, while Kakashi snatches up Sakura and flees, and it’s not until Sasuke feels the weight of wet clothes - crushing Naruto’s body to his chest, bloody and so absurdly hot - that he realises the bridge has disintegrated, and the water is burning.

It’s instinct and desperation that let Sasuke to douse the fires he’s conjured, and even then it aches and tastes like blood and acid, and he’s sinking when Kakashi whips across the surface to catch him, the moment the flames are gone.

Sasuke cries into Naruto’s chest, and refuses to let go. Sakura is cold and silent, and she neither speaks nor eats for the grim, slow trek back to Konoha. And it is slow, even further drawn out by the constant fluctuation of chakra from Naruto’s corpse, carried awkwardly and painfully by Sasuke alone.

It’s not Naruto’s chakra, of course. Kakashi dreads the inevitable questions, resolves not to lie when they come, and somehow their absence is even worse.

The moment they walk through the southern Konoha gate, there are Anbu all over them. They pry Naruto’s body from Sasuke’s arms, despite his shouting and kunai, despite the way Sasuke’s eyes ignite into blood red to fight-- But he doesn’t summon Amaterasu again, doesn’t expend the chakra he doesn’t have to try and kill their own. Sakura touches his shoulder, just two fingers, and her face is pale and hollow when she shakes her head, but it’s still more interaction than she’s allowed for the whole trip, and Sasuke obeys her. Blinks his eyes black, slumps in place, and then sags against Sakura.

She catches him, and he’s shaking, and she stares over his shoulder, unblinking, at the Anbu wrapping Naruto’s corpse in chakra-absorbing paper scrawled endlessly with Seals.

Kakashi isn’t sure what she sees, and he isn’t sure he wants to know.

One Anbu stays behind, and they instruct the gutted remains of Team Seven that the Hokage wants to see them. Kakashi can’t bring himself to intervene when Sasuke snarls and lunges, or when Sakura lets him. Doesn’t step in when Sasuke tells them to Fuck Off or when he punches them weakly in the chest - and the Anbu clearly thinks he’s simply not going to get involved, because when they try to catch Sasuke’s wrist they aren’t expecting Kakashi to move. Too fast to be safe, too fast for the chakra use not to burn.

Sasuke leans back into Kakashi as the Anbu trips, and Kakashi feels himself close his hands on Sasuke’s shoulders. “Don’t touch my kids,” he hears himself hiss, and if he doesn’t quite know when he accepted them as his then he doesn’t quite care either.

One of them is dead, and they won’t be permitted to mourn him properly because of the beast caged inside him without his knowledge.

The thought makes Kakashi sick. It all does, all of it. Konoha’s abuse of an innocent child, Kakashi’s complicitness in allowing it to happen. Hiruzen’s cruelty in allowing it also.

In allowing all of it.

Sasuke has lost enough.

The Anbu doesn’t need telling twice, and they leave Kakashi to cajole his kids into seeing Hiruzen. It takes more effort than he’d care to admit. Just physically, the three of them are a wreck - and it’s worse emotionally. Mentally.

“You let them take him.”

It’s the first thing Sakura has said since Naruto died - in a burst of blood and scarlet chakra - and Kakashi suddenly thinks he’s never felt anything so cold as her voice. When he meets her gaze, it’s like drowning.

“I had to. The Hokage will explain.” Because Kakashi is bound not to. By an oath that maybe he shouldn’t have taken, by a promise extracted by force. Why shouldn’t he tell them?

He doesn’t, of course. He scoops Sasuke up, and despises that Sasuke simply allows it, and offers Sakura a hand as they start walking. Sakura ignores it, striding ahead with her back too stiff and her hands clenched too tight. The walk to the Hokage Tower, while significantly shorter, is the same as the trip from Waves to Konoha.

Hiruzen ushers them into his office, tearful, and Sasuke struggles stiffly out of Kakashi’s grip. Red flickers and whorls through his eyes, and it’s impossible to know if he’s fighting to ignite his Sharingan or if he’s fighting not to.

“I’m sorry.” It’s low and mournful and wet. It’s insulting.

Sakura snaps. She flies into a rage, screaming obscenities. Her teammate is dead, and she’s never experienced loss like this before, and gods but she watched it happen, and no pitiful, pathetic ‘I’m sorry’ can ever undo that. That Hiruzen even tries sends her over the edge.

Nobody stops her. By the time she burns out, the office is torn apart, papers scattered everywhere and the desk overturned. Sakura has scratched her nails bloody against the woodwork. When she collapses to the floor and howls, Sasuke finally approaches her, sinks to her level, and wraps his arms around her.

Perhaps he understands, then. Perhaps a hug - so tight as Sakura clings back that it may be the only thing holding her together - is all he wanted after the horror of his clan’s slaughter.

Kakashi catches himself wondering if Sasuke ever got that hug, but he knows the answer.

Of course he didn’t.

Hiruzen explains to them what a Jinchuriki is. He explains the basic concept of a Bijuu, and gives them a short summary of the Nine-Tails. They take it blankly, too much to process over the top of their raw grief, but they look to Kakashi as if searching for confirmation and Kakashi nods. Tells them it’s true.

And then, because it’s not enough, it’s pathetic an explanation, he hears himself continue.

Because “He deserved better. We failed him.” Hears it spin, feels more than sees the way Sasuke and Sakura twitch and shrink, and then corrects himself. His own voice is like tar in his throat.

“You failed him.”

Sasuke and Sakura follow him out of Hiruzen’s office, and Hiruzen doesn’t try to stop them.

Kakashi sets the pack to watch them when they all end up at the war memorial. It wasn’t exactly a decision to go there, of course, but it never really is. All eight ninken are there already when they arrive, and they encourage Sakura and Sasuke to collapse and curl up with them, but Kakashi resists. He has something else to do.

And it’s dark by the time he comes back, his kids and his pack all bundled up in his far-too-tiny apartment, but he wakes them all the same. Demanding Naruto’s body back hadn’t been easy or clean, and the results of the chakra-draining done to preserve as much of the stray Nine-Tails chakra bleeding out of where it had torn free upon Naruto’s death is... messy.

Naruto’s body stays wrapped up the way Kakashi walked out of the Anbu Blue Vault with it. Only his head is visible, and his hair is knotted and matted with blood and oil, but it doesn’t stop Sakura from running her hands through it, or Sasuke from laying his head against Naruto’s chest.

Not enough people come to Naruto’s funeral. The whole fucking Village should mourn him, the child who protected them from the Nine-Tails for his entire, short life. His loss should have been overwhelming - it should have brought all of Konoha to a fucking stop.

But it doesn’t. Umino Iruka attends, and he’s quiet but he weeps ceaselessly the whole day. Sakura and Sasuke seem to welcome his presence, so Kakashi doesn’t nothing to discourage it.

Hiruzen shows up, perhaps halfway through. It takes all of Kakashi’s still-wan strength to hold Sakura back from trying to maul him, and Sasuke doesn’t fight one way or another when he lights up his Sharingan at the Hokage’s approach.

“Go. Away,” Sasuke snarls at him, and for just a moment it seems like Hiruzen might scold the boy, who’s been stripped of his family in half a dozen different ways, over and over again, as if he’s expressing his grief incorrectly, and that moment is all it takes for Kakashi to speak over all of them.

It’s the voice he used as the Hound. He hasn’t heard it for years. “You should go, Hokage-sama. You don’t want to make me choose a side here.”

Because Kakashi is loathe to fight Konoha at all, let alone its leader, but he knows without a doubt that he will. For Sasuke. For Sakura. If ever the decision must be made, Kakashi knows he will turn on Hiruzen in an instant if it would protect his kids from ending up like him.

Konoha would not make a broken blade out of Sasuke. It would not strip Sakura of her soul.

Orochimaru comes. He seeks out Sasuke, and the power he offers is too tempting for Sasuke to pass up - but he refuses to sneak away in the dead of night. Team Seven’s progress has halted in the aftermath of Naruto’s death; Hiruzen has tried several times to full the gap in their unit, but Sakura and Sasuke vehemently refuse to accept one, and Kakashi does not make them. He will not.

Naruto cannot be replaced. The gap can never be sufficiently filled.

And so comes the morning that Sasuke asks for their company in leaving. He’s been suffocating under Konoha’s weight for a long time, Kakashi realises that morning, and he’s finally reached his limit. Kakashi doesn’t try to talk him out of it; he won’t succeed. There’s no point. Revenge has been his motivation for so long that Sasuke will never quite learn how to give it up, and now he has so much more for which to seek vengeance.

It will only be Itachi first. After that, all of Konoha is culpable for Naruto’s death, and the endless suffering he endured before it. Kakashi is not fool enough to think he can change Sasuke’s mind.

Sakura agrees on the spot. She’s unrecognisable from the bubbly genin Kakashi took custody of from the Academy. She’s gaunt and messy and angry, and she’s forsaken her friends in order to follow Sasuke into the dark. She’s clinging to him, ferociously, in a different way than she’d tried to before.

She’s clinging to Sasuke the same way Kakashi had clung to Rin - how Rin had clung right back - after Obito’s death. Sasuke is her constant, her reassurance that Naruto’s absence won’t just be for nothing, that someone is going to pay for it. That she’s going to help make that happen.

You don’t want to make me choose a side, Kakashi had told Hiruzen, as if they were words of fucking prophecy. Because here are his kids, minds made up, choosing a side that Kakashi would rather flay himself than join - and yet, here he is too, and he knows already he’s going to go with them.

Choosing against Konoha tastes like ozone and fear and self-loathing, but choosing against Sasuke and Sakura is unconscionable. Even this, even this, Kakashi will do. Watching them die is a terror that keeps him up at night, a nightmare with its hands around Kakashi’s throat, a dread that’s getting ever colder. That this might lead to that outcome takes his breath away.

But the thought of not being there is even worse. Konoha forsook Sasuke when his family was wiped out, and Konoha forsook them both once again when they came home bloodied and shattered. Konoha has gone on the same as always, as if nothing even happened, and it always has when the whole world was supposed to shatter and didn’t - with Obito’s eye in Kakashi’s skull and Rin’s blood on Kakashi’s hands - and that truth does absolutely nothing to stay Sasuke’s hatred or Sakura’s wrath. They are young and angry and wounded, and there is no words Kakashi can say that will convince them to reject the power on offer, no matter how dangerous and untrustworthy the source may be.

And he refuses to let them do this alone. Everyone will want their heads, but Kakashi has fought and killed the best of them, and if - in the end - his only purpose is to protect his remaining kids, where he failed to protect the third, then perhaps the Hound yet serves a purpose still.

So Kakashi selects a kunai, and helps them score through their Konoha hitai-ite, and lets them lead him into hell.

[bluejayblueskies]

For the kiss prompt thing, could you do 34 and/or 66 with Jontim, please?

kiss prompt list!

34 - Returned from the dead kiss | 66 - Staring At The Other’s Lips, Trying Not To Kiss Them, Before Giving In 

i did both! set in an au where tim survives the unknowing. additionally, in this au jon and tim were together in research and season one but then broke it off in season two for canon-typical reasons

cw for mentions of injury and grief, mentions of death, suicidal ideation (mild), mentions of hospitalization, mentions of paranoia and stalking, and swearing

Ao3 link in source!

.

Jon’s been awake for two weeks and three days when Tim finally works up the nerve to see him.

 (He’s not nervous, he tells himself. It’s not nerves twisting his stomach and leaving a bitter taste in his mouth and making his hands shake ever so slightly where they grasp the doorknob on Jon’s office door. It might be guilt, but he dislikes the thought and discards it immediately. Hatred? That doesn’t feel right either. He’d shed that anger a few months prior, body still aching from being crushed underneath a building’s worth of brick and mortar and holding Martin while he cried at Jon’s bedside, hiccupping into the fabric of Tim’s shirt, He’s not waking up, Tim. He's never waking up.)

 He opens the door and sees Jon sitting at his desk, hair pinned up in a haphazard topknot and a jumper that’s much too large swallowing his body whole. Jon looks up at him, his eyes widening a bit, and oh.

 It’s relief.

 Tim lets the door swing shut behind him and leans against the wall next to the doorframe, hands coming up to grip his elbows as he hugs his arms close to his chest. One arm is still mottled with angry red scars, spiraling patterns of shrapnel laced along his skin. He rubs a thumb over one of the larger scars near the crook of his elbow absently as he says, “Hey. I… I heard you’d woken up.”

 Jon just stares at him for a moment, like he’s not quite sure what he’s looking at. Just as it’s bordering on the edge of annoying, Jon finally says, “Yes, I… I have. A- a few weeks ago.”

 “Right.”

 There’s another long moment of silence between them, this one tenser than the first. Jon’s avoiding Tim’s eyes, his face pinched and unhappy. His hands are fiddling with the cuffs of his jumper nervously, and something within Tim knocks loose at the sight. “I’m not here to yell at you, okay?”

 Jon startles, his eyes finding Tim’s for a moment before darting away again. He’s never liked direct eye contact, Tim remembers, but this is something else. Tim gets the distinct feeling that it’s at least partially his fault. Maybe a bit more than partially. Then, quietly, Jon says, “Why not?”

 Great. With a weary sigh, Tim steps away from the wall and drops himself into the ratty armchair that faces Jon’s desk. “Because it’s been six months, Jon. A lot has changed.” He makes a humorless noise. “I mean, it’s all the same shit—spooky monsters and fucked-up situations and a job I can’t get rid of. But, you know.” He rubs his thumb over the scar, shrugs his shoulders. “The Circus is gone. Thought I’d be gone with it, but I’m not. And you were gone, which made things easier for a while. Less complicated, because I didn’t have to look at you and feel—”

 Tim makes a sharp, irritated noise. He doesn’t know how he felt. “But you were just… there. Dead or- or asleep or whatever, it didn’t really matter. You were there, and I was here, and we both know it was meant to be the other way around.”

 “Tim—” Jon starts, the pity in his voice palpable.

 “No,” Tim says, giving Jon a firm look. “I don’t want an apology or- or pity or whatever. That’s not the point of this.” He sits back in the chair, takes a deep breath, and says, “I don’t remember when I stopped feeling angry. I didn’t visit you at first, in the hospital, but when I did, I… I don’t know.” Tim shrugs and looks at the floor. “I guess I just decided that you wouldn’t have chosen that. To- to be half-dead and dreaming while the rest of us lived.”

 Jon’s quiet for a long moment. Then, he makes a sound that might be a laugh if it weren’t so bitter. “No,” he says, voice rough around the edges. “I didn’t. But I did choose to wake up. I made a choice, and I- I think it was the wrong one.”

 “What,” Tim says, “because you chose to live rather than to die?”

 Jon shakes his head, just once. “Because I chose to be this.” He gestures at the desk, at the room around him. “The… the Archivist.”

 Tim takes a moment to consider. Then, he says bluntly, “Fine. Let’s say you did. You chose to go full monster, give up the mantle of humanity entirely, and then—what?”

 Jon blinks at him. “What?”

 “What are you going to do now?”

 Jon opens and closes his mouth a few times before finally saying, “I- I suppose I’ll just… work?”

 Tim can’t help letting out a short, clipped laugh. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

 Jon makes an indignant noise. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 “Nothing. I just—” Tim pauses, looks at his hands. There’s a worm scar between his middle and ring finger on his left hand that never healed quite right, that’s now a twisted knot of scar tissue. He focuses on it as he says, “You’re still you, you know? Even before, with all the shit you pulled—the stalking and the murder accusations and the questions—it was… it was still just you. And whether or not you’re still human, you’re still Jon.”

 “Oh,” Jon says, the word empty and hollow. “Is… is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

 Tim doesn’t know yet, not really. The relationship between them is still flayed open and raw, ripped apart by months of poor choices and hurtful words. But he meets Jon’s eyes, sees that familiar brown that he used to wake up to in the mornings, takes note of the small cluster of circular scars just beneath Jon’s temple, and decides that if it’s not good, it’s certainly on the way there. The thought leaves him feeling a bit weightless, and he realizes with an aching in his chest that he’s missed Jon. Not in the physical sense, because Jon’s always been here, conscious or not, and his presence has been burned into the back of Tim’s mind like a brand, an itch he can’t quite scratch. But still, there had been an empty space within him that he hadn’t been able to cover or fill, shaped like warm sunlit mornings and shared bottles of wine and kisses on foreheads and noses and lips. And it had ached, as much as Tim wished it hadn’t. That that Jon was gone and this Jon had taken his place. The resentment Tim felt at the fact was bitter and heavy and painful.

 It’s still not the same Jon, sitting in front of him now and worrying his ring between his fingers in a familiar nervous tic. But he’s not the same Tim either. Affection doesn’t come easy for him anymore and everything hurts and there are so, so many things he can’t forgive Jon for. That he doesn’t know how to. But at some point, the blanket of revenge-fueled anger had melted away and he’d just been tired.

 “I don’t know,” Tim says, because it’s true. But it’s also true when he continues, “But I want it to be good. It might take some time, and I- I can’t just forget about what’s happened between us, but…” Tim’s chest tightens, and his next words come out choked and a bit forced. “I missed you. And I’m glad you’re not dead, okay? I don’t know if you’ve convinced yourself that I wouldn’t be, but I am.” Quieter: “God knows I’ve already lost enough.”

 “Oh,” Jon says again, barely more than a whisper. Then, hesitantly: “I… thank you, Tim. I’m also glad that you… that you’re still here. For what it’s worth.”

 “You don’t have to…” Tim pinches the bridge of his nose, closes his eyes, lets out a long breath. “Never mind.”

 “I know,” Jon says, something terribly vulnerable in his voice. When Tim opens his eyes, Jon’s looking at him, a faint ghost of a smile on his lips. Tim can’t stop looking at it. “But I want to. I… I still care about you, Tim. I always have, even if I- I didn’t always show it.”

 The Tim of six months ago would probably have laughed at that. Would have said that it didn’t matter if he cared or not, or that if he really cared he wouldn’t have spent half a year tracking his every move and thinking that Tim was even remotely capable of killing him. (That bit had hit particularly hard. Tim had gone home afterward and scrubbed every reminder of Jon from his house, every picture and favorite mug and lingering jumper and that one souvenir from his trip to Spain that Jon had once rambled about for two hours. It had hurt, and when he was done, he’d felt hollowed out and empty. Enough room for the anger to begin to creep in, he supposes.)

 Instead, Tim sighs and says, “You know, that was the worst part. The fact that after everything, even when I hated you, I still couldn’t stop myself from caring.” He digs his fingernails into the soft skin of the inside of his wrist. “It hurt to care, so I pretended like I didn’t. But all the shit that happened to you—Christ, Jon, I’m not so much of an asshole to think that you deserved to be tortured and kidnapped every other week. I don’t know if anyone ever told you that you didn’t deserve it, so there it is.”

 Jon’s looking at him with wide eyes and lips slightly parted, and Tim feels something in his chest ache at the sight. “Don’t look at me like that.”

 “Like- like what?”

 “Like I’ve—” Like I’ve hung the fucking moon. “Look, that’s just basic human decency, okay?”

 “Okay,” Jon echoes quietly. He’s still looking at Tim and his lips are still slightly parted and the ache in Tim’s chest amplifies until he can barely stand it. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he’s reminded of the first time he asked Jon, standing halfway inside the doorframe of his house after their third date, if he could kiss him. How Jon had looked startled, all wide eyes and parted lips, and after a moment had nodded wordlessly. How Jon’s hair had been soft beneath his fingers as he’d cupped Jon’s cheek and how Jon’s lips had been warm against his and how Jon had inhaled slightly at the contact, like even though Tim had asked, he was still surprised that he’d followed through.

 Tim looks at Jon, at the still-familiar shape of his lips save for a small circular scar near the left corner, and tries to convince himself, just for a moment, that he doesn’t want to kiss him.

 He’s never been very good at self-control.

 So he stands, braces one hand on Jon’s desk, and reaches forward with the other, stopping just shy of Jon’s face. When Jon doesn’t move away, he rests his palm lightly against Jon’s cheek, his thumb coming to rest just underneath Jon’s eye. “This doesn’t fix things,” Tim says quietly. “But I’d still like to kiss you. If you’re okay with that.”

 Jon hesitates. Then, barely more than a whisper, he says, “Okay.”

 “Okay.” Tim pauses a moment more before tilting Jon’s head slightly up, leaning forward, and kissing him.

 It’s still as easy as breathing.

[aknosde]

Amicus Certus in re Incerta Cernitur

The first installment of my Reyna Swap AU, Alea Iacta Est // Percy Jackson & Reyna Avilla Ramírez Arellano // Hurt - Comfort // roughly two or three days post-Tartarus // tw vomiting & tw implied/referenced past child sexual assault // light swearing // 3.4k

(hey, @specific-dreamer, i started writing it :))

ao3

—————

Reyna exits her bed smoothly, flicking on the lamp as she goes. At night, when her cabin feels too dark and too small, the light is one of her only wards against her stiff spine and the shake of her shoulders. She ghosts her hands through her closet, searching for something thick and substantial, like the light and the reassuring click of the lock as she opens her door.

The floor of the quarter deck is cold under her bare feet, but the polished wood is soothing in its smoothness. She tugs on her sweatshirt against the cool temperature that accompanies flying far above the warm Mediterranean. Someone must have screwed with the thermostat last night–tonight–otherwise it would be compensating for the chill in the air.

It doesn’t affect the rest of the ship. The wood doesn’t contract or expand under the temperature, the boat doesn’t creak. It’s immune to the cold air and warm water in that way. She can’t quite decide if the silence that accompanies it is comforting or not as she descends to the main deck.

All of the lights are on down here, the rooms devoid of people. She knows that the lights of the lower deck will be off, because Leo sleeps down in the engine room, but the main deck is no man's land at this time of night. Someone has swept the floors, and with the lights on and undisturbed by organic shadow, this level seems more like a model of a ship than somewhere where people live. When the feeling turns from interesting to uncanny she finishes her route to the galley.

Though the galley is less of a galley, straight and narrow, than an actual kitchen you would find in a home. It’s large, even though Leo claims it’s unnecessary given his plate technology, and rather comfortable. A counter winds around the room, a large refrigerator with people’s personal food labeled, an oven and stove, and lastly, the sink: her destination.

She’s almost to the kitchen island before she sees Percy, sitting on the counter, looking for all the world as if he is a fixture of the kitchen itself. She doesn’t freeze when she sees him–she’s better than that–but she does let herself take stock of him, one leg hanging off the counter and his other knee propped under his chin, holding his head up.

His eyes look irritated, bags underneath that more closely resemble bruises, and a few pieces of hair are falling into his eyes, but he doesn’t do more than glance her way as she crosses to the sink next to him, so she leaves him be. Percy’s always been… observant. She could tell by the way he looked at her as she dropped from the Argo’s rope ladder. But since Tartarus he’s gotten quieter. Before, it used to just be a thing about him, not speaking unless he had something to say. Now it’s more obvious, like something or someone is keeping him.

She fills her glass of water and leans against the island, staring at the fridge.

She and Jason had had their own kitchen, as praetors. It was in the Principa, tucked out of the way, cold blue-greys and aggressively modern appliances. It reminded her of her childhood kitchen in that way. Cleanly impersonal–it more closely resembled an office break room. She and Jason barely used it, but still, they tucked their s’more supplies into a corner cupboard, and occasionally they would find each other there, making tea during late nights and early mornings.

The Argo kitchen is nicer, filled with warm colors and the smell of cinnamon. Percy cooks in here, she knows, though she has never seen him at it. When she had woken up that first morning after the disaster in New Rome there had been conchas on the counter. Leo, for all his initial grumbling, took to cooking in here while Percy and Annabeth were gone. His own little way of grieving, she thinks, taking a sip of water.

Percy lurches as if the ship has, uncharacteristically uncoordinated in his urgency. She straightens immediately as he twists off the counter and onto his feet. His forearms come down hard on the ledge of the counter, bracketing himself, and then he retches into the sink.

Strings of hair hang in his face as he does, she can now see that they are separated by sweat, and before she knows what she’s doing she’s across the aisle and holding his hair back and gives him the privacy of looking away, tucking away loose strands of hair. It’s deceptively soft, even with charred and patchy places here and there, and curlier than Leo’s. Memories of Hylla rage strong as she twists it around her finger, leaving no chance of it falling in the way again, the grey streak resembling a swirl.

Reyna can practically feel Hylla’s hands in her hair, her body sprawled against the wall of their cabin, head in a bucket. Hylla’s body, pressed against one side of her back, not overbearing, just a reminder that she was there now. On good nights they would end up in their bed before Reyna fell asleep, talking until Reyna’s brain could come back home. Hylla would twist Reyna’s hair into braids more beautiful and pure than Reyna could ever imagine being, and Reyna would complain about the smell of the bucket until Hylla got up to throw the contents overboard.

“Better your lunch than yourself,” Hylla sometimes joked upon her return, in that way people do when they are living through horrible things, doing horrible things, having horrible things thrust upon them. The memory burns now that Reyna isn’t there. She can’t find the humor in the joke now, only the threat of the first mate holding Reyna by the hair and threatening to make her walk the plank if she didn’t stop crying.

She couldn’t stop, but he didn’t seem to understand that, he just held her wrists until Hylla was there, in his cabin, talking with her voice smooth in a way it had never been before the Queen Anne’s Revenge. She talked until Reyna was allowed to leave, until the door shut with her still inside.

That was the night Blackbeard and his crew decided Reyna wasn’t worth it, a night she would forever be thankful for. Reyna couldn’t recover as fast as Hylla, she couldn’t put up with as much, she was wrecked after each encounter, and that night she would be thankful for it, and the day after, and the next, until she and Hylla were running the ship and she never had to think about it again.

Percy pants against the sink, signaling that he is done, and she takes a step back, suddenly uncomfortable and anxious for something to do.

She decides on giving him her glass of water–gods know he needs it more than she does–and watches him down the whole thing greedily. An air of clarity seems to blow through him, clearing his eyes and fixing his posture. Maybe that is the magic of a child of Poseidon. Water: an instant cure to all ailments.

“Thank you,” he says with a gasp as he finishes drinking. He wipes some vomit off a corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, frowning before he rinses it off in the sink. Reyna nods serenely in response, no judgement.

It’s a wrestle with herself, to decide if she wants to ask what has him puking his guts out. The fine line she always walks is taunting her, telling her not to alienate people, telling her that knowledge is power. The voice sounds suspiciously like Michelle, which only makes her prickle further. It’s a moot point, regardless. She can remember sitting with Thalia, legs swinging over the edge of a bridge, “I loved him to pieces, Reyna, but that asshole wouldn’t tell me he was hurt unless I pinned him down and threatened to zap his eyebrows off.” She’s going to ask.

“Are you okay?” They are hollow words, because none of them are, and she knows his answer.

“I’m fine,” And then a second later he is over the sink again, all of the water coming right back up.

She takes a place behind him, Hylla’s place, holding his hair back and drawing on his back with her other hand. She can feel his muscles clench each time more of his stomach empties, takes in his breathy swears, traces the letters on the back of his New Rome hoodie. She thinks it might have been hers at one point. It swallows him.  

He pulls back, eventually, putting space between them. She lets him have it, but sticks to her spot, crossing her arms.

“Want to try that again?”

He breathes raggedly, head hung. “I can’t–” he lifts a hand to gesture to himself vaguely, but rests it swiftly, looking like he regrets the action. “I haven’t been able to keep food down. Since we got back. It’s too rich. Too much. I was stupid, forgetting how that worked,” he explains, reading the pull of her brow. “Forgot how it felt, too,” he adds, quietly.

She flicks the sink on, letting his remnants wash down the drain, and looks at him thoughtfully. He’s too tired to notice, or maybe to care. His knuckles white out on the edge of the counter, pulsing no doubt in tandem with his stomach. One of his legs begins to quake and she nudges it with her knee. He shifts.

“Is there a reason you’re camped out in here and not the bathroom?”

His breathing, slow and steady, a trained pattern, is interrupted by a faint chuckle. “Thought I wouldn’t run into no one. It’s not working out, clearly.”

He sits back on the counter gently, already clutching his stomach again. “I’ll get over it soon. Just a couple more days. I just–need to make sure I don’t tear my stomach lining.” His words come spaced out and slow, working between his breaths.

“Annabeth?” she asks, unable to mask concern, or maybe uninterested in doing so.

“Got over it,” he answers swiftly. It almost sounds like he is going to say more, but he doesn’t, and she lets it drop in favor of watching him. When he gulps she’s already by his side.

This time bile is the only thing that comes up. He hacks, searching for more, but all that's left is acid. She’s supporting almost his entire weight with one arm. A twitch of worry makes her muscles tense, alien to any type of worry she experienced while he and Annabeth were in the pits of hell. This is immediate, intimate, not abstract. Like seeing Jason’s face dripping gold.

Percy’s whole body shudders, head so deep in the sink she thinks he might be able to touch the sick and the porcelain with his nose if he were to go any further, but the spell seems to have stopped. His arms shake against the counter, and before he can follow through with getting his own vomit plastered across his face she uses her hold on his hair to gently tilt his head towards her.

His eyes are almost completely unfocused, squinting against the kitchen lighting behind her. His water lines have released their tears, finally surmounting the amount of control he had been maintaining. He looks utterly wrecked, and not in the deranged and semi-wild way he had been fresh out of the Doors of Death.

She switches her arm from propping him up to wrapping it around him, keeping him from falling back against the sink and grunting between his weight and his condition. His limbs are loose with relief, now. Almost limp. She orients him until he’s pressed against her hip, utterly malleable under her hands. An odd sense of warmth seems to travel up her arms and into her heart as he slots against her. From what she’s seen, from what she knows, Percy is not one to be controlled. He rebels against it, particularly resistant to anyone who is not a peer, or better yet, a friend. Yet here he is, letting her move his body for him.

It’s something she could never imagine herself doing; willingly handing herself over like this. But with the warmth is a new desire, a spark of hope that one day she will grow with people until she can let them take care of her like this.

“Let’s get you to the med bay,” she says.

“No.” It comes quiet and breathy, and then again with urgency, “No. Annabeth likes to take inventory there when she can’t sleep. Not the med bay.”

Avoiding the med bay on account of Annabeth is a stupid decision, but she reminds herself that Percy cares more about other people than he does himself. He doesn’t want Annabeth to be worried, Reyna thinks, to keep his problems to himself, and though that is not always the best plan, it’s not the worst. Reyna recognizes the necessity of keeping your shit to yourself. Percy might be one of the only people she knows that understands that and deserves it, so she just sighs.

“Okay.” She hooks her other arm under his, making sure he’s steady, and lowers him to the floor. “We’ll just set up camp here.”

He presses the back of his head against the cabinets, hands groping the cool stone floor, and then lets himself tip fully onto it. No complaints. Apparently he likes the change in location. She grabs a dish towel, folding it up and sliding it under his head, and a bowl, if he needs to give up his internal organs while she’s gone and can’t quite make it to the sink. With a shove of his shoulder he turns on his side, loosely grabbing his stomach and making her feel safe in the fact that he can’t choke on his own vomit.

She feels funny when she stands again, brushing her hands against her pant legs. She’s never taken care of someone like this before, never had to. She and Jason were there for each other during their fair share of unfortunate situations, but she never had to watch him like this; curled up on the ground, shaking, weak. She wonders if he was ever caught like this, in the bathroom across the hall. If he had ever wanted to ask her for help.

Annabeth isn’t in the med bay when Reyna goes to scrounge up some anti-nausea medication, and she isn’t coming down the stairs when Reyna makes her way back to the kitchen. Percy’s in the same spot, though. She supposes that counts for something as she sits next to his head, reading the directions on the back of the box.

It’s generic, a syrupy red that reminds her of fake blood in old horror movies. Percy coughs as it goes down, making a face and muttering something about cherry flavoring and scented markers.

When she’s sure he’s not going to up chuck the medicine, which would be a type of irony she is not ready for, she goes searching for something he can eat. The stores on the Argo II are significantly better than that of the Queen Anne’s Revenge, and greatly aided by the presence of a fridge, but she ends up with a packet of pedialyte powder she remembers seeing Percy use during their first week on the Argo. It’s orange, which she can respect as it’s the best artificial flavor.

Percy groans while she’s stirring it, and before she knows it she’s sitting by his side, letting him press his face into her leg. Her body seems to know what to do, even if she doesn’t, and she’s grateful for it.

“Would you rather rehydrate or take more medication?”

He groans again, nose brushing her thigh, and says, “Both.”

“Disregard the instructions?”

He hums against her leg, whispering her resolve into the ground, because she doesn’t argue. It doesn’t hurt that she couldn’t decide either, or that she has always been good at knowing when to break the rules.

“Whatever repercussions there are to this, it’s your fault,” she says instead, already measuring another dose.

He downs it like a shot and with a grimace, even though he is still laying on the floor. It manages to wring a snort out of her, as does the way he remarks that the straw she put in the pedialyte looks like a worm: “Which I’ll allow only because you chose blue; the best color.”

He fumbles in and out of consciousness, mind half addled, and she thinks she’s found a cheat code to becoming his friend. With his sharp eyes half closed and his height stolen by his horizontal position on the floor, too tired to keep his body wired and slurping through a straw because the energy to sit up seems like a far flung concept, he’s easy to see and even easier to like.

“You made the good shit,” he half slurs as he takes another sip.

“Yeah?”

“Grew up on this stuff,” he says by way of explanation. “It was free at my first school, low income and what not. Wanted to make sure we had enough calories to suffer through the school day. Picked it up at food banks, too.”

She hums, pretending he hasn’t just revealed something that she doubts he’s told anyone else. “Kept it around for the taste?”

“Malnourished after Lupa, just a bit,” he says arching his neck in discomfort before taking another sip. “I made sure to pick some up while we were still in the states. ‘Beth knows I like it though. I think she already bought some.”

“Yeah.” Reyna can vaguely remember something along those lines, sitting with Annabeth and going over supply lists for the ship. She’d been rambling and scatterbrained, which Reyna now knew was her default state.

He switches subjects after that, nothing sticking for long. It’s an interesting contrast to the Percy that she’s met. She wonders if he was like ths as a kid, or maybe it was longer than that. Maybe it was until they were swapped, maybe it was until Tartarus and she just never got the chance to see.

“You’re talkative when half your guts are down the drain,” she tells him, after listening to him ramble about the Knicks for a couple minutes.

“Blame my state.”

“I am, dumbass.”

“So rude,” he says in Spanish, sounding like her neighbors in Puerto Rico, getting together under the shade during the heat of the day, complaining about their daughters. “What’re you doing here anyway,” he asks, “Why aren’t you nice and cozy in your bed.”

“Obviously sitting on the floor with you is superior.”

He coughs out a laugh, there. Weak, but she can feel his amusement from the crinkle of his eyes before he sobers. “Really, why?”

“Nightmare.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Want to talk about Tartarus?” she snaps, because no, she does not want to talk about her historical issues with boats, or how she’s thinking of Jason, out there escorting a forty foot statue in an attempt to stop yet another war.

“Sorry,” Percy whispers, pulling his head back a bit.

“No, I’m sorry.” She’s supposed to be better than this. She’s supposed to be a leader, which does not include letting her frustrations out on others, no matter the time of day–or night. “That was unprofessional of me.”

He snorts. “We’re lying on the kitchen floor and I’m wearing Black panther pajama pants. Trust me, you don’t have to be professional here… And I’m sorry–for asking.”

“It’s alright,” she ends up saying, mostly thinking that he’s right. She’s about to tell him so when she notices that his eyes have slipped closed. “Let's get you to bed.”

“I’m not gonna sleep,” he grumbles.

“Well if I get you some more magic potion can you lie to me?”

He smiles at that, one side of his mouth going up farther than the other, like in almost every photo she saw of him during her months at Camp Half-Blood. “If you, Reyna Ramírez Allreano, get me more orange pedialyte, I will absolutely fall asleep as soon as I’m in my bed.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

[blue-bird-kny]

first kiss headcannons for tanjirou zenitsu, inosuke and genya? plus any others you feel like adding.

Here you go, enjoy!~Amanda (also it was impossible to find an image with them all!)

Warning: Mentions of anxiety, fluff, angst

(2k+ words)

Tanjiro:

With Tanjiro, he’d be the one that would initiate the first kiss. Being the gentleman he is though, he’d only do so with your complete consent and after you two had been dating for a while.

However, he wouldn't spend time planning the kiss or creating a romantic scenario, he’d want it to be spontaneous and in the moment; he’s simple in that way.

You and Tanjiro spent the day training and, now exhausted, you both laid on the floor in an attempt to stabilize your breathing. “You’ve grown as a fighter so quickly (y/n), I’m impressed. Not that I didn’t think you could do it, of course.” Tanjiro commented from the floor, watching you slowly sit up. “Well I’ve had a great teacher” you winked, poking at his side causing Tanjiro to laugh. He sat up, smiling lovingly at his girlfriend. Girlfriend; he loves the fact he can call you that. It had only been a few weeks, but it seems like he asked you out months ago, you two were just so comfortable with one another.

Of your short relationship, the biggest obstacle Tanjiro’s has had to overcome is the ability to do normal relationship things without asking first, even if you’ve said it's ok. For example, the first time he tried to grab your hand without warning, his fingers shook and his face was red. It’s one of your favorite things about him, how endearing he is.

Today, though, he's able to do such simple gestures without worrying too much. The two of you sat in silence, breathing steady, as you sat facing each other. Tanjiro reached out to grab both your hands, tightly holding them in each of his own larger ones. He wanted to reach that next step with you, but he didn’t know if you were ready. “(y/n), Can I kiss you?” his question was quiet and filled with care, he didn’t want to make you unhappy by moving too fast.

What he didn’t know was that you’d been dying to feel his lips on yours, to feel how they molded together with his, to feel more of him. You didn’t need words to convey your confidence or trust in Tanjiro, so you simply shook your head yes. Eyes closed, heart racing, you hummed in delight as he started small, placing a firm kiss onto your forehead. He leaned lower, pecking the tip of your nose, making you smile fondly. Finally, he delicately placed a tentative kiss on your lips, cupping your cheek in the process.

It was slow and quicker than you’d have liked, but there was time for more later. He pulled away a bit, just enough so you both could lean onto each other's foreheads, smiling in content.

First kisses with Tanjiro are sweet and kind and very, very soft.

Zenitsu

No matter how much he may flirt with you, even after you two get together, this boy will in no way try to initiate the first kiss.

Underneath his crazy antics, lies a boy with horrible anxiety and little self-confidence, so it’d be hard for him to be the one to progress the relationship. That being said, it's not like he doesn’t think about kissing because he does...a lot, but his fear of losing you is far greater than his desires.

Whether it is his ability to take action in battle or training with the others, you try to encourage and praise him as much as possible. This has helped his confidence some, but when it comes to you, he has more to risk than sparring with Inosuke.

It was early in the day, just before the sun's first rays could break the silence of night. You were usually up at this time, early enough to get ready before having to wake the others for whatever the day called for. Usually, in the bed only a few feet from yours, your enthusiastic boyfriend would be snoring away, but this morning he was nowhere to be found.

You silently panicked as you tiptoed out of the room not wanting to wake the others as they slept, bursting into a full sprint once outside. It wasn’t long, though, before you found his blonde head peeking out from behind a bush. Silently, so as to not startle him, you walked over and took a seat next to him. You didn’t say anything, there was no need to, sometimes he just needed you there in silence. Instead, you grasped his hand in yours, giving him a reassuring squeeze and kind smile.

“You know (y/n), You are always saving me, but I never seem to be able to be there for you when you need it. How useless am I, right” his voice was hollow, eyes empty as they gazed into space. Sometimes it was tough to bring Zenitsu out of these spirals, but you had to try, you loved him and could’t stand the fact that he didn’t see himself the way you saw him; brilliant.

The movement of your body shifting in front of his pulled him from his empty thoughts. He was startled as you unexpectedly pulled him into a tight embrace, his hands hung in the air unsure of what to do with them. “Zenitsu, I wish you could see yourself the way I saw you.” you started softly, hand rubbing soothing circles into his back. “You’ve saved me more times than I can count, on the battlefield you never fail to protect me from harm even if it means getting injured. Us being together is something I cherish deeply and I’m grateful that we’ve come together, you make me really happy Zenitsu” you tried to convey every ounce of the happiness the boy has made you feel.  

Zenitsu began to cry into your shoulder, finally returning the hug you’d had him wrapped in. You two sat in silence again, save for the few sniffles that came from your boyfriend, as the sun's early rays began to penetrate the atmosphere. He pulled back after some time, his gaze switching from your eyes to your lips in a silent question. You chuckled as your hands hooked around his neck, pulling yourself significantly closer to the boy who you loved. “You can kiss me, you know”. Those few words were all the confidence he needed as he pulled you the rest of the way, lips meeting in a passionate kiss. His cheeks were damp from crying and his lips were slightly chapped, but none of that mattered because there was nowhere else you’d rather be than with Zenitsu  in the early morning glow.

Inosuke:

In a weird way Inosuke was a simple guy when it came to how he expressed his feelings and emotions; short and to the point. It takes a lot to make him embarrassed, so if he wanted a kiss from you, he’d get it. He sees no point in waiting for that ‘perfect’ moment, it's going to happen eventually so why not right now?

It was just another afternoon with your friends all being patients at the  Butterfly Estate. You’d all gone there after receiving some nasty injuries on the mission you’d all completed. You decided that the fastest way to heal was to sit outside in peace and quiet, allowing your body to do its thing while soaking in the sun and inhaling fresh air.

Well that lasted a good two seconds before your rowdy boyfriend came running around the corner, his boar mask on and swords waving recklessly. Irritated at the interruption, you shouted “Inosuke damn it! You’re supposed to be healing not running around like an idiot” . Your words captured his attention as he changed in direction towards you. “(y/n)!” he laughed, “I already healed, I don’t need any rest like you weaklings!” if you didn’t know better, you’d taken offense to his words but you knew it was all for show.

Inosuke couldn’t even begin running again before he groaned in pain, he’d managed to pull one of his healing muscles by running, “Sit Inosuke” you insisted. He begrudgingly sat cross-legged next to you, murmuring nonsense on his way down. You were the only person he listened too so easily and it amazed the others.

“Here” you moved toward him, “take this off so you can get some fresh air” you explained, removing his mask and gently placing it on the ground. His dark locks tumbled out onto his shoulders and over the bandage that was wrapped around his skull. You frowned as you noticed a small spot of blood that was slowly growing on his forehead. “Inosuke, you managed to open the wound on your forehead again. Aoi isn’t going to be happy about that.” you gently reprimanded, bringing your hand to the spot and slightly applying pressure in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

Inosuke watched in silence as you tended to him. He’d always admired you from the first time you two met. He was riled up by the strength you showed on the battlefield and was determined to fight you. Of course you’ve rejected every one of his requests since, but you didn’t mind the company as he seemed to stick by you like glue. Over time his admiration developed into something more romantic in the sense that he really liked you. So now, as you showed care and kindness towards him, he found it only appropriate to kiss you.

His movements were fast and dramatic as he squished both your cheeks and roughly planted a quick kiss to your lips. You were stunned after he pulled away, his mouth forming a smirk. “What just happened?” you asked nobody in particular. It wasn’t that you minded the kiss, quite the opposite as you’d been crushing on the wild man for forever now, but it was so sudden you didn’t even get to enjoy it. Releasing your face, he triumphantly raised his fist and shouted “(y/n) is mine now! She’s mine so if I see any of you weaklings around here I’ll beat you to a pulp”. Your small chuckled slowly built up to a loud fit of laughter, you held onto your stomach for support. “Oh Inosuke” you smiled playfully up at him. However sweet he was though, you were a woman of revenge and so before he could react, you held his cheeks like he did yours and kissed him, albeit much gentler and for longer. The roles from earlier reversed, as now you were the one smirking in delight and he was the one who sat in confusion.

Genya (This one is a little shorter/ more like a headcanon because I’m only just getting used to his charters so please, bare with me!)

On the outside, Genya looked like a mean, rude, and unapproachable guy, which in some cases was true. For you though, he was just a softy who wanted  love and affection sometimes more than he wanted water and you were more than happy to shower him with it.

Genya would be too embarrassed to initiate the first kiss, that oh-so lovable shy side of himself stopping him from making too many moves on you. It was a miracle he’d been able to ask you out without blowing a gasket, so this was hard for him.

Anytime he’d even get close enough where he could kiss you, he’d bounce away with red checks, almost like he’d been set on fire by your presence. However today you were determined to kiss Genya, even if it meant teasing him a little further than normal.

Your boyfriend had offered to walk you to your room like he does every night, the two of you walking in a comfortable silence. You looked to see if there were others around, happy to find nobody in the corridor. Outside of your door, Genya faced you to wish you a good night, but was caught off guard when you pushed him against your door with much effort and used your arms to trap him there. The scene was actually pretty ridiculous; you were much shorter than he was and if he wanted to, he could have easily pushed you away. “W-what the hell..mph!” he was cut off as you reached up and placed  a rough kiss onto his lips. He didn’t respond right away, and you almost pulled away regrettably, but after a moment he held you in place by snaking his arms around your waist. The kiss became smoother and gentler as time passed, you two quickly melting into one another. Eventually you had to pull away for air, a small string of saliva connecting you two as you both breathed in deeply.

Regaining your breath, you looked up to find his narrowed eyes staring down at yours. He scoffed in a way that would have been off putting if his arms weren’t still secured around you, “If you wanted a kiss you could have just asked” he said as red began to spread even further down his neck and up to the tips of his ears. “Ah Genya, you really are the sweetest” you cheered pulling yourself closer to his chest.

“H-hey you moron! We’re in public!” Genya panicked as you laughed at his failed attempt to pry you off his body.

Main Masterlist

I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it, please leave a heart/reblog if you’d like. Thank you and please stay safe~Amanda

[fluffy-lee-boa]

Teaching Me How To Move On

(A SamBucky tickle fic :3)

@tickleebug requested some Sam and Bucky, so I went a little wild with it and made a short story to show how Bucky is adapting to his new life, and his new partner. Spoilers for Endgame/TFATWS btw!

“Buhucky! Cut it out!” Steve snorted, swatting at the younger’s arm as he lightly dug into his sides.

Before he’d taken the serum, it had been a well-known fact that Steve Rogers was probably one of the most ticklish guys in Brooklyn. Sure, he hated to admit it in public, and Bucky respected that, but when he and Bucky were hanging out at home? All bets were off.

So James Buchanan Barnes took every opportunity like this to tease the other about his sensitivity, sitting beside him and carefully scratching at all the spots he knew would make the other squeal. He never took it overboard, considering Steve’s fragile state, but he did tire the other out enough that he would be sure the smaller wouldn’t get revenge.

“Come on Stevie, there’s no way you’re gonna make the army if you can’t handle a little tickling,” he smirked at the other.

Steve gave an snort, slapping a hand to his face before shaking his head rapidly, “This is just tohorture!!”

“Mhm. And?” Bucky snickered as he trailed his hands up to Steve’s stomach, relishing in the deeper laughter that it gave him.

This certain brand of “torture” continued for a few minutes, interspersed with cruel teases and barely-masked flirting that the ever-oblivious Rogers seemed to let fly over his head. Though it was easy to tell Steve wasn’t trying very hard to escape the other’s grasp, especially considering how lightly Buck was holding him down in fear of injury. He could stop any time he wanted, really.

Bucky finally let up once the wheezing started, almost immediately leaving the room only to reappear with a cup of water. He couldn’t help the smug grin on his face as the other struggled to hide his deep blush. The moment was perfect.

Too perfect.

He would wait another day to tell him about his draft card. He didn’t want to ruin what they had just yet.

~

Years.

Years had gone by since that day- decades, even. He had gone for most of that time without Steve, without those affectionate touches and softness, and without love. He’d gone for even longer now that Steve was....

No, he didn’t like to think about the past few months. About how the very man he’d grown up with, who’d told him he’d be with him to the end of the line, got off early. -He couldn’t be angry with him, though. It was his life, after all. His choice. Steve would probably be better off with Peggy, anyways.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell, and that he was absolutely starved for affection with no one in the world to fix it for him.

Well... almost no one.

Admittedly, he’d grown closer to Sam in the time since the new Cap was gifted the shield. Despite his reservations, and the rocky start to their partnership, they’d come to an understanding. Especially after all they’d been through in their mission to stop Karli, and then Walker thereafter.

And there was the boat, of course. Bucky hadn’t even known Sam had a boat before this week- never even been near one besides during war times. Yet he found himself spending hours and even days of his time on helping him fix it. Then the days after that teaching the new Captain to toss the shield.

Was this what having a friend was like?

He couldn’t tell. I mean, after Steve, nothing was going to feel just right. ...Or so he thought.

See, even if Bucky had tried to deny it, Sam felt safe. He felt like Steve did. They shared that same big heart Bucky had always admired, and honestly, the shield couldn’t have found a better wielder. But on the other hand, Sam was also more honest, and more direct. That was something he needed after all those years of manipulation and self-pity. Not exactly tough love, but the truth. A kinder, softer truth.

“Hey! Buck!” Sam had called from the other side of the open field, between a few lone trees that were wrapped in foam.

Bucky looked up, torn from his deep thoughts about friendship and Captains and shields. He didn’t give away any of it through his glance, much better at hiding behind an emotionless mask these days.

“Are you gonna throw it back or what? -The shield, I mean.” the figure laughed.

James rolled his eyes and walked over, trying to play it off, “Your stance is off. You’re gonna get someone killed if you don’t have enough balance.”

“Balance my ass,” Sam scoffed jokingly as he took the shield back from the other, looking him over suspiciously, “...You’re just deflecting again. You’ve been spacing out like crazy today... did something happen?”

Ah, there was that signature therapist-like concern that Wilson managed to worm into every conversation. It made Bucky’s heart beat faster and his stomach flip and he hated it. No one had been this worried about him since he came back from the icy abyss of HYDRA’s control. No one else had checked up on him so consistently for no other gain than his continued wellbeing.

“I’m fine.” He shot back despite himself, half of a glare on his face as he turned away to go back to his spot.

Sam rolled his eyes at the other’s dramatics, at this point being readily used to the cold demeanor Bucky used to push aside his own feelings. But he wasn’t ready to let it slide this time around. So he stepped towards him after setting aside the vibranium shield, reaching out to stop him from walking away again.

Quite a few things happened after that, one after the other.

For one, Sam had underestimated how quickly Bucky could power-walk away from him, and ended up grazing his side with a small grabbing motion rather than taking him by the wrist.

From there, Bucky had faltered in his pace with a quick giggle, before looking back at the other with a somewhat horrified expression. Oh no.

It was painfully obvious to Sam now, by Buck’s initial reaction and the way he seemed just about ready to jump out of his skin.

“There is no way in hell....”

“Sam, you don’t want to do this-”

“You’re ticklish?!”

Bucky cringed, almost immediately blushing just as Steve had whenever he’d done the same to him back in Brooklyn. Karma may have been delayed for almost a century, but it sure did come back to bite him. Figures as much, right?

Bucky had started walking backwards away from the now-very-menacing falcon, though with the woods around them, his ankle caught on a rock and sent him flying back onto his butt. Figures even more.

Before he could up and scramble away, probably going to rush to Sarah and beg for protection, Sam had pounced. The super soldier found himself being straddled, which didn’t help his confusing feelings from before at all. He hands ended up under Sam’s knees, and even if he knew he could probably escape, he was concerned he’d end up hurting the other if he lost control of his own strength.

“Sam! Get off!” He said in a shockingly squeaky shout, obviously flustered.

“Nu-uh. I need to see this for myself.” Sam snickered, making the other look away as his blush deepened.

“You su-AHAHUCK-“

Before Bucky could articulate what would have totally been a coherent and witty response, Sam had taken the initiative and dug straight into the dip of his sides. There was an explosion of sunny and bubbly laughter that didn’t suit the awkward Soldier at all, making Sam beam down at the other.

Bucky internally cursed as he looked up and caught glimpse of the smile. He was too perfect- it was unfair!

Sam chuckled as he lightened up, tracing circles around his hips and making Bucky jerk back and forth with a few left over giggles, “Wowwww... It’s worse than I thought.”

“Shut the hell uhuhup...” Bucky muttered in embarrassment, making Wilson roll his eyes.

Sam knew he could definitely find a worse spot, and ignoring Bucky’s continued insults and thinly-veiled threats, he scanned the other’s upper body as thought to himself.

His metal arm probably couldn’t feel anything, right? But what about the spot just where the two met...?

Bucky noticed where his partner’s gaze had fallen, suddenly looking alarmed as he turned to begging, “Hey, wait, hold on, that’s a bad idea, Wilson. -Agh- Please? Is that what you want? Fine! I’m saying please-“

Sam just shook his head with that stupid, handsome smirk on his face, “Saying please isn’t gonna save you this time around. Tell me what’s wrong.... and I won’t absolutely wreck you. And trust me, I have an older sister. I know exactly how to do it.”

Bucky went quite besides his quick breathes and squirmy giggles, looking off to the side as he tried to consider his options despite the continued teasing of his sides and hips. But no- he couldn’t say what was really on his mind. Stubborn is as stubborn does.

“Do your worst.”

There was only a moment of reprieve as Wilson took in the other’s bratty reply, before he wiggled his fingers into that horrible dip between Buck’s metal arm and his ribs, right in the hollow. His other hand went to the rest of his rib cage just as quickly, alternating between both sides and dipping in between the spaces for added torture.

Bucky was pretty much lost in a handful of seconds.

He cackled, kicking his legs and pulling at his arms with only a shred of resistance from the last part of him that was conscious, which was still bent on making sure he didn’t hurt Sam.

But, that part of him could only hold out for so long, and when Sam found an extra sensitive spot between his ribs, Bucky ended up arching so suddenly that Sam was sent a good five feet away by his super strength.

Whoops.

There was a long pause as the air around them stilled once more, Sam laying feet away and laughing hysterically at his friend’s reaction while Bucky himself calmed himself down to a frenzy of frantic giggling.

After he was able to regain control of himself, he sat up to look over at Sam, his arms wrapped around his own torso protectively so the falcon could no longer access his weak spot. His voice was hoarse as he asked sheepishly, “...Are you ok?”

Sam’s own laughter died down, and he waved his hand dismissively, “Fine, fine. I shoulda expected it. You’re a hyper-ticklish super soldier. I’m just lucky you didn’t break my arm.“

Bucky didn’t find much humor in that joke, but he got up and made his way over to the other anyway. He held out his hand to help him stand beside him, and Wilson smiled softly at the other’s still reddened face, “Maybe we should do that more often. You’re cute when you’re blushing like that.”

And he walked away.

Bucky, for better or worse, didn’t have the same luxury that his old partner did of obliviousness to such direct declarations of affection, so he simply stood in shock as he was left in the small field of grass.

...Maybe, just maybe, his new life wasn’t as empty and lonely as he’d previously thought. Maybe Sam... could be what he really needed, as a partner, and as a friend.

Or.... maybe something more.

Lots of maybes today. But then again, when is anything ever certain?

[jaskiersvalley]

Shards of Ice

There was a lot of yelling in tags, reblogs and comments about Lambert needing to be loved following this post. You should have been more careful with what you wished for, because before things can get better, they need to get worse. But he gets his happy ending, don't worry.

CW: Suicidal thoughts

The room was cold and dusty but Lambert no longer had the energy to care. It was a room, his room, as barren as it was. He had survived trekking up to Kaer Morhen, at least he wouldn't be exposed to the elements so it was a bit better, even if there was no roaring fire. There wasn't even any wood in his room to start one. It would have to wait. Much like food could wait too, Lambert still had a few rations and some water in his pack, that would see him through the next couple of days while his leg finished healing. He so desperately wished he had something to take for it, even just a root to chew on for the pain but he'd run out of potions a while back and had been too caught in grief to even think about making more. At least he had a bed to lie on, that was better than the cold, hard forest floor. Lambert would take any small fortune as a blessing at that point.

Sleep claimed him and didn't release him until the sun was high the next day. Groggy, stiff from sleeping in his armour, and ravenous, Lambert pushed himself up. In the light of day his room looked no better, still just as empty and stale as when he'd walked in. If he could, he would have gone for a wash, anything to freshen up but his leg protested too much. In the end, he sat on the floor next to his bed, munching on a ration of cured meat, willing himself not to feel.

The others had to know he was back. He'd made enough noise, they probably even saw him approaching. But obviously he had no place in their lives. A dogsbody who was good for making their lives easier but didn't warrant anything in return. Not that Lambert did it to get something. But he'd always thought family looked after each other, took turns picking up the slack when one of them stumbled. As the day wore on and Lambert pulled his bedroll onto his bed for a bit of extra warmth, there was only one conclusion he could draw. While he had counted Geralt, Eskel and Vesemir as his family, they didn't think of him in a similar fashion.

On his own with his thoughts, Lambert had the chance to mull it all over. He had been a fool to think his fellow Witchers would consider him part of their family unit. Not even Lambert's own flesh and blood had done that. Just because Destiny threw them in the same cooking pot didn't mean were all part of the same cake. Though Aiden had been different. He had seen Lambert, all of him and decided that he was worth something. Desperate fury at the unfairness of it all had Lambert's lips wobbling even if tears were beyond him. He raged against his lot in life and the fact that the one possible good thing had been ripped from him. Nobody wanted Lambert and, when he found someone who did, they were violently snatched from his grasp.

With nothing do do but sleep and heal, Lambert didn't bother keeping track of the days. While his food and water lasted he would be okay. And when it ran out, he'd decide what he wanted then. Time stopped existing for Lambert, he was either asleep or wallowing in misery. It wasn't like anyone actually cared that his behaviour was very unbecoming of a Witcher, let alone a fully grown man. Lambert figured that if nobody wanted him at his best, it didn't matter what he was like at his worst.

A soft knock woke him from his slumber. It was better to sleep than get lost in his head. Why someone would try to take his only solace from him was beyond Lambert and he woke with a snarl. His leg still pulsed with pain, his room was still cold though he had managed to somewhat air it while the sun was high so it was maybe a little less chilly.

"Lambert?" Eskel's voice called as the door opened. "You missed breakfast again."

All Lambert heard was that he hadn't provided breakfast once again. He'd been back for probably a few days but soft foods and warm honey hadn't magically appeared on the breakfast table for the others. Well, it served them right.

"Go away!" He growled low in his throat.

"I just wanted-"

"Fuck off!" Lambert didn't let Eskel finish. Whatever Eskel wanted, he could get for himself. "I don't want you! I don't need you! Just leave me the fuck alone!" He threw his gloves at the door, followed by his bracers which clanked loudly against the wood, barely missing Eskel's face.

For the first time in his life, Lambert got what he asked for. The door closed again and he was alone. A strangled scream mixed with a sob in his throat and he curled up on the bed, heart and chest aching worse than his leg.

Time had no meaning, Lambert stayed curled up under his blanket, eyes open but not seeing. He'd had enough. Enough pain, enough rejection, enough loneliness. His rations were dwindling but he couldn't even find it in himself to finish them off. There was no point, it would only prolong his suffering.

Another soft knock on his door but he didn't even bother acknowledging it. He was done, the others could get on with their happy little family, they didn't need Lambert in any capacity, that had become obvious in the last few days.

The door opened and Eskel stepped in, an armful of logs and a bag of kindling in hand. He didn't say anything but got a fire going and left. The warmth of the room didn't reach Lambert's heart. He stayed where he was, even when Vesemir stepped in, a bucket of steaming water and a couple of wash cloths. Lambert didn't even have it in him to growl when hands methodically stripped him and wiped the worst of the Path's grime from his body. Fingers deftly worked the bandage on his leg open and, like when Lambert was a kid who'd scraped his knee, the injury got tutted over. Vesemir left and Lambert wondered whether he was such a disappointment that the fact he couldn't even heal from a simple bite had sent the man he'd once considered his father figure turning away in disgust.

For some reason Vesemir was back with a tray. It smelled like medical supplies but Lambert couldn't understand why. Firm hands worked over his leg, cleaning out the wounds, wrapping them. Finally, a vial was tipped against Lambert's lips and he swallowed, hoping it was poison to put him out of his misery. He fell asleep with the sweet bitterness of the potion still on his tongue and decided that maybe this wasn't such a bad way to go.

Unfortunately he woke up again. This time Geralt was in his room, a bowl of broth warming by the hearth. Lambert finally found his words.

"What the fuck do you want?"

He pretended not to see the way Geralt flinched and looked away. It filled him with a sense of perverse satisfaction, knowing that he repulsed his, well, Geralt wasn't his brother, not anymore. Not that he ever was actually.

"Eat," Geralt said, grabbing the warm bowl and holding it up. When Lambert made no move to take it, he fiddled with the spoon. "I can help feed you if you need."

Growling, Lambert snatched the bowl, ignoring the way it was so hot his fingers almost burned. The broth was good, seasoned with his favourites, not that the others would know, they never bothered to ask him. Still, it slid down his throat and warmed his belly, so close to his still stone cold heart.

Anger bubbled in Lambert's chest. The others couldn't even leave him be to make a dignified exit from this world. For some cursed reason now was the time they decided to bring Lambert back, even as he fought tooth and nail to be left. From then on, Lambert never woke alone. There was always someone in his room, never once commenting on his nightmares. Maybe they didn't notice, or thought it was just Lambert's regular dreams.

"Who is Aiden?" Eskel asked one night when Lambert woke, heart in his throat. "You call out for him a lot."

It wasn't something Lambert wanted to answer. He didn't want to trust Eskel with Aiden's memory. It wasn't something he had earned. However, each time Eskel was there and Lambert awoke from a fresh nightmare, he was asked the same question. There was only so many times that Lambert could hear those words before he snapped. At first it was just a gruff "nobody" then a "none of your business" to "a friend". It went on and on like that until Eskel had the full story, with Lambert held close to his chest and shaking like a new born foal.

When Lambert finally left his room, it was with Geralt hot on his heels. Something told Lambert that he knew about Aiden too. Those suspicions were only confirmed when, in the kitchen, Geralt casually said, "I'll come with you in the spring. We'll avenge him."

By the time spring came round, Lambert didn't feel quite so hollow. His heart had started to thaw out but the clump of ice that sat heavy in his chest could barely be called a heart anymore. Over the winter he'd been shown what it could have been like to be part of a family, to be wanted but he couldn't quite connect with the others anymore. The trust he'd offered had been twisted and warped until it was nothing more than a burnt silhouette of what it had once been.

Lambert was no fool. He knew Geralt travelled with him not just for revenge but also for Lambert's safety. It wasn't like Lambert was going to throw himself at the first chort he found. That was not how he wanted to go. But the others didn't care to listen to him in that respect. In a way, nothing had changed in that regard. Lambert's voice was still one to be ignored.

Winter came round quicker than expected. Lambert and Geralt turned north to Kaer Morhen and trekked up the mountain. There was smoke meandering through the air from the fires that had already been lit. It wasn't the Lambert had wanted to come back but he had nowhere else to go either. At least in the old keep he could actually survive winter in relative safety.

"Welcome home boys," Vesemir said as he stepped out the greet them, hugging Lambert first, then Geralt. "Eskel is already home and he's brought a guest with him."

Distantly, Lambert wondered how Geralt would react to Eskel having a guest. And maybe he was a little jealous that Eskel, despite his scars and menacing build, could find someone to winter with so easily. There was only one person Lambert had ever considered inviting home but that had only been a fleeting hope of the past, Destiny had made sure to quash it without hesitation.

"Lamb?" A familiar voice called and Lambert's whole chest hurt. His mind was cruel to play such games, taunting him with the one thing he couldn't have. "Lambert!"

A body barrelled into Lambert, arms wrapping around him tightly. Lips pressed against Lambert's and he tried to see who was stupid enough to mess around with him like that. It wasn't Eskel, his arms felt heavier around him. Eyes open for the kiss, Lambert saw an eyepatch and, as his assailant pulled away, a familiar green eye.

"Aiden." The word was a broken whisper of hope and disbelief. Lambert's hands cupped Aiden's cheeks, held him in place to be inspected, admired and committed to memory. "I thought you'd died. I'd avenged you."

"You're a real darling, thank you for that." Aiden smiled and placed his hands over Lambert's, warm palms holding glove covered ones in place. "But, by some twist of fate, I survived, more or less intact. Took a while to recover, Eskel found me in some remote temple, being healed by some monks. Dragged me back here as soon as I was able to make the journey."

Hands slipping from Aiden's face, Lambert pulled him in for a tight hug, eyes squeezed shut tight. He let Aiden go but only as far as keeping an arm wrapped around his waist. From where he stood, he looked over to the other three Wolves, standing together and watching them. Maybe, just maybe, they were more of a family than Lambert had dared hope. He wasn't certain yet, needed more time to accept that. But, for the first time in a long time, he had he spark of hope flickering in his heart.

[masterjedilenawrites]

Blueberries and Cowboys: Chapter 2

A choose-your-own-adventure style fic. First, 2 platonic chapters for set-up/build-up. And then, the story will split into 2 paths depending on your romantic pairing preference: You and Thrawn, or You and Eli.

Chapter Masterlist

Chapter 2: The Plan

Pairing: None...yet...

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of bullying

Length: 2k

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

The rest of the week saw the three of you using every bit of free time outside your classes and studies to gather information for Thrawn to build a solid plan.

Eli tailed his pesky classmate Arden everywhere, even skipping a class one day to break into his dorm, trying to learn anything about the guy that could be useful to get him involved in the plot. Thrawn analyzed the simulation software and protocols that would be used to administer the tests, mapping out every possible way Commander Burdick could hijack it. And you were the one spying on the Burdick himself. Since the commander didn't seem too interested in your grades, you were able to shadow him without suspicion, and had been able to slip a bug into his offices to eavesdrop on any potential conversations about his plans for sabotage.

Your classmates and the staff were none the wiser. That was the advantage of being social outcasts. Half of them avoided you all like the plague, and the other half already thought you were weird people doing weird things. So it wasn't long before you'd all gotten enough intel to work with.

It was late in the evening at the end of the week. You found yourself in Thrawn and Eli's shared dorm, which looked identical to your own in the opposite wing, because the Empire couldn't bother with things like individuality or comfort. Eli sat on the edge of his top bunk, his legs swinging casually, and his coat unbuttoned to reveal a wrinkled undershirt you knew he hadn't bothered to wash all week. Thrawn paced about in the middle of the room, his long strides only allowing him about four good steps before he had to turn around. He still had his uniform on, boots and badges and all.

You leaned against the railing of the bed, watching Thrawn as he went back and forth. Sometimes he sat still when he was scheming, with his fingers steepled and his gaze seemingly reaching into some unknown dimension beyond your comprehension. That usually happened when he was running through variables that didn't concern you, at least from his perspective. You and Eli had accepted long ago there would always be parts of his plans he would never share with you. He was kind of a control freak like that.

But tonight, he seemed to be more welcoming of collaboration, hence his steady rhythm of pacing in front of you.

"Only one variable remains, as I see it," he was saying. "We understand how the commander will manipulate the system to cause a redundancy in the simulation, thus rendering the test impossible to finish successfully."

You and Eli shared a glance; the only person who truly understood how that was going to happen was Thrawn. He'd tried explaining numerous times but when it came to codes and tech, the two of you weren't able to fully keep up.

"We also know through your investigating," Thrawn motioned to you with what you thought was an impressed look, causing you to feel a little pride, "that the commander plans to only sabotage my test, believing it will be too suspicious if Eli also fails. He will also manipulate his false code to originate from the computer of his former lover Eva Carroway, who currently works in HR. So if an investigation does ensue, it will be traced to her and not him."

You and Eli chuckled under your breaths. It had been a little amusing when you'd discovered Commander Burdick was using this plan to not only undermine Thrawn, but also get revenge on his ex-girlfriend. But even more hilarious was how awkward Thrawn treated the subject. He had been quite perplexed to learn people could be so vindictive after a break-up. And any time he explained that detail of the plan, like he was doing now, he hesitated over his word choice. You couldn't tell if he only pretended to be confused about romantic relations, or if that was truly an area he found himself lost in.

If Thrawn noticed your snickering, he didn't respond to it, only continued to recap the plan. "We have also determined how we will expose the altered code naturally, so it does not cast suspicion on us... What was the word you used?"

"Backfire," said Eli.

"Yes. It would not due to have anyone suspect that we altered the test ourselves, or to have our concerns disregarded altogether. Thus, arranging for the maintenance crew to get a mild case of food poisoning so their performance checks are postponed to occur right before the tests will take care of that variable. At the least, they will fix the altered code and I will take the test as normal. At the most, they will report it and the commander faces expulsion."

"So..." said Eli through a yawn as he stretched. "What's left to work out, then?"

Now it was time for you and Thrawn to share a look.

"Were you not interested in involving your classmate, Arden Fey?" asked Thrawn in his soft, contemplative voice.

Eli shrugged. "Yeah. But Burdick's already got his scapegoat, his ex. So it'll be easier to keep him out of it. Whatever."

You could tell he was trying to be nonchalant. But just this morning, he had spent the entire walk between classes ranting about some new insults Arden had come up with, and how badly he wanted to show the guy up once and for all. You knew your friend wasn't feeling "whatever" about it.

"It's not a matter of ease or difficulty," Thrawn stated plainly. He had stopped pacing and was standing with hands behind his back, highlighting the broadness of his shoulders and the height of his stance. His presence seemed to fill up the whole room, and not for the first time, you were glad to be his friend and not his enemy.

"Yeah," you added in encouragement. "We just have to get creative. Find a way to make Arden a more appealing scapegoat than Burdick's ex. In fact...."

You trailed off as an idea occurred to you. You darted out of the room, surely leaving your two friends perplexed, but you would only be a second. You sprinted down the corridor toward the lifts, where a bulletin hung against the wall with fliers and pamphlets. One notice was a bit larger than the others, a promotion of an upcoming gala event to celebrate the Academy's anniversary. You ripped it off and went racing back to the boys' dorm room.

Eli had come down from the bunk and held a concerned look, probably prepared to follow you if you hadn't returned so quickly. Thrawn was still standing composed, but there was a curiosity in his eyes that made you smile.

You held up the poster in front of your chest. "What do you think the likelihood is of us playing successful matchmakers this week?"

Thrawn understood your idea almost immediately, looking down on you with a pleased smirk. It made you flush a little, to know the Chiss was impressed. You rarely had a chance to contribute good ideas when his mind worked so much faster than yours.

Eli caught on next, and he started to grin, the happiest you'd seen him in a while. His smile was infectious and you grinned back. Happy looked good on him.

"We know Eva's not shy with younger guys," you explained. "Before Burdick, she was fooling around with some intern in the med bay."

"And Arden's vain enough," added Eli. "If he thinks anyone's interested, he'll go for 'em."

"So we get him to ask her to the gala as his date...." you said.

"Burdick sees the two of them together...." said Eli.

"And realizes he can get back at his lover in another way, by pinning the sabotage on another student...." joined Thrawn.

The three of you stood together, proud and satisfied that yet another plan had finally worked out. It was almost worth the stressful studying and petty bullying and all the other unpleasant things you had to endure at this god-forsaken school, just to have fun moments like this with trusted friends.

"We should attend this gala as well," Thrawn said eventually, holding out a hand for the poster. He inspected it thoughtfully. "It is only a few days before the tests, so I hadn't planned to pay it any mind. But now...."

"Yeah, we should make sure Burdick's as jealous as we want 'im," nodded Eli.

You were secretly pleased. The plan was already a win-win, but now you would be able to go to the event yourself, too. You hadn't mentioned your desire to go to either of them before, figuring they weren't interested and not wanting to sound silly if you suggested it. But you did love dancing, and it was so very rare you got a chance to wear something other than your Imperial uniform.

"It's a dance," you noted, in case they couldn't tell by the details on the poster. "We'll need to go in pairs."

"I suppose it would make the most sense for you and Eli to go together," said Thrawn quietly.

You looked between the two, realizing both of them were flushed slightly. Eli's cheeks were dotted with pink, standing out amongst his dark brown features, while Thrawn had more of a purple tint to his face now, a color you'd never seen there before. You could feel yourself growing warm and uncomfortable as well. It was only a dance... only a way for you to enact a much more important plan... but it was the first time your trio had had to engage in anything other than platonic friendship. The balance of your group seemed to be shifting ever so slightly in this moment, and you had no way of knowing if it was for good or ill.

You cleared your throat, pushing away any feelings that might have been brewing in your chest, and instead calling focus back to the mission at hand.

"Actually, I think I'd better go with Thrawn. Whoever doesn't go with me would have to find their own date, and no offense Thrawn, but I think Eli has the better chance of asking someone else."

You hoped they hadn't noticed how hollow your voice sounded, how hard you were trying to keep yourself emotionless.

Eli was pinker than ever. "Uh, I highly doubt that..."

"You're not completely hated around here, you know," you said quickly. "Definitely not with the girls. You're not bad looking, you can be charming if you try, and you're... you know, human." You glanced at Thrawn and added again quietly, "No offense."

Thrawn shook his head. His color and demeanor had already slipped back into his usual neutral self. "No, I agree. Those are the dynamics of our peers and we must work with it. I will take you to the gala, Eli will find his own date, and all three of us will push Arden and Eva together as well. It's a good plan."

You all nodded in agreement. But there was a knot in your stomach, a nervousness you didn't quite understand. You cared very much for both Thrawn and Eli. They were your best friends, your only friends. As a group, you were bonded by your ostracism, protecting and supporting each other on your journey out of this hell-hole.

And separately, you had something special with each, too. You and Eli came from similar backgrounds, and had the same need to disconnect from your surroundings and just have a bit of fun every once in a while. The two of you had spent many late nights together, either hopping between bars, exploring the city, making each other laugh uncontrollably, or quietly sharing the honest thoughts you both buried far too deeply inside. Some nights you'd done all of the above, and returned to your dorm feeling both exhausted and renewed.

But Eli didn't always appreciate the finer things in life, and that's where you connected with Thrawn. He wasn't necessarily an optimist, but he had this way of noticing the beauty that existed everywhere around you, even in the most simple or mundane of moments. Everything had the potential to be interesting. His calm but strong presence had kept you grounded and sane throughout your studies here so far. Sometimes you would talk, other times you would simply be in the same space. And either way, you felt better about life.

You didn't exactly want your relationship with them to change. But you couldn't help but feel this gala would do just that....

Next Chapter: The Preparation >

Blueberry Path | Thrawn x reader

Cowboy Path | Eli x reader

[obaewankenobis]

solace — obi-wan kenobi

summary  :  after the death of satine kryze, obi-wan kenobi returns from mandalore to the jedi temple.

warning(s)  :  character death, it's pretty fluffy with some angst.

pairing(s)  :  obi-wan kenobi x jedi!reader, mentions of obi-wan kenobi x satine kryze

notes   :  this is my first fic on tumblr like,, ever. i hope you enjoy lmao 🧍🏻‍♀️. oh also it’s written in all lowercase intentionally!

       though you didn’t know much about their relationship, you knew from a very young age that obi-wan kenobi loved satine kryze. the jedi and the duchess were destined to live their lives apart, honor bound to serve the people before themselves, whether it be the citizens of mandalore or the jedi order. you had seen them interact firsthand, the endless bickering and shrewd glances at one another making up a feeble attempt to cover up how they truly felt. you hated the way your stomach twisted and your heartbeat quickened when you saw how he looked at her, overwhelmed with all sorts of emotions a jedi were barred from feeling. he drowned in her touch, however subtle that might be, her hand on his face leaving him with burn marks, his fingers on fire as he grasped her wrist.        you stood idly by, hopeless in the shadows, because that was what the force had destined for you. you, like obi-wan, had duties as a jedi, duties that you would put over your own well being and selfish desires, even if that meant spending hours watching obi-wan languish in the realization that life would never allow him to be happy. he’d lost his master at an age where, although he was not terribly young, he was still vulnerable to the world and its brutalities.

       life had not been kind to obi-wan kenobi. he was old when he started training, feeling the need to work twice as hard as his fellow initiates, just for him to be remembered and not cast aside. he was constantly battling his darkest fear, that he was never good enough for his master and he would one day be considered unmemorable or unworthy.        life was still cruel to obi-wan kenobi. he felt the cold, bony fingers of satine kryze cradle his face, leaning into her touch before she fell back limply, dark blood staining her abdomen. around him, maul laughed, as vengeance had finally been served. all those years the scarlet skinned zabrak had spent wasting away, he only had one thought: kenobi. it was a mantra that kept him going, a fire that fueled him, that drove him so far to the point of madness that the only thought echoing in his mind was exacting his revenge on the man who had caused him so much misery, obi-wan kenobi.        with some much needed help, obi-wan had escaped his jail cell on mandalore, but maul had won, for now he was trapped eternally in a prison of his own mind. if he closed his eyes, he could still see satine in all her beauty. the soft, pale buttercup locks of hair were strewn messily across satine’s face, framing her pointed features that highlighted her regality. her eyes, normally a stunning, brilliant blue, were now overshadowed with heavy purple circles underneath, fluttering once, before lying still. obi-wan could still feel the ice of her touch on his auburn beard, could still hear the hoarse whispers of her final, dying breath in his ears. worst of all, he could still sense through the force as her life signature died out, like a warm sun casting its final rays before leaving a planet in darkness.        he had loved her, and she had loved him.        though light years away, separated by many planets and suns and stars, you could sense his anguish. it was overpowering, tainted by the dark side; this was the closest obi-wan had been tempted to stray away from the light. still, he clung on to the light, clung on to the idea that there was still good in the world, despite every curve thrown in his way.        the night ahead of you, should obi-wan not return before then, would be sleepless, as worry for the man ate at your insides, and you were helpless to resist as it consumed you. you were, for lack of a better word, attached to him, and he you, and that was the most dangerous thing a jedi could be. the very idea of caring for one being over another was discouraged, but no one prepared you for how hard it would be to follow a code you lived by.        at last, you sensed his presence here in the temple. throwing on a beige cloak, you quietly shut the door of your sleeping quarters to greet him. it was late enough in the evening for the temple hallways to be barren, but not too absurdly late for you to be awake, as the bright yellow hues of the coruscanti sunset dimmed and made their final goodbye through the transparisteel.        “obi-wan,” the breath caught in your throat as your eyes met his. he resembled a shell of who he once was, clad in red mandalorian armor that oddly suited him. his russet hair was disheveled, dirtied by dust and sweat, shoulders sagging as his arms lay limply at his side. his ocean eyes were swimming with sorrow and grief, mourning the loss of someone — it didn’t take much to put the pieces together. satine kryze. he had gone to rescue her, and returned alone.        “y/n,” his voice is like a melody in your ears, though his tone is solemn and tired. they stood close enough for it to be amicable, but far enough for it to be agonizingly respectable. neither of you made any movement to get closer, knowing the probability of someone stumbling upon them was far too likely.        “what happened?” you bit your lip, studying his face. his eyes didn’t quite meet yours, his fair skin littered with dirt and battered with cuts and bruises.        “maul,” came the short response. “he… i must report to the council.” waves of alarm began radiating off of him, as if he had just remembered something important.        “master yoda and master windu are both away,” you sucked in your breath. “you should speak to them tomorrow.” all he could muster was a nod of his head, and you knew then that he would only talk about it in time. silently, mannerisms mirroring one another, you began walking, your pace slow and your shoulders brushing just slightly every few steps. there wasn’t much to be said; obi-wan was silent for most of the short trek back to the jedi sleeping quarters.        “will you be alright?” you stopped in your tracks, pausing in front of his quarters.        a faint smile crept onto his face, his lips twitching upwards but his eyes remaining dull. he nodded quickly before turning to enter his quarters. “thank you, darling.”        however persuasive the famed jedi negotiator was in his prime, there was something about the way his voice sounded so tired that made you doubt the truth of his words.        obi-wan’s name was on the tip of your tongue before he disappeared behind the door of his quarters, not allowing you to call after him; he could lie to you once, to save you from needless worry, but he could not do so twice.        without much resistance, you retreated to your own space, the walls and floors scarcely decorated, what little furniture you did possess simple and modest. after a moment, you retired to your sleep couch and allowed your sore muscles a bit of relaxation. sleep did not come to greet you, not even as you spent hours tossing and turning, the normally soft mattress underneath you now lumpy and hard.        with a sigh, you threw the covers over you aside, wincing as you were greeted with the coldness of the floor as your feet touched the ground. you made your way to the hallway, pitch black and coated with a blanket of silence, a dim light seeping through the cracks of the door opposite of yours. obi-wan was still awake. raising your hand to knock on the door, you were surprised as your knuckles were met nothingness, as the door slid open automatically.        obi-wan had not moved since the night began, sitting in his own turmoil. the mandalorian armor had been stripped off of him and was now cluttered in a corner of the room, and it looked as if he had used the refresher — droplets of water still clung to his hair, and his sleeping clothes looked fresh and clean.        “can’t sleep?” you spoke up with a rueful smile, careful to keep your pitch low enough so only he could hear them. the door closed behind you, and then it was just the two of them. he looked up; dark circles of grief and exhaust making him appear older, more fragile. in a hasty, unsure movement, you had crossed the length of the room and settled yourself next to him, the sleep couch dipping slightly under your added weight.        there were so many questions you longed to ask him, like the details of his journey to mandalore, and why he couldn’t even bring himself to say more than a few words at a time. but patience was a jedi’s greatest tool, and you forced yourself to simply sit in silence, the feeling of obi-wan’s grief hanging heavy in the air.        “i lost her.” his voice is hollow, monotone. there is no need to say her name, but it enters your mind anyways. satine.        “i know,” you let out a weary sigh. “i’m so sorry.” without more words, you felt his body shift, feeling the heat coming from his body as he drew closer to you. “you need to rest, love.”        there was no reason for him to protest, but you knew why he had stayed awake for so long. nightmares. they would haunt him for the rest of his life, chasing him mercilessly for as long as he remained asleep. no matter how awful life treated him, obi-wan kenobi never cried, at least not in front of anyone — instead, he allowed himself to rot away, internalizing everything for fear of burdening another being with all of his agony.        tonight would be no different, you suspected, as you felt a weight on your shoulder, as a head full of strawberry blonde hair, still dewy with shower water, rested against your side. it was hesitant at first, as he barely allowed himself to lean on you, but after a moment of his cheek on your shoulder, he collapsed, the full weight of his body and all his worries heavy against your frame. as your arm wrapped around his shoulder, pulling him closer to you, your breath was light and tense. this was the closest you’d ever been to him, to anyone, really, the feeling of his skin against her own a foreign concept she’d never dared to explore.        it was the way he smiled. it reminded you of warm summer days, of lazy mornings on naboo surrounded by nothing but fields of flowers soaked in sunlight. he was like the sun, bright and hopeful; steady and dependable.        it was the way he laughed. it reminded you of cozy winter nights, of waking up to a ground littered with snow, the frigid air of the outside making evenings surrounded by a crackling fire intimate and welcoming.        it was the way he looked at you. his gaze reminded you of a chilly autumn breeze, of carefree days and brisk weather that made your skin tingle, your heart feeling light and free, singing to the fallen leaves of the sky.        it was the way he touched you. it reminded you of spring, of new flowers blooming in soft sunlight, of plants budding with new, green life and animals of all shapes and sizes fluttering around with their young. it was the start of something new.        you loved him.        it went against everything you stood for, but you loved him.        and maybe somewhere, buried deep within his soul, he loved you too.        in another lifetime, perhaps you were the right person at the wrong time, or the right person at the right time. but in this timeline, where the jedi code was carved into your bones, where the light side ran through your veins, where your duty came above your being, it was the wrong circumstance.        you had been so deep in thought, woefully wishing a for love from a man who could not do so, that you hadn’t noticed how obi-wan’s breathing slowed, how his eyes, which had once fought to stay open, were now blissfully shut. the man who had been through so much, who had endured so much heartbreak and loss, had finally sought solace in your arms.        your own eyes fought to stay awake, knowing how much trouble you’d be in if anyone caught you both in such a… compromising position. however innocent the intention may be, the council would not see it that way. your last conscious thought was that of i must wake up before sunrise, before you lapsed into a peaceful sleep.