#before anyone ask yes im terrified of air travel

[lightningbig]

collecting a weird amount of songs that I love that are also about plane crashes. what does that mean

#before anyone ask yes im terrified of air travel #and by a weird amount its really only. two that i am aware of #'id have two nickles which isnt a lot but it's weird that it happened twice right' #anyway the songs are cause for concern by lovejoy and you can eat me by covey #and im realizing now they're both also about. cannibalism. huh #well. anyway #kat rambles

[firefly464]

The Real World - Chapter 13

"Oh Im gonna take a small break and go easy on this chapter :D" - me the other day. i then proceeded to write the longest chapter so far for no god damn reason.

ALSO YAY COOL SYMBOLISM IN THIS ONE

Thank you @i-have-this-now​ for helping me with transitions because im a complete mess Thank you to @rivys​ for beta reading and editing!

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~~~

“They WHAT?!” Wilbur yelled, wheeling around to stare at the teenager behind him. 

“They uh, they’re going to try and bring our Tommy and Dream back?” Tubbo repeated, taking a step back. “Is that bad…?” Hadn’t this been what Wilbur wanted? For their own Tommy to come home? Why was he acting so aggressive about it? 

“Yes that's bad! Thats really fucking bad! Not Tommy obviously, but Dream?! Tubbo, Dream could come and break the peace treaty. He might start a whole new war, just out of spite. I cant… We can’t do that again. We just don’t have the resources.”

Tubbo paled as he realized what Wilbur was saying. Yes, they might have a chance to bring Tommy home, but at what cost? They would have to go back to living in fear, terrified that at any moment, Dream would come up behind them and try to kill one of them. He took another step back, shaking his head. He couldn’t go back to living like that. He just couldn’t. 

Wilbur walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, crouching slightly so that he was at eye level. “Tubbo, I need you to tell me something, and I need you to tell me the truth. Where are they going?” Tubbo shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. On one hand, he had promised Tommy that he was going to help him get home. He had given his word. But on the other, he couldn’t go back to living in constant fear. He just couldn’t. “The eastern dark woods…” he muttered, trying to push away the guilt that gnawed at him. He had to do this. For his friends. He had no choice. 

“Got it.” Wilbur stood to full height, his eyes set and determined. “Go get your things together. We’ve got quite the trip ahead of us.”

~~~

“You can’t be serious. This is all you have? Why are there- why the hell do you have so many buckets? How on earth are you going to carry them?” George shook his head as he looked over the meager pile of supplies that Dream had gathered. 

Dream just shrugged as he rolled up the bedroll he had found in one of the chests. “You never know what might happen. I’m just trying to be prepared.” 

“Right. So you decided the best way to be prepared was to pack 3 buckets, but not pack any food or actual fresh water. You don’t even have a flint and steel!” 

A snort of laughter sounded from behind them. Dream turned to see Tommy, snickering to himself quietly. When the teenager noticed that they were looking at him, he wiped the grin off his face and stood up straight, trying to look serious. It didn’t work. 

“You know, you could be actually helping instead of just standing there and laughing,” Dream remarked. 

“Aw, but where's the fun in that? It’s much more entertaining to sit back and watch you struggle.” 

“Oh really? I would love to see you do a better job.” He clipped the bedroll to the base of his pack. 

Tommy stepped forward with a smug grin. “Ok, I will, since I’m just so cool and awesome. First off, you need coal for torches and shit. Second, toss the buckets out. You’re not going to be pulling any epic mlg moves here. That's just not how physics work.” Dream grumbled to himself as he took the buckets out of the pile. 

“Shut up, both of you!” George cried out, bringing the bickering to a halt. “Clearly neither of you have any idea what's going on or what to do. So instead of arguing, why don’t you just listen to me and do what I tell you to do. We’re on a timer, aren’t we?” 

Dream and Tommy looked down guilty. They had forgotten about the 48 hour limit, and had ended up falling back into their carefree habits. “Right, sorry.” Tommy said. 

“Alright, Dream, I want you to go and gather some water. Once you’ve got a bucket full, I want you to boil it and bottle it. We can’t have you getting sick from dirty water. Tommy, go and gather some wheat. We don’t need too much, just enough to make enough bread for if we can’t find any animals. I’m going to go and get the horses saddled.” George’s voice was calm as he explained what each of them was going to do. The other two nodded and quickly rushed out of the room. 

~~~

“Alright I’ll be the first to admit, I’ve never rode a horse before. I’ve got no fucking idea what I’m doing,” Tommy admited as he tried to find his balance atop the large animal. The three of them had gathered up all of their materials rather quickly, and were now on their way towards the forest. “Seriously, how the fuck do people do this?”

“By shutting up and not complaining.” Dream seemed to have figured out how to ride his horse pretty quickly, and was now spending his time taunting the younger teenager. 

“Yeah, well maybe if you weren’t so damn annoying, I would have less to complain about.” 

"C'mon, Tommy, hurry up. The sun's setting." George said, while Tommy almost fell off his horse.

The three of them rode across the rough wilderness, as the moon rose slowly along the horizon. This was going to be a long night.

~~~

“We can stop here to make camp for the night,” George said as they came across a small clearing. The three of them had been traveling for hours now, and found themselves in the middle of a birch forest. 

"Eugh, birch. This is literally the worst kind of wood." Dream said jokingly. 

"Agreed." Tommy nodded.

"What? Oh come on, birch isn't that bad." George relatiated as he set up a fire.

"What?" Dream laughed. "George, have you seen these trees?"

"Dream, they're just trees. Plus, we aren't gonna be here for long. We'll keep travelling as soon as the sun rises." George rolled his eyes.

“Ughhhh, really?! But that’s so early!” 

“Tommy, shut up. Stop acting like a child. You’re just lucky that we found a place to stop at all.” George handed both Dream and Tommy a couple of torches. “Here, set these up along the perimeter. The last thing we need is a bunch of mobs trying to kill us while we sleep.” 

Both Dream and Tommy stared at him in shock. 

“What? Do you guys not have mobs in your world?” 

“Wha- No of course we don’t! I didn’t think that they were actually real here, holy shit…” Dream exclaimed. 

“Damn… A world where you don’t have to worry about getting eaten alive in the middle of the night. That honestly sounds really nice.” he shook his head, trying to clear his mind. “Never mind that right now. I need you guys to set up the torches.”

~~~

The sound of a netherite blade slicing through the air echoed across the quiet forest. It had been several hours since they had set up camp, and Dream had long since given up on sleep. The events of the day had played over and over in his mind, making it impossible to close his eyes. And so, he had quietly gotten up and snuck away to a small open area where he could practice.

Over the past week, he had found that practicing sword fighting helped him to calm down. The simple, repetitive motions helped to quiet the intrusive thoughts that continued to plague him. He had started to grow quite reliant on it to stay sane. Maybe, when he finally got home, he would join a fencing class. 

If he got home. No. No he couldn’t think like that. Pessimism wouldn’t get him anyone. He needed to trust Tubbo and Wilbur. They were going to get him and Tommy home. They had to. 

“You know, you’ve really gotten a lot better,” said a voice from behind him. A squeal of surprise was torn from Dream’s throat as he spun around, his sword at the ready. “Pffft, what on earth was that?” George stepped out from the shadows of the trees into the light of the torches that Dream had set up. 

Dream placed a hand on his chest, trying to calm his racing heart. “Jesus man, you scared me. What the hell was that about?” 

The shorter man chuckled as he stepped further into the light. “Gotta keep you on your toes. What's the point of learning how to fight if you’re not constantly aware?” He drew his own sword and held it out in the form of a challenge. 

“You are actually the worst,” he said, raising his own sword in response. 

With a grin, George rushed forward in attack. Dream raised his sword to block the incoming strike, allowing his instincts to take over. He had learned that if he simply didn’t think about what he was doing, he often did quite well. And so he let his mind go blank, instead focusing on surroundings. The stars, the leaves, the trees, even the man before him was all taken in as they sparred. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?” George asked, most likely hoping to distract his opponent. 

Dream only shrugged as he feigned an attack at his friend's leg, only to come up and create a small cut on his cheek. “Couldn’t sleep. I was hoping that doing some practice would help calm me down.” 

“And? How's your success rate?” 

“Well it was pretty good, until you arrived and scared me half to death.”

“Aww, I didn’t realize compliments scared you so much.” 

“Yes, I’m quite shy.” Dream couldn’t help but grin. 

As the two of them joked back and forth, they continued their little duel. It had been going for a couple minutes now, and they seemed to be at a bit of a stand still. A rush of pride surged through him. In roughly a week, he had gone from completely and totally useless to actually able to defend himself. Now, he just needed to set himself apart. 

His mind began working overtime, analysing every small detail. Quickly, he reached back with his free hand and pulled out a loaded crossbow. George’s face transformed into surprise when he saw the weapon. The bolt flew past his face, only just barely grazing the side of his head.

Dream quickly threw the weapon aside and pressed his advantage. Suddenly, the favor was tipped towards Dream. George was unbalanced, startled by the use of the crossbow. Still, he managed to raise his sword just in time to block another strike. 

With his free hand, Dream reached into one of the pouches around his waist and pulled out a small sphere, roughly the size of a marble. With a slight squeeze, the sphere expanded to the size of a baseball. While George was distracted with blocking the strike towards his face, Dream tossed the sphere behind him. With a crash, the sphere shattered against the ground.

Suddenly, Dream appeared behind George in a shower of purple. With a sweep of his foot, his friend came falling to the ground. With a final motion, he held the sword above his throat, his green eyes bright with exhilaration and delight. 

“Alright alright, you win. I surrender,” George said with a laugh. 

“Did you see that?! That was so cool! Oh my god that was so awesome!” Dream exclaimed as he helped George to his feet. “That was so damn cool!!” he started jumping around the small clearing in excitement. 

“How did you even do that? I’ve never seen someone use a crossbow in the middle of a sword fight before” 

“I’ll be honest, I’ve got no idea. I have no idea what the hell I just did. I just know that it was cool as fuck!” 

He shook his head, chuckling as he watched his friend dance around the area. George had never seen Dream show any sort of emotion before, much this level of excitement. Even though he knew the reasons why, he couldn’t help but feel a bit weirded out by it. Watching the pure joy flash across Dream’s face was strange. Still, it was nice. “You are such a dork” 

He only responded with a wide grin. 

A thought flashed through George’s mind, causing him to frown slightly. Dream stopped his playful jumping and walked over, his eyes now filled with concern. “Hey, you alright?” He asked. “Oh shit, you’re bleeding! Hold on I’ve got a few bandages on me I think…” 

As Dream pulled out a couple white bandages from his bag, George let out a slight chuckle. “Do you even know how to use those?” 

“Uhhh, not really? I’m sure I can figure it out. How hard can it be?” 

He wasn’t impressed. With a roll of his eyes, George held out his hand for the bandages “Here, just let me do it. It doesn’t really hurt, I think it's just a small cut. Probably just needs to be cleaned.” Taking a bottle of water from his bag, he quickly wet the bandage and started to clean the blood from his face. 

Dream pouted. “Well what if I wanted to help?” 

“Then you can go and wash the blood out of these,” George said, tossing him the now stained bandages. “No point in wasting perfectly good bandages because of a small cut.”

He caught them easily, but otherwise didn’t move. “Nope. Not until you tell me whats wrong.

The brunette cursed under his breath. Since when had he been so easy to read? “I uh, I was just thinking about… Stuff,” he waived his hand vaguely. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Dream plopped down onto the grass and patted the ground next to him. “Here, take a seat.”

He sat. 

“Spill.”

“I’m just… Worried, I guess? I mean, in a few days, you’re going to be gone and… the other Dream will be back. I guess I’m just scared about what he's gonna do.”

The smile faded from Dream’s face as he considered what to say. “What was he like?” he asked after a few seconds. “The other me, I mean.”

“He was… Scary. All he cared about was the thrill of the hunt. The mask made it impossible to tell what he was ever thinking, which made it ten times worse. Of course, it only covered his eyes and nose, so that you could still see his grin.” He shuddered. “I watched as he blew up the gates of L’manberg with a massive smile on his face.” 

“So then… why did you follow him in the first place?” 

“I had no choice. When Sapnap and I showed up, he was the only other person here. It was either join him or be left out to die to the mobs. After a while I guess I just didn’t realize how cruel he was. He was a good leader, and super charismatic. Not to mention a really good actor. By the time the war started… I guess I just trusted him, if that makes sense. He had kept me alive ‘till then, so why would anything change?”

Dream nodded. He wasn’t going to pretend like he understood what his friend had gone through, but he could still try and help in his own way.  “He taught you sword fighting, how to survive. You felt like you were indebted to him, right?” 

“Yeah… Pretty much. God, its so stupid! I should have been able to realize how messed up he was. Why the hell did I not realize?!” He took off his round sunglasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes shut tight. “I was so fucking stupid.” 

Hesitantly, Dream reached over and placed a hand on his friends back, trying to comfort him. “Hey, that’s not stupid. You’d be surprised at how easily our minds can trick us into thinking we’re doing the right thing. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. That's not your fault.” A stab of guilt shot through him. He had been the one to add George onto the server. If he had waited a bit, would things have been different? Maybe if he had acted differently on stream, or not sent the declaration of war, maybe things would have turned out different. The other Dream might have turned out to be a decent guy, not someone that people trembled before and feared. 

“I should have been smarter… I should have joined Sapnap when he went off on his own.” 

The weight of George’s words finally sunk in. The other Dream was a monster, a killer. He was the living, breathing version of the mask Dream sometimes wore in his videos. The act of someone who enjoyed the hunt, and nothing more. These past two weeks had been peaceful and calm compared to what everyone had normally lived through, and it was all because the monster was finally gone. But now… now they were about to bring him back. They were about to bring everyone’s worst nightmare back to life. 

What choice did they have? It was either that, or let the entire world get destroyed. Either way, the other Dream was about to ruin people’s lives. He sighed. “It's going to be alright, ok? We’ll figure something out, I promise. You’re not going to go back to living like that. I promise.” 

Now, it was just a matter of keeping that promise. 

~~~

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#alright can i just say #im so proud of that sparring scene #it turned out really cool in my opinion and i really like it #Tubbo_ #tubbolive #wilbursoot #wilbur soot #dreamwastaken #dream team #dreamsmp #sapnap #georgenotfound #The Real World #The Real World AU #my writing #fanfiction #l'manberg #tommyinnit

[pumpkinpaix]

Something with Wen Ning and pretty much anyone else, for “you’re not very intimidating.”

Lan Jingyi frowns, circling Wen Ning with the critical eye of a connoisseur. Wen Ning dutifully holds his position awkwardly, hands held out in claws, face twisted into what he thinks is (hopefully) a terrifying expression befitting his reputation.

“It’s just—” Lan Jingyi sighs, then shakes his head.

“What is it, Lan-gongzi?” Wen Ning asks politely before he can help it, and quickly schools his features back into their previous arrangement. Or at least, he tries. It’s hard when he can’t see himself.

“You’re just not very intimidating,” Jingyi explains, with all the gentleness of a schoolteacher afraid to disappoint an eager student.

“Oh,” Wen Ning says.

“Not that you aren’t making a stellar effort!” Jingyi hastens to add. “Really—a nice touch, the uh—the way you’re holding your hands—I mean, well, it would work better if you hadn’t trimmed your nails—”

“A-Yuan helped me,” Wen Ning supplies, glancing over at Sizhui, who nods encouragingly. Jin Ling snorts, leaning up against a tree.

“Sizhui!” Jingyi scolds. “How is he supposed to scare people with well-kept hands?”

“Maybe he could roll around in some mud beforehand?” Ouyang Zizhen pipes up from where he’s sitting cross-legged on the ground, head propped up on a fist.

“I tried that before,” Wen Ning admits, straightening his posture and dusting off his robes. “I also used some grass.”

“Grass??” Lan Jingyi demands. “What’s scary about grass?”

Wen Ning shrugs. “Wei-gongzi didn’t think it was very scary either.”

“Wei-qianbei doesn’t think anything is scary,” Lan Jingyi scoffs.

Jin Ling snorts, even louder this time.

Jingyi glares. “If you’re not going to help, then why did you even come?”

“Who wanted to come?” Jin Ling retorts automatically. “You’re the one who made such a fuss and dragged me out into the woods for this nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense!” Jingyi exclaims. “Look, it’s important that Wen-xiansheng maintains his reputation! What are people going to do when they find out the Ghost General is actually a meek, stuttering man with good manners? Who would probably serve you tea if you asked nicely?? Look, we can’t stand for that! He’ll be bullied!”

“If I don’t speak, they won’t hear me stutter,” Wen Ning points out. “I can still make the standard fierce corpse noises. That’s scary, right?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s scary!” Jingyi says, seizing onto this kernel with enthusiasm. “Let’s hear it!”

Wen Ning looses one of the guttural growls of the undead, the kind that roll out from somewhere unknown and bestial. They always surprise him on the way out, the way they seem to cling to the air and linger where they’re not wanted.

Lan Jingyi is, somehow, not impressed. “Hm,” he says.

“Not loud enough?” Wen Ning asks.

“The sound was fine,” he concedes. “But your expression didn’t match. Can’t you like, exude some black smoke or something? Turn your eyes red?”

“I think you have me confused with Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning says.

“Maybe Ning-shushu just isn’t meant to be very scary,” Sizhui says, taking pity on him.

“Yeah, Jingyi, why are you so hung up on this anyways?” Zizhen asks.

Lan Jingyi sighs dramatically. “What is the point!! Of having the Ghost General as an escort on nighthunts!! If people find out that he’s actually just a really nice guy??”

“Is it a problem so long as he can still protect us when things go wrong?” Sizhui wonders.

“Sizhui’s right,” Zizhen agrees. “It’s not like he has to be scary to be strong.”

“This is a waste of time,” Jin Ling declares. “I’m going home. I’ll see you all next week in Qishan.”

“Jin Ling!” Lan Jingyi whines. “Jin-xiaojie!”

“Piss off,” Jin Ling says rolling his eyes. He whistles for Fairy, leaping onto Suihua, and zips out of sight.

“For someone so dramatic, you sure don’t have any sense of flair!” Lan Jingyi calls after him.

“Why don’t we just go back and have some tea?” Sizhui suggests.

“I just received a brick as a gift from my friends up north,” Wen Ning says, lighting up. “I’ve been meaning to see if I can brew it properly at home. Did you all want to try some with me?”

“Oh, that sounds good,” Ouyang Zizhen says, getting to his feet. “I’ve always wanted to try foreign tea.”

“I’ll have to get milk first, but I’m not sure it will work,” Wen Ning says. “The taste might be different.”

“We can go to Caiyi to see what they have,” Sizhui says. “I need to get supplies for nighthunting anyways.”

“That’s true,” Zizhen says. “I have a few things I need to pick up as well. Jingyi, are you coming?”

Lan Jingyi gapes at them. “This is exactly what I’m talking about! The Ghost General is going to serve us all some tea? I mean, that’s—ugh, fine!” He throws his hands up in defeat. “Fine! I can’t believe not one of you has any conception of aesthetic! No good taste for presentation!” He flings an arm around Sizhui’s shoulders. “You’re all absolutely hopeless! What are you going to do without my advice, I swear—” 


—


NOTES: 


(did u think I wouldn’t have any bc this is just a tiny tumblr ficlet?? think AGAIN—)

* I have a very idiosyncratic headcanon that wen ning after he and sizhui went to inter their family’s remains at qishan, he went and travelled all the way north into mongolia, where he ran with some nomadic tribes for a hot minute, made friends, and picked up archery again. that’s where he got the tea.

* secondary related hc: fierce corpses can taste (mildly), but eating doesn’t really do anything for them. wwx has, in the intervening years, worked on some talismans to improve wen ning’s quality of living, such as increasing sensation, reducing stiffness, pausing bodily decay etc. so wen ning can taste more now, though the whole “has to manually vaporize any substance he takes into his body” thing I described in wind&rain still holds im making it up as i go y’all


* basically, this takes place somewhere in the spring dawn universe, but it’s extracanonical silliness don’t mind me

* ALSO re: milk! milk DID exist in tang dynasty cuisine according to my very brief dive into wikipedia before it was later abandoned, so THEORETICALLY, they could acquire milk in china. i guess. maybe. IDK look. i tried.

(prompt list || other ficlets || ko-fi)

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #wen ning #mdzs fic #*prompt fill #mine #myfic #myficlet #guess who's back with just the tiniest amount of content!! #love u all #im working on things i promise #cyan writes #Anonymous #asks and replies

[im-fairly-whitty]

Title: Forget Me Not by @im-fairly-whitty (Ao3: im_fairly_witty)

Fandom: The Witcher (Netflix/Books/Game)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences 

Wordcount: 11731

Summary: You meet up with your soulmate in dreams once or twice every year your whole life, giving you the chance to grow up together and befriend each other no matter where you live. The catch is you only remember what happens in those dreams if you’re currently in one, or if you meet in real life and you BOTH want to be with each other, meaning your waking lives carry on as they would have otherwise with you none the wiser as to whether or not you have a soulmate out there.

This leads to unexpected and wonderful tearful reunions between soulmates discovering each other in waking life, but if your waking selves don’t get along or have emotional constipation (cough, Geralt, cough cough) you and your soulmate can only watch helplessly from your dream meetings as your waking selves make things terrible for both of you without even realizing it.

Additional Tags: Geraskier of course. Instant friendship, but a bit of a slow burn romantically, because Geralt's had five year old Jaskier for fifteen minutes (and if anything happened to him he'd kill everyone in this room and then himself) but romantic feelings don't start until later when they're both adults. Hurt comfort, wump, First Kiss. Happy Ending because RIP season one but I'm different. Also young Jaskier is a national treasure who must be protected at all costs.

For @geraskierweek​: prompt 1, Soulmates

Geralt is eighty five years old when he meets his soulmate for the first time in a dream.

He knows it’s a soulmate dream too, he’s never dreamt anything nearly so vivid or calm, only ever having had muddled nightmares if anything at all. But now he finds himself standing in a field of wildflowers, a slight breeze brushing over the loose black shirt he’s wearing. An unseen sun warms his skin in the perfect pleasantness of a calm summer’s day.

And Geralt feels sick to his stomach. Because he does not want a soulmate, had been convinced that he didn’t have one after decades of nothing.

But as he walks across the field he hears the soft gurgling of a brook and sees exactly why it’s taken so long for his first dream to come. Sitting on the bank of the stream, shoes and socks stripped off with his feet splashing in the water, is a five year old boy.

Geralt’s sick feeling doubles as he silently watches the boy from afar, suddenly far more furious at destiny for what it’s just done to this poor child. Matching him up with a monster. The boy should be meeting someone his own age right now, a childhood friend seen fleetingly in dreams once or perhaps twice a year as they aged together. Not a witcher.

Geralt jumps as the little boy looked over his shoulder, spotting him. For a moment Geralt considers just turning and leaving, just walking away and out of this poor child’s dreams for good.

But then the boy’s eyes light up in a look of eager happiness and he waves excitedly, jumping up and running over to him before he can get away.

“Hi! My name’s Julian! What’s your name? Do you know what this place is?” The little boy asks excitedly, jumping up and down with seemingly boundless energy. “There’s so many flowers, I love them!”

“I’m Geralt.” Geralt says a little stiffy, mind reeling a bit. Because he can’t remember a single time in his life that a child has greeted him with anything other than fear, and it’s stunned him as easily as Axii.

“Hi Geralt! I’m Julian!” says Julian brightly, having apparently already forgotten his previous introduction in his excitement. He grabs Geralt’s hand before he can react and pulls him along. “Come see the stream I found!”

Geralt swallows as he lets himself be tugged along, at a loss for words or thought. Instead he finds himself listening attentively as Julian drags him to stand in the shallow water, proudly showing him wet rocks and pebbles of slightly different colors.

It’s only been a few minutes when Geralt feels the dream already starting to fade, they never last long for the first few years he’s heard. But by the time Julian disappears from sight Geralt is absolutely heartbroken for the child, having already come to love him in the kind of way that would have him burning a village should he come to harm.  

And Geralt is absolutely furious to know that he will have no memory of the dream once he wakes up. That neither of them will remember their encounter until the next time they meet.

***

 Julian is eleven when he finally realizes why he can never remember Geralt when he wakes up.

“You’re my soulmate aren’t you.” Julian not so much asks as simply states, looking up at Geralt.

The two of them are sitting cross legged in the wildflower field they always meet in, braiding long strands of grass to see who can make the longest one. Sometimes they explore together, sometimes they sit on the bank of the stream to splash around, sometimes Julian manages to get Geralt to tell him a story. They’re always very exciting stories.

“Hmmm.” Geralt grunts, not looking up from his grass braiding.

“My mum says if you meet your soulmate in your dreams not to bother telling them your name, because neither of you will remember when you’re awake.” Julian says, reaching over to pick a flower to weave into his grass braid. “That’s why I only remember you when we’re here, isn’t it?”

“Hmmm.” Geralt says again. But Julian knows it’s the “yes” kind of hmmm. They’ve met enough times over the years that Julian knows what all the hmmm’s mean now.

They continue to braid for a few quiet minutes, the soft breeze rustling through the wildflowers.

“How come you’re so old?” Julian asks, looking up at Geralt. “Aren’t soulmates supposed to be the same age?”

There’s a kind of almost smile on Geralt’s face which means he’s supposed to be chuckling, but then a little bit of a sad look too.

“It’s because I’m a witcher.” Geralt says, not looking at Julian as he plucks another long blade of grass. “It means I’ll live for hundreds of years and still look about this age.”

“Oh, like elves.” Julian asks, nodding sagely.

“Yeah, a little bit like elves.” Geralt says with a shrug, but now his little smile stays.  

Julian’s nose wrinkles, “Does that mean it’s not going to be until I’m like fifty that we meet in real life? So I look as old as you do?”

Geralt actually laughs at that, reaching over to ruffle Julian’s hair. “I do not look fifty. Thirty at most.”

“But you’ve got white hair!” Julian says defensively, warming to his argument. “Only really old people have white hair, everybody knows that Geralt.”

“A fair point, little lark.” Geralt says. His smile dims a little. “And I don’t know when we’ll meet in real life. I hope we don’t.”

“What?” Julian cries, jumping to his feet, throwing his grass braid into the air for emphasis. “But we’re soulmates! We gotta meet in real life too so we can be real life friends! How else are we gonna remember each other when we’re awake?”

“My life isn’t one that you want to be in.” Geralt says gently. “I’m always in danger, I’m always having to fight monsters and travel hard. You wouldn’t be able to come with me, it would be too dangerous and I would be too unkind.”

“But you’re always nice. You’re my best friend!” Julian insists, crossing his arms.

“It’s easier here.” Geralt says simply, going back to his braid. “I don’t have to worry when I’m here. But if we meet in real life you’ll be frightened of me, I’ll have two great swords on my back and be in dirty armor and look angry all the time to scare off people who want to hurt me.”

“I won’t let anyone hurt you.” Julian says seriously. “I’ll make them be nice to you, I’ll tell them how great and kind you are and then you won’t have to worry.”

“I’m sure you would.” Geralt says with a sad smile, holding up his finished grass braid to Julian as they feel the dream start to fade.

***

 Geralt is ninety five the year that Julian’s mother dies. He holds the fifteen year old on his arms as the boy cries bitterly into his shoulder the entire dream they’re together, having had no other shoulders to cry on when he was awake.

***

 “I ran away from home last month.” Seventeen year old Julian says.

Geralt looks over at him where they’re both lying in the grass, hands behind their heads as they stare at the blue nothing sky.

“Did your father finally throw you out?” Geralt askes. “Or did you finally hide enough money for Oxenfurt?”

“A little of both.” Julian says, voice deceptively easy. “Got caught sleeping with a maid and figured it was time to get out while I still could. I didn’t fancy being beaten within an inch of my life like Mother.”

A long moment of quiet passes between them.

“Are you safe? Where you are?” Geralt asks, looking over.

“Not really.” Julian says quietly, reaching down to pluck a blade of grass and starting to slowly break it apart in his fingers. “I’m pretending to myself that I am, but I know I’m going to get stabbed if I hang around much longer. I’ll probably wise up in a day or two, once I get over my pride.”

“Did you buy a knife like I told you to?” Geralt askes, knowing perfectly well how futile giving advice of any kind is, but having to try anyway.

“I didn’t.” Julian says, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “I was even looking at one in the marketplace, thinking how much I wished I knew how to use one properly.” he looked over at Geralt, sharing the moment of sad irony with him. “It’s utter rubbish, this not being able to remember business. At least when we meet I’ll suddenly have the knife wielding skills of a bandit from what you’ve taught me.”

Geralt chuckles a sad kind of chuckle that ends in a sigh.

Another minute of silence.

“And don’t say we’re not going to meet, because I can feel you thinking it and we are.” Julian says, raising up on one elbow to glare at him more easily.

 “We aren’t going to meet.” Geralt said, shaking his head tiredly. “You’ll see me coming a mile away and be too terrified to even get a look at my face. As you should be.”

 “I won’t!” Julian insists. “We’ll end up in the same seedy tavern someday, soon too now that I’m traveling, and we’ll see each other across the crowd as I’m playing my lute and suddenly I’ll remember how to wield a knife and you are going to remember you owe me a drink.”

Geralt only keeps shaking his head. “You only get your dream memories back if you both want to be together Julian. You know I don’t want a soulmate. My life isn’t the kind that’s supposed to be shared, there’s not a chance that I’m going to see you in real life and want you around me. Neither of us will remember.”

“You can’t convince me I’m unattractive Geralt, I have an extremely healthy self image.” Julian says, stretching in a comical attempt at a sexy pose.

“You’re a child.” Geralt scoffs.

“Not for long.” Jaskier says, raising an eyebrow. “Give me a few years and I’ll look as old as you, and then when I find you I’ll keep badgering you until you let me stay, and then boom. Soulmate memories.”

Geralt snorts. “If I had an entire week I could not explain to you all the ways in which that is extremely unlikely.”

Geralt closes his eyes, but he can feel Julian watching him from across the grass.

“If we already remembered each other, would you come get me?” Julian asks quietly, the barest hint of a shake hidden in his voice.

Geralt opens his eyes, looking at him steadily. “If we already remembered each other I would have come to get you the day your mother died, and then killed your father for good measure.”

“Okay.” Julian says, voice still quiet as he curls up a little in the grass, still laying on his side.

Geralt can smell the fear starting to seep off the boy as he feels the dream start to fade around them, pulling them back to real life.

“You’ll be alright.” Geralt says, reaching over to grip the boy’s shoulder comfortingly. “You’re stubborn and you’re quick on your feet if nothing else, you’ll survive.”

“Geralt, I-” Julian’s hand grips his.

And then the dream fades.

 ***

 Geralt is ninety nine the first time he finds himself in a soulmate dream where he finds that he’s even more upset than the very first time he found himself in the wildflower field.

“Geralt!”

He looks over and see Julian...no, Jaskier, sprinting toward him. The young man slams into him at top speed, grabbing him in a hug that is buzzing with energy and excitement.

“We met!” Jaskier cries, his eyes actually filling with excited tears. “We met! We met! I can’t believe we finally met, and Gods Geralt you never once mentioned how lethally attractive you are in real life! I thought I was going to die when I saw you! And-”

There are too many things in Geralt’s head that need to be said, too many competing emotions warring to get out first.

But Geralt does the most important thing first and wraps Jaskier into a protective bear hug, holding him close. Jaskier returns the hug eagerly, quieting for just a moment despite practically humming in excitement.

“We didn’t remember.” Geralt says quietly, pulling out of the hug enough to look Jaskier in the eyes, then anger surfaces for its turn out in the open. “And what are you doing Jaskier? Why on earth are you following me around? You nearly got slaughtered by elves on your first day! Do you have a death wish?”

“But that’s the thing Geralt!” Jaskier says eagerly. “I can tell there’s something special about you! I saw you in the tavern and I could tell!”

“You know we’re soulmates?” Geralt demands.

“No, no, no memories at all, but still it feels like...” Jaskier bites his lip, searching for words, which doesn’t happen often. “I’m not sure what it feels like, but it just feels like I’m supposed to be around you, I feel like you can keep me safe. I haven’t figured it out yet obviously, but maybe I will soon!”

Geralt feels his heart ache, remembering the disgust and irritation he feels toward Jaskier in real life without his true memories to assist him.

“I’m sorry for hitting you.” he says quietly.

“Oh that’s alright.” Jaskier says with a grin. “I supposed I deserved it, but I did warn you I was going to be stubborn!”

“Jaskier there’s no way this is going to work.” Geralt says, shaking his head. “I’ve already decided to shake you off when we reach town tomorrow, you’re too slow on foot and you sing too much.”

“You are so grumpy in real life, you know that?” Jaskier says, narrowing his eyes and jabbing a finger at Geralt’s chest. “Like, unbelievably grumpy, and mean! Do you have an entire witcher mutagen dedicated to being taciturn in real life that doesn’t affect you when you’re asleep? I swear you’re like a whole different person!”

“I’ve only known you for a few days in real life.” Geralt said, dropping his arms to his sides with a sigh. “You’re seeing what the world sees of me. I never let that guard down, ever. I can’t afford to. That’s the reality of being a witcher, I can’t ever be vulnerable or that’s the end of it for me.”

“I’m sorry.” Jaskier says, his eyes dropping. “I’m sorry your life’s been like that.” He looks up with a flame of anger in his own eyes. “I hate the way people look at you, the way you save all of them and then they treat you like garbage. I’m going to make them see who you really are Geralt, I’m already working on songs to do it.”

“Your songs that are already changing the truth of what actually happened to us?” Geralt said with a smile.

“Yes! And they’re going to be fantastically popular.” Jaskier says, absolutely convinced.

“Also,” Geralt says, his smile disappearing and raising an eyebrow as his grip on Jaskier’s shoulder tightens. “You are utterly shameless. I can smell you constantly reeking of lust around me when we’re walking around together, have you ever once in your life tried to be subtle? That’s the biggest reason I’ve decided to shake you off tomorrow.”

Jaskier grins sheepishly, “In my defence you haven’t told me how old you really are?” he tries. “I’m still out there assuming you’re a foxy mid to late thirties.”

“Will it really make a difference when you find out I’m ninety nine?” Geralt asks flatly.

“No.” Jaskier says, his grin no longer sheepish. “Oh, and happy hundredth by the way if you haven’t told me by then.”

“No changing the subject.” Geralt says sternly. “We’re likely never going to see each other again in real life after your obnoxious performance, so I hope you’re satisfied with our one death outing together.”

“Oh, we’ll meet again.” Jaskier said happily.

“And how can you be so sure?” Geralt says dryly.

“Because I’ve already decided I’m going to stalk you across the continent like a lovesick schoolboy.” Jaskier says proudly. “And my awake self decided that all on his own.”

“That’s because you are a lovesick school boy. One who’s going to get himself killed by following me.” Geralt says, shoving at Jaskier’s shoulder as they begin to walk across the meadow to their usual spot by the stream.

“Honestly though Geralt, why have you kept me around even this long? You have to like me at least a little.” Jaskier asks, looking at him curiously as he follows.

“You’re the first human I’ve ever met who doesn’t smell like fear when they look at me.” Geralt says with a shrug. “It’s intriguing. Novel.”

Jaskier makes a sad kind of noise, looking at him and then wrapping him in a second hug.

“Geralt, here I was fishing for compliments and you have to hit me with that?” Jaskier mumbles against his chest.

“Well I’m never ever going to say it in waking, so I might as well.” Geralt sighs.

“Just you wait, we’re going to make it, I know we will.” Jaskier says, looking up at him with a smile full of determination. “I’ll track you down again, you’ll see.”

 ***

 Only nine months and one dream pass before Jaskier manages to find Geralt again in real life. He is extremely smug.

 “Just you wait, Witcher.” Jaskier says, using the name he’s picked up from using in real life. “By the end of the year we’ll both have remembered.”

 ***

 If Geralt had known three years passed without a single dream he would have been worried, but of course he has no way of knowing that until he finds himself standing in the field of flowers again.

Jaskier is standing a ways off, arms folded tightly as he stares off into the nothing distance, his shoulders tense.

“Jaskier.” Geralt calls, and the bard turns, a look of sheer relief breaking through his worried expression as he runs to Geralt.

“Why was it so long?” Jaskier asks, face buried against Geralt’s neck as they hold tightly to one another. “Why haven’t we seen each other in so long Geralt?”

Geralt takes a long moment just to breathe in Jaskier’s scent, which is riddled with fear and unease, then kisses his forehead, aching because he knows there’s no good way he can apologize for how he’s acted in waking life. Because of course they have seen each other, quite often in fact, but Geralt hates seeing it with remembering eyes. His gruffness, the constant shoving Jaskier away both figuratively and literally. The way that Jaskier puts up with it all with a smile.

Things aren’t always bad, they’ve had good times too, but not nearly enough to make up for it in his opinion.

“I don’t know.” Geralt says slowly, almost having to remember how to use long sentences again after so long in his customary waking gruffness. “Perhaps it’s because we’re together often in real life. The dreams don’t feel like they have to pull us together any more.”

“It’s been three years Geralt and we haven’t remembered a thing yet.” Jaskier says, his voice sounding a little hoarse against Geralt’s neck. “I, I guess things are pretty normal for us only having known each other three years though, right? Loads of people probably act like we do. With me hanging on and you hating everything...”

Geralt bites his lip, realizing that Jaskier had gotten so used to glossing over his emotions around Geralt in real life that he’s even doing it here now.

“You scare me in real life.” Geralt said, being the first to be honest. “I keep thinking I’m going to break you or scare you off like everyone else, I don’t understand what you see in me to keep following me and being kind and it frightens me. That’s why I still have so many walls, I’ve never had a real human friend, and I’m afraid of how fragile I think you are.”

Jaskier makes a small choking sound, nearly a sob as he looks up and Geralt sees tears in his eyes. “We are friends then?” he asks, voice hoarse. “In real life I mean, I always keep hoping we are or, or will be, but I just don’t know what you think about me really so I just keep joking around it and-”

“You’re the truest friend I’ve ever had Jaskier.” Geralt said firmly, putting a hand gently to his cheek. “You just picked the worst possible person to try befriending. I promise.”

“O-okay.” Jaskier said, tears sliding down his cheeks as he gasps for breath a little. “Okay. It’s just so hard to tell with you sometimes.” He wiped fiercely at his eyes. “Gods, sorry, I swear I’m not this distraught in real life, honestly I’m alright, I’m perfectly pleased to keep worrying away at you for the long haul. It’s just so...so disorienting to be back here I suppose, to remember. I just wish we both remembered already.”

“It’s alright little lark.” Geralt said softly, sitting in the grass and pulling Jaskier down into his arms. Holding him tight, as if it could make up for three years of only rough and brief touches in passing. “This is my fault, I always told you I’d be miserable company in real life.”

“It’s not all bad you know.” Jaskier swallows, resting his head against Geralt’s chest. “Really it’s not. You’re always so kind to people who really need it, and you make the worst jokes when we’re alone on the road together, and you’re so soft with Roach, and you’re terrifying at Gwent. And I know you really do care about me, because you’re always saving my skin every single time I need it, and I know you make sure I get the best parts of our food when we’re running low, and I know you bought me those boots last month because mine were falling apart so don’t even pretend it was because they were cheap anyway. I know they weren’t. I know clothes Geralt.”

Something warm gently flickers in Geralt’s chest as his bard lists so many things Geralt hadn’t considered as being good. They were just things he felt he needed to do. But coming from Jaskier they did sound good. It almost makes him feel better.

“So you’re not miserable then?” Geralt asks hesitantly.

“No! No, not by a long shot.” Jaskier says, wide-eyed as he looks up at him. “Geralt these are the best years I’ve ever had in my life, I get to go adventuring with you and see sights no one in Oxenfurt’s ever seen, and then I get to go hole up for the winter in a warm classroom and write songs while you hibernate up at your witcher castle. This is the dream Geralt.”

“You should have better dreams.” Geralt says softly. “These years are the prime of your life, you should be spending them doing something else.”

“If you remember to tell me all that again when we wake up I’ll do it.” Jaskier says, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Speaking of better dreams,” Geralt says flatly. “would you actually die if you didn’t jump in bed with everything that moves? As glad as I am that you appreciate me dragging you out of every fire you light under yourself, I sometimes forget I’m supposed to be fighting monsters, not cuckolded husbands.”

“Do you have any idea how much sexual frustration I deal with on a daily basis just from being around you?” Jaskier replies seriously. “When you walk around looking like a marble statue in black leather and a loose ponytail? And that’s just when you have clothes on.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Well, good to see you’re feeling better.”

“I’m serious Geralt.” Jaskier says, curling closer to him, looking down at the grass. “I’m not just sticking around for the song material anymore. I’ve...really fallen for you. You could at least pretend to notice.”

“You’re still so young.” Geralt shakes his head, resting his chin gently on Jaskier’s head. “You get obsessed with things all the time, I know you’ll get bored and move on eventually.”

“I won’t. Not from you.” Jaskier says firmly, one hand holding tightly to the front of Geralt’s shirt. “And you can’t keep using my age as an excuse either, I know for a fact that you don’t sleep with prostitutes your age when we visit the Passaflora, so you can stop pretending that’s a valid excuse not to be attracted to me at this point.”

Geralt only chuckles. “I’m only telling you what I really think in waking life Jaskier, you can’t get mad at me for it here.”

“Well, what do you think here?” Jaskier asks, looking up at him, their faces only inches apart now.

Geralt thinks for a moment, looking into the young man’s cornflower blue eyes. He can’t deny that in waking life he has considered more than once how attractive the bard is. But even in waking it’s not something he’s considered at length, far more concerned with the constant challenge of keeping his curious human companion in one piece than anything else.

“What I think here is that you are still young.” Geralt says gently. He kisses Jaskier’s forehead and the bard heaves a sigh.

“You’re the worst soulmate ever, you know that?” He says, squinting up at him accusingly.

“I’ve never claimed to be anything else.” Geralt says, a little too soberly.

“What if we don’t see each other again for another three years?” Jaskier asks, smelling nervous again.

“That’ll probably mean we’re still traveling together fairly often.” Geralt reasons. “You know, if you leave me alone maybe we’ll see each other here more again.”

“Not a chance, witcher.” Jaskier says. “Not a chance.”

 ***

 By the time they’ve traveled together for the better part of twelve years in waking life they’ve seen each other four more times in dreams. Which is not nearly enough, and somehow far too much.

“I’m going to ask you to escort me to Cintra tomorrow night for the betrothal feast, I got invited to play at it.” Jaskier says quietly against Geralt’s shoulder. The two of them are standing in the field of wildflowers together, simply holding each other after years of distance.

“I’ve been gone three days after a selkimore.” Geralt says with a smile. “How are you so sure I’m even alive?”

“Well now I know you’re alive.” Jaskier says, looking up at him with a grin. “I’ll remember.”

“You won’t.”

“I will.” Jaskier says, as if it’s a fact, not a wish. “And when you’re back you’ll probably be covered in all kinds of filth like usual and I’ve got a bath and everything all planned to butter you up to make you come with me.”

“I won’t like it.” Geralt warns.

“You don’t like anything.” Jaskier points out.

“I like you.” Geralt says.

Jaskier looks up at him with his thirty one year old eyes and tilts his head a bit. “How do you mean?”

“In waking life.” Geralt says simply. “I’ve started to really...like you. Unironically, I love having you around me.

“You absolute bastard! I knew it!” Jaskier cries in delight, taking hold of Geralt’s shirt collar. “And yet you still pretend we aren’t friends, but you do like me. I see you listening to all my songs from the back of the tavern, and the way you smile just a little when I talk too long even though you aren’t listening, and you are going to agree to come to Cintra with me aren’t you?”

“I probably will.” Geralt sighed. “When was the last time I told you no?”

“You tell me not to do things all the time, I just don’t listen.” Jaskier says with a smug grin.

“When was the last time you asked me for something and I didn’t eventually do it. Even if I didn’t outright agree.” Geralt corrects gently.

“Do you think...do you think we’ll remember soon?” Jaskier says, eyes wide in hope.

Geralt thinks they might, he really does. Even when awake he’s taken to being far more protective of the bard, keeping him close whenever he can, wanting him to stay. Wanting him. Even if he can’t even admit it to himself while awake.

But he just can’t bear to get his bard’s hopes up when he knows he can’t guarantee anything upon waking. For them to remember both of them have to want to be together, and for years now they’ve only been waiting on him.

“Perhaps.” He says with a shrug. He rests a hand against Jaskier’s face and the bard leans into his touch. “But I hope so.”

“Geralt, can I kiss you?” Jaskier asks, as calmly as if asking whether it was raining outside.

“If you like.” Geralt says.

Their first kiss is as gentle as the breeze whispering through the wildflowers at their feet, as calm as the small brook that flows past them.

The dream fades before they have the chance for a second one.

 ***

 Geralt is sitting in the wildflower field with his head in his hands. Even in dreams his constant waking headache hasn’t left him, in fact it almost seems worse.

Because it’s been five months since Cintra, and everything has gone exactly wrong.

He hears Jaskier appear behind him but doesn’t move. Footsteps through the grass, and then the pleasant warmth of Jaskier draping himself over Geralt’s back, slim arms wrapping around his neck as the bard kisses just behind his ear. 

“Well, I assume it’s safe to say that neither of us saw that coming.” Jaskier says with a tired chuckle. “You left in a marvelous huff before I could ask, why did you claim the law of surprise? Really Geralt, after seeing all that, what on earth were you thinking?”

“That you would think it was a terribly funny joke when I inherited a new second hand crown or a fine jacket from it. That we’d both get a laugh from it after such a trying night.” Geralt says hoarsely, having no reason to lie.

“Geralt...” Jaskier says, at a loss for words.

Geralt doesn’t move as they sit in silence, because they both already know that if he hadn’t invoked the law of surprise then he wouldn’t have stormed off on his own, that he and Jaskier would have stayed together, that they just might have remembered each other by now.

And instead they are now alone in waking life, who knew how far apart. For who knew how long this time.

Geralt feels his hair pulled loose out of its half ponytail and Jaskier’s long fingers begin to comb through it. It eases his headache a bit and he closes his eyes.

“But why did you run so fast and so far?” Jaskier asks quietly. “You’d disappeared before I’d even gotten to my feet Geralt, you were long gone by the time I got back to the inn. No one says you have to actually take the child for your own, you could just be a sort of godparent couldn’t you? Just visiting every now and then like a kind uncle, they won’t even be born for-”

“Because I can’t stand it when destiny gets her hooks in children, and this time it’s my fault.” Geralt growls. “When that baby is born they’re going to be caged in at every side by destiny. No matter what they do, they’ll never be able to escape being a child surprise. They aren’t even born yet and their choice is already stripped from them. Because of me.”

Jaskier’s fingers go still in his hair.

“Is that why you hate the idea of soulmates so much?” Jaskier asks quietly.

“This, no, this isn’t about that.” Geralt shakes his head, but Jaskier is already gone from his back.

The bard moves in front of him, sitting down in the grass and looking at Geralt, trapping his gaze. “Is this why we haven’t remembered each other in waking life yet?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt can’t quite tell what emotion it is flavoring the bard’s voice this time, but it’s something sad. “Because deep down you think I’m trapped in this, so that’s why you keep pushing me away? That I have no choice but to be herded back to you by destiny? Is this because I was a child when we first met?”

“That isn’t what I-”

“No, you know what? It’s my turn to talk.” Jaskier says, and the sadness in his voice is so close to anger now that Geralt wishes he was anywhere else but here. “You always say that you don’t believe in destiny and that everything’s up to chance, but we both know that’s not true. I don’t love you because destiny told me to, I love you because you’re the best man I’ve ever met, here or awake. You’ve been the only person I can always rely on, even when you pretend you hate me. 

“And think of Urcheon and Pavetta! They had it exactly the same as us, he was already grown when Pavetta was born too, and they still loved each other and remembered their soulmate dreams when they met in person. And now they’re together despite the greatest odds all because of destiny, and after what we both saw at that feast don’t you dare tell me that their love for each other isn’t real.”

“And now they owe their unborn child to a witcher.” Geralt says sourly.

“And why is that so terrible?” Jaskier cries in frustration. “You’re a lovely man Geralt, why is being connected to a child such a terrible concept to you?”

“Because I was a child surprise Jaskier!” Geralt shouts, he doesn’t remember getting to his feet, but now he’s standing over the bard. “Where do you think all the old wives tales of witchers stealing children come from?”

“But those are just tales, they don’t-” Jaskier says weakly.

“Every witcher was a child surprise.” Geralt says hotly. “That’s where we all come from. A life is saved and the law of surprise is demanded in return, and when the child is old enough to walk they’re whisked away, no matter how hard the parents beg. Because it’s destiny. And then seven out of ten of those little boys dies in terrible agony. Because it’s their destiny. My mother couldn’t have kept me back if she wanted to, I don’t even know if she wanted to Jaskier. My entire life has been set by some great unseeing hand and I hate it, and now it’s used me to get its claws into the unborn heir of Cintra, all because I couldn’t keep my idiot mouth shut. Do you perhaps, in all your sage acceptance of fate, see how that could perhaps possibly upset me?”

“Geralt, I didn’t know.” Jaskier says, face pale.

“No, you didn’t.” Geralt snaps. “Because as lovely as things are in this bloody field while we’re asleep, in waking my life is a terrible, dangerous, dark thing. Destiny decided before I was even born that I was to face pain and death every second of my unnaturally long life. I’m always going to be at the end of a blade, and the only thing that’ll keep me from being on the wrong end is if I treat everything around me like a threat. That is why we haven’t remembered each other in waking Jaskier, because you don’t belong in a life like that. I refuse to trap you in that with me.”

The breeze that is always brushing across the wildflower field has disappeared, leaving things unnaturally silent as Jaskier stares up at him. Wide blue eyes gazing at him, mercilessly soft. Geralt wishes that Jaskier would jump up too, that he would start yelling back at him, shove him, give him something else to react against. But he doesn’t.

“Do you love me?” Jaskier asks, watching him.

“What do you mean?” Geralt says.

“Do you?” Jaskier asks.

“Of course I do.”

“Good.”

“What do you mean, good?”

“Because I love you,” Jaskier says simply, picking a pale yellow wildflower from the grass by his knee. “and if we both still love each other that means we’ll manage to find each other again once you come to your senses.”

“Jaskier, I-”

“You don’t get to bad mouth destiny for supposedly taking away my choice and then go and try to take it away yourself.” Jaskier says, getting to his feet.

Geralt finds himself powerless to move as the bard tucks the flower behind his ear and kisses his cheek. Jaskier wraps his arms around his neck.

“I’ve been in your life for twelve waking years witcher,” Jaskier says gently in his ear. “And I’m not a child anymore. By now I know exactly what I’m getting myself into every time I tag along you know, I choose to be around you. I want to be with you. I’ll see you again.”

Geralt closes his eyes, gritting his teeth. Then he sighs, resting his head on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” Geralt says.

For yelling at him? For trying to force Jaskier’s hand? For abandoning him without a word in waking life? Or just for destiny tying them together in the first place? Maybe all four.

“Everything will be alright.” Jaskier says, kissing the corner of his mouth. “With us and with your child surprise. Even if it takes a while to get there.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of me?” Geralt asks. “How can you stand to be around me, even when I try driving you away?”

“I can always tell you don’t mean it.” Jaskier says, looking serious. “Deep down I think I know it’s not the real you when you act like that. But you’re lucky my waking self is convinced we’re soulmates and that we’ll wake up any moment, because sometimes you really are a prick Geralt.”

“You really think we’re soulmates when you’re awake?” Geralt asks, looking him in the eyes.

“It’s a ridiculously optimistic wish I can’t manage to make myself let go of.” Jaskier says with a shrug. “But we both know I’m a bit of an idiot.”

“Hmmm.” Geralt agrees.

“Not nearly as much of an idiot as you, but we make a fine pair I’ll admit.” Jaskier says with a grin.

Geralt moves to kiss him, but the dream fades before he has the chance.

 ***

 The next time they meet he kisses Jaskier before he has the chance to say anything.

“Well. Hello, you.” Jaskier says, breathless but smiling as Geralt finally releases him from the kiss.

“Didn’t get to kiss you last time,” Geralt says, burying his face against Jasker’s neck and breathing in the bard’s scent. “Wanted to get it done first this time.”

“Well I certainly have no objection to that.” Jaskier hums. “I miss you you know, it’s been a few years. I’ve started courting a countess in your absence if you can believe it.”

“How terribly unfortunate for you.” Geralt says. He laughs as Jaskier smacks him.

***

 “So. Yennifer.” Jaskier says quietly.

The two of them are curled up together in the long grass, Jaskier’s back against Geralt’s chest. The bard traces his fingers aimlessly over the arm Geralt has around his waist.

“Hmmm.” Geralt says, burying his nose in Jaskier’s hair, as if that will somehow keep them from the topic. But this is the first time they’ve seen each other since the djinn, so of course they’re going to talk about it.

“You know for not wanting people to be attached to you through cosmic means, you’re terrible at it.” Jaskier says.

“I really don’t need a reminder.” Geralt grumbles, closing his eyes tiredly.

“Why did you bind yourself to her?” Jaskier asks, words crisp. As if trying his hardest to keep them unemotional.

“She saved your life Jaskier, I couldn’t let her die.”

Geralt nearly whines as Jaskier pulls away from him, sitting up to look him in the face.

“She framed you for something that nearly got you executed, and then she tried to rope me into a dark ritual that went so badly it ripped an entire manor to pieces.” Jaskier says flatly. “You’d known her all of a few hours. You absolutely could have let her die.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt sighs.

“Is it because she’s older than you?” Jaskier says, his tone back to the flat clipped tone that means he’s hiding his emotions. “Is it because she’s powerful? Because she hates you? Everything I’m not?”

“Jaskier, no.” Geralt says, pushing himself up with a frown. “Yen is a good person, she’s just very old and hurting.”

“So you want her as your soulmate instead because she’s like you.” Jaskier says. “Because you can’t want things for yourself if they don’t involve something dangerous enough to kill you. That’s why you really like her isn’t it? Because chasing after her gives you the same rush as hunting monsters, it’s all you know how to do.”

“This is not about replacing you.” Geralt says, reaching for his wrist. “You’ve been with plenty of other people, that countess of yours kept you occupied for several years, why am I not allowed the same?”

“Because I don’t bind their souls to me with a djinn wish!” Jaskier snaps, yanking his arm away and getting to his feet.

“Jaskier, please, I’m sorry.” Geralt says, kneeling in front of the bard, hands up in surrender. “A djinn can’t kill its master, the only way I could think to save her was by binding her to me. It’s magic that can be undone, it’s not the same as destiny. I couldn’t let her die after she saved you. I would have broken if you’d died because of me.”

Jaskier crosses his arms, swallowing hard as he looks away. But he doesn’t say anything.

“And you’re right,” Geralt says, pressing on in the way he only ever manages when he’s not awake, when there’s only Jaskier to hear him. Where not even he will remember what he said in a few hours. “I am attracted to her because she’s like me. We have a lot of the same pain, a lot of the same fears.”

“Oh? And what is it that Yennefer of Vengerburg is so afraid of?” Jaskier says hotly.

“That she’ll never truly be loved, that’s she’s so far from human that no one will ever be able to need and care about her.” Geralt says.

“You can’t honestly believe that about yourself.” Jaskier says, looking at him with an expression of sad anger.

“I do when I’m awake.” Geralt says quietly. Because what else can he say?

Jaskier clenches his jaw, making a muffled irritated sound as he turns and stomps a few steps away, rubbing his face before turning back.

“How can you be so thick?” he cries, sharply gesturing at him with both hands. “How Geralt? How can you possibly be this dense? Why must you always see something simple and think to yourself, how can I make this as complicated as possible instead, hmmm? Is that something they taught you in Witcher school, all those apparently eons ago since you’re sooo old that you’re beyond the reach of human love and reason? You drag yourself into every terrible situation you can find, and then you have the audacity to be shocked when it has less than optimal results. Every single time.”

Jaskier is rambling. Which Geralt knows by now means less that the bard truly means what he says, and more that the man is trying very hard not to cry.

Geralt silently gets to his feet and catches Jaskier, pulling him into an embrace despite the bard’s protests and struggling. Jaskier hisses and pushes at him, hitting his chest, but then the bard goes limp in his arms, beginning to cry into Geralt’s shoulder.

Geralt says nothing, having nothing he can say. So he just holds Jaskier as the man sobs, looks up at the blue nothing sky.

“I hate these dreams.” Jaskier says thickly, face buried against Geralt’s neck. “I hate them. Everything is simpler when I’m awake, I hate remembering that things could be better, I wish I could just forget.”

“You don’t mean that.” Geralt says, his heart breaking.

“Don’t I?” Jaskier says, looking up at him with red rimmed eyes, tears running down his cheeks. “When I’m awake at least I have the luxury of thinking you’re an unrealistic fantasy, I can think every second I have with you is the best I’ve ever had. When I’m here I’m reminded every minute of what I don’t have, and even worse that you do care. It’s like having two hearts to be broken instead of only one Geralt.”

“Jaskier...please...” Geralt says helplessly, words failing him as surely as if he were awake. “If I knew how to fix this I would, you know I would.”

“I don’t know that anymore Geralt, that’s the problem.” Jaskier cries. “Because all I’ve ever heard you say in waking is that you don’t want to be needed, and when I’m here all you ever talk about is how much you don’t want me in your life with you. What am I supposed to think Geralt?”

“I...”

I’m not good at this.

I’m only pushing you away to protect you because I really do love you.

I need you.

But Geralt can’t figure out how to get the feelings from his brain to his mouth, leaving him stumbling for words as Jaskier watches him.

Geralt feels the dream fading around them and it only blocks his speech worse as he panics.

Jaskier disappears from his arms.

 ***

 The next time Geralt finds himself in the wildflower field he is immediately consumed by a prickling feeling of guilt and panic that curls in his gut. Because even in waking he’s been consumed by uneasy guilt for the last two weeks, convinced he’s made a truly deep mistake but not quite knowing why underneath all his justifications.

If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.

...I’ll see you around Geralt...

And now he knows exactly why, with excruciating clarity.

He sees a figure in the distance, watching him. Jaskier’s shirt is whipping in the stiff wind that races across the wildflower field, stronger than it’s ever been before, ripping petals off stems. The blue nothing sky has become a dark grey nothing sky above them, and sharp, dangerous shadows stretch across the field from nowhere.

“Jaskier!” Geralt shouts, starting toward him. He has to reach him, he has to make things right, fix what he’s done. He’s messed up far too badly this time, he has to fix this.

Jaskier doesn’t move, just watches him approach as the wind picks up even stronger, ripping up blades of grass and dirt that pelt against Geralt as he picks up speed.

“Jaskier, I-!”

Jaskier turns away from Geralt and walks away.

He takes two steps and vanishes completely into thin air.

Geralt stumbles to a halt, shielding his face as he shouts Jaskier’s name, not even hearing himself above the howling of the wind. He tries to push forward but is knocked to his knees. He squeezes his eyes shut against the gale, hunching down to dig his fingers into the ground to try and anchor himself, but everything feels like it is slipping, being ripped away from around him as he tries desperately to-

***

 Geralt jolts upright, already half to his feet in a blind panic before the sleep clears from his head. He looks around and sees his camp. He’s awake. He’s alone. His pulse is racing from his dream.

He pants as he sits back down on his bedroll, forcing himself to take deep breaths as his heart beats far too fast for a witcher.

The noises of the forest night gently ease back into his senses as he rubs his face. The chirping of crickets, the whispering of a night breeze in the tree branches above him, the soft noises of Roach, who is watching him with worried interest from where she is grazing a few yards away in the dark. His campfire hasn’t even burned down to embers yet, so he gets up and throws on another log for the flames to eat at, trying to ignore the cold sweat covering him as he shakes slightly.

Because he hasn’t been able to sleep for three days now. Not even meditating helps for long.

Because every time he truly slips into unconsciousness he ends up in the same nightmare, and he doesn’t even know why it’s a nightmare. He’s always standing alone in the middle of a torn up field cast in a dark reddish light, strewn with the dead wreckage of uprooted grass and flowers. There is a dried up streambed and the air is dead still around him, feeling nearly suffocating.

And that’s all there is. Geralt’s never even seen the field before that he knows of, but every nightly visit fills him with such a sick feeling of loss that he wakes up shaking.

The night before it all started he’d actually woken up crying.

Though he doesn’t remember what it is he dreamed of that night.

“It’s got to be a warning.” Geralt says to Roach as he pulls a waterskin from his pack, voice not shaking. “If it’s the same vision repeated. But I don’t know what for, I never see anyone or anything. There’s not even buildings...just...dead flowers...”

He sits heavily on a log near the side of the campfire, drinking from the waterskin as he tries to pull his thoughts back together. But as he does his mind turns immediately to the other thing he’s been desperately trying not to think about.

Because he may be haunted by a dead field in his dreams, but when he’s awake all he can see is the back of a red doublet. All he can hear is his own angry words ringing in his mind. Jaskier’s unsteady ones in reply. Playing over and over and over and over-

“What am I supposed to do?” Geralt growls, throwing his hands up at the sky. Roach startles a little at his near shouting but Geralt isn’t even sure he’s talking to her anymore. To himself? Maybe. “I can’t sleep, I can’t think, I’m alone...”

Didn’t he want to be alone? Isn’t that what he’s been claiming his entire life?

“He was going to get hurt.” Geralt says lamely, his worn out excuse sounding pitiful. “He’s already spent too much of his life around me...he should be somewhere else...”

Nevermind that after so many years of company Geralt is always miserable without the bard beside him, no matter how much he tries to deny it. No matter that he knows for a fact that he’d hurt Jaskier worse than any monster they’d faced over the years when he’d shouted at him on that mountain.

The part that really hurts though is that Geralt knows he hadn’t even blamed Jaskier for things that were really his fault. He’d targeted Jaskier knowing he would take it, that the bard was the one person in the world who always stuck by him no matter how he treated him.

And it made Geralt sick. He’d finally crossed the line. Crossed the line and lost what he hadn’t known he had.

No, because that was a lie too. He knows he loves Jaskier, has for years. He’s just too much of a coward to accept it. Not when there is so much love bursting out of the bard, a frightening amount of care and affection waiting right in front of him. Something that Geralt can’t stand to lose, and therefore couldn’t risk touching, in case he harms it.

Geralt snarls at himself, starting to gather up his camp. Roach knickers curiously as he saddles her and packs everything into saddlebags, then goes over and stomps out the campfire. There was no use hanging around if he wasn’t going to be able to sleep anyway. That and he needs to get on the trail before he loses his nerve.

“Come on Roach.” he barks, pulling himself up into the saddle and digging in his heels.

Roach winnies and starts off under the light of the moon as Geralt steers her back to the main road.

If Geralt rides hard they could be back to the mountain in a day or two and he can track Jaskier from there. On foot the bard won’t have made it too far in three weeks, Geralt knows Jaskier prefers staying days or even weeks at a time in each town when Geralt isn’t with him. If he’s lucky he might be able to track him down in three or four days time.

He only hopes he won’t be collapsing from lack of sleep by then. He still has no idea how to treat his nightmares, should probably contact Triss or Yen about it before he goes mad, but Jaskier at least he knows how to find.

He has no idea what he can possibly say to the bard when he does, but even riding in the right direction makes him feel a little better. He just tries not to think about how long he’s been riding in the wrong one.

 ***

 Jaskier has been bleeding for three weeks, but it’s the kind that no one else can see.

He bleeds into his lyrics, he bleeds into the notes he sings. Late at night he lays in bed, staring blankly at the wall of his inn room, feeling his sadness seep down into the sheets under him. Leaving him feeling hollow and cold.

The coin is good. People are moved by his music. The inn rooms are good. Paid for by the coin.

He supposed he could have found himself good company as well if he’d been able to look anyone in the eye.

Instead he is sitting outside in the dark. Alone. He sits under a tree near the empty market square of the town he’s been staying in for a week now, only the low flickering glow of hung lanterns to keep him company as he watches the night around him. It must be close to midnight, but he’s been sitting here since sunset, his lute laying silently in his lap, watching the night with him.

Because Jaskier does not know why it hurts so much, why being chased off by Geralt of Rivia has cut him to his very core in a way nothing else ever has. Especially since, despite the cheerful face he wears, Jaskier is no stranger to grief and disappointment.

Jaskier had longed after Geralt from the moment they met, back when he was practically still a child. They’d become good friends, despite what the Witcher often claimed, and Jaskier had always thought something was different about them. There must have been with the way Geralt allowed him closer and longer than anyone else in his life. Jaskier knew that Geralt cared about him underneath all of his emotional barriers, in recent years he’d even thought...had even suspected that...

Jaskier takes a slow, deep breath of the cool night air. He has been still so long that his body feels a step distant. As if he is merely a spirit watching invisibly with the trees as the night air brushes through the sparse grass in the empty marketplace. He wonders if this is how Geralt feels when he meditates.

He’ll never know now. Not now that Jaskier is finally realizing that it’s over. That he will no longer track down the Witcher, can never again follow behind him. Because if after all this time, after all these years, Geralt truly wants him gone...then Jaskier will finally give up.

So why does it feel like something deep inside of him has broken?

Jaskier watches as a figure makes its way down the street toward the square, a large man who is moving slowly. Jaskier watches with a detached kind of interest, this is simply the latest passerby to wander through the square this evening and Jaskier sits in the deep shadow of the tree, tucked safely out of sight.

But as the man moves closer Jaskier feels a prickle of unease. The man is moving more strangely than he’d realized, slowing every few steps as if...smelling the air...

Jaskier’s pulse quickens as his brain starts flipping through his mental catalogue of beasts and monsters, one that is quite extensive after decades of traveling with a witcher. He suddenly feels very foolish for indulging his dramatic side by staying out so late alone, his warm inn room with its lovely lockable door feels as if it is on the opposite side of the continent.

In the dark of the night Jaskier makes out the creature stopping, as if it can hear his pounding heart, and then Jaskier breaks into a cold sweat as whatever it is heads directly toward him, eyes reflecting unnaturally in the weak light of the lanterns.

Jaskier stumbles to his feet, clutching his lute in one hand and drawing his silver dagger with the other. A gift from Geralt he’s worn for the better part of twenty years now, having been taught to use it after a life on the road.

“Stay back.” Jaskier says in as clear a voice as he can manage, brandishing the dagger. “I’m armed with silver and I have no interest in a fight tonight. Take yourself elsewhere.”

The figure stops, hands held up. “Jaskier, it’s me.” Says an all too familiar voice.

Jaskier feels a raw place inside of him ache as Geralt cautiously edges a bit closer, enough to be illuminated by the light of a lantern.

Jaskier’s hand trembles on the dagger, and then he sheaths it. He turns and walks away without a word, feeling a clawing sense of deja vu as he walks toward his inn.

“Jaskier, please.” Geralt’s voice says, and of course the Witcher keeps up easily, walking by his side as Jaskier refuses to look at him.

After three weeks of bleeding he just doesn’t have anything left to give. He is drained, he can’t even look at Geralt.

“Jaskier-”

He jerks as he feels a hand close on his wrist. He feels tears start to prick in his eyes as he yanks his arm away, turning to look Geralt square in the face.

“Why are you here?” Jaskier demands, his voice nearly a snarl as he looks up at the witcher. “What do you want, Geralt?”

Geralt stops, looking stung. Good, as he should. The brute probably hasn’t even given what he did a second thought the whole time Jaskier’s felt like dying.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone.” Geralt says, sounding gruff and oddly off balance.

“Go back to whatever contract it is you’re working and leave me alone.” Jaskier snaps, struggling to keep down the hot tears he can feel rising. “I left, just like you wanted, alright? Now go.”

“I didn’t...I...” Geralt struggles for words, huffing in frustration as he rubs his face. 

Jaskier can’t tell for sure in the dim light but he thinks he sees dark circles under the witcher’s eyes, as if he hasn’t been sleeping. He’s...never seen Geralt look this worn out before...

He swallows, trying his best to push away the concern rising in him as he starts to notice signs of distress all over Geralt. Bags under his eyes, his hair loose and unbrushed, armor dusty with hard travel but clean of the viscera that would mean he’d been getting work. Things that perhaps only Jaskier would notice.

“You didn’t what?” Jaskier asks, hating himself for still caring enough to be worried, his voice losing a bit of its heat.

“I didn’t...mean it.” Geralt says, his voice sounding a little hoarse as he gets the words out.

“Didn’t mean what?” Jaskier demands, folding his arms as tightly as he can, as if that will shield him from this distressed witcher who has tracked him down in the middle of the night. Who doesn’t look at all like he’s working a contract. Who looks as tired as Jaskier has felt for weeks.

“What I said.” Geralt says, swallowing as he looks away, as if unable to meet Jaskier’s gaze. “On the mountain. I was angry. I was unfair to you.”

Jaskier feels stunned, unable to say anything.

Geralt...is apologizing.

“I know I’m a terrible companion-” Geralt says, continuing in the silence.

“You are.” Jaskier says, his voice higher than it should be.

“But...everything feels wrong without you.” Geralt looks up, catching Jaskier’s gaze with his steady golden amber eyes. “I’m not good at this. I’m not good at words like you are Jaskier. But I’m sorry, I didn’t mean what I said.”

Geralt looks like he is biting the inside of his cheek, as if he’s scared. Jaskier has seen Geralt upset, uneasy, surprised, hesitant, even startled. But never scared, and he finds it scares him.

“I...” Geralt swallows, looking like he is bracing himself for something painful. “I need you Jaskier. And I know that I’ve made things so difficult, and I know that you have no reason to forgive me, but I don’t think I can pretend anymore that I...that I don’t care for you. Even if that means you might be in harm’s way. Because you’ve been by my side for decades, and I don’t want to continue without you.”

Jaskier feels as if the ground has dropped out from under his feet, as if he’s been slammed back against the wall behind him. His head is an overwhelming mess of fragmented thoughts and emotions, because what on earth is happening?

He presses a hand tight against his mouth as he turns away from Geralt, unable to handle his gaze a moment longer as he tries desperately to think, to pull together some of those words he’s so well known for. He can do this, he can come up with some scrappy, witty reply. He can shrug all of this off with a joke that will clear everything up and they’ll be on their way again.

Just like he has for the past twenty two years now.

But instead Jaskier’s chest shudders and he feels hot tears spill down his cheeks as he begins to cry. His shoulders tremble as he tries to stifle the emotion down behind the hand he has painfully tight against his mouth, his other arm still held against himself as if it could hold him together.

Because he’d thought he’d been bleeding for three weeks, in a way no one else could see, but suddenly he thinks perhaps he’s been bleeding for far longer than that...that perhaps he’s been bleeding for years. And he suddenly doesn’t know if that’s something he can go back to. Because Geralt says that he cares for him, which Jaskier knows for this vocabulary sparse witcher means love.

And if Geralt loves him, can Jaskier really chance losing himself entirely should things go wrong again? Because if he forgives Geralt this time, if he allows himself to want the witcher this time, Geralt will have all of him. Jaskier won’t be able to hold back, he knows it, he won’t be able to keep the vulnerable parts of himself safe anymore.

And that scares him more than he’s ever been scared in his life.

He braces his free hand against the wall as he shakes. It feels as if some secret part of him, some reservoir of extra years of sadness and longing and hurt he hadn’t known about have come loose, flooding him with an overwhelming wave of unexpected emotion. But where is it coming from? He wildly wonders if perhaps he is dying. Because this is what he imagines dying would feel like.

“Julian. I’m sorry.” Geralt says, his voice full of so much pain and concern that it makes Jaskier cry harder. He feels the faintest pressure ghost over his shoulder, as if Geralt had nearly reached out for him but then pulled back. “Do you want me to go? I’ll leave if you want me to. I’m sorry, I don’t, I didn’t mean....”

“Don’t!” Jaskier says, the word coming out in a teary panic. “Don’t leave.”

Because as much as he wants all of this to somehow disappear, even if he can’t bring himself to turn around just yet, the one thing he knows that will not be able to stand is if Geralt leaves him like this.

He bites his lip hard as he feels warm, hesitant hands on his arms. And then Geralt pulls him against him in a tight hug, arms wrapped around Jaskier’s chest protectively. Jaskier leans back against him, holding onto Geralt’s arms like a lifeline, fighting to get his breathing under control as the physical contact anchors him, somehow making everything seem less like it’s spinning out from under him. Geralt has never held Jaskier like this, but it still somehow feels familiar, it feels safe and right and has Jaskier wishing it could always like this.

“I’m sorry.” Geralt says again quietly, his voice right next to Jaskier’s ear. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

“I don’t want to lose you either,” Jaskier says, his breath finally under control. He feels a cool breeze sweep past them. “But it’s so hard to keep this up Geralt, I can’t stand only remembering how much I really love you when we’re asleep, when we’re waking it’s like-”

Jaskier’s breath catches as the same instant that Geralt’s does, memories of a wildflower field rushing through him. Years of friendship and love and trust revealing themselves like a flower unfurling. His fingers dig into Geralt’s arm in shock as the witcher’s embrace tightens almost painfully, because of course if Jaskier is remembering, they both are.

“W-we’re awake.” Jaskier chokes. He turns in Geralt’s arms, looking up at him. “We’re awake.”

“We’re awake.” Geralt says, his voice thin with shocked wonder.

“We’re awake!” Jaskier cries, throwing his arms around Geralt’s neck as his tears begin anew. But this time he is laughing through them as Geralt crowds him up against the wall, kissing him hard and desperate.

“I haven’t slept in a week.” Geralt says between kisses, his voice raw with emotion as his hands roam Jaskier’s body, as if checking to make sure it’s really him. “I thought I’d lost you, the field, it’s all ripped up, I didn’t know where you’d gone.”

“I’m sorry.” Jaskier gasps, carding his fingers through Geralt’s white hair even as he pulls him closer. “I’m sorry Geralt, I was so hurt and angry, I couldn’t stand it anymore when I didn’t think you cared anymore. But you’re here, we’re both here and we’re awake and we remember. You really want me with you then? If we both remember?”

“I’ve always wanted you with me little lark, I just took too long to realize it.” Geralt says, burying his face against Jaskier’s neck and breathing in his scent.

“I can’t believe we aren’t trapped in that wretched field anymore.” Jaskier says giddily, nuzzling against Geralt’s temple as he runs his hands down the witcher’s sides, just because he can. “We can get something to eat together, we can see a sunset, we can sleep in a bed, we can be around other people.” His eyes light up. “I have my lute! I can play you songs instead of only singing!”

“We’ve already done all of those things.” Geralt says with a fond smile, kissing stray tears off of Jaskier’s face.

“But now we can really do them. Together. Because we’re finally both here.” Jaskier says, taking Geralt’s face in his hands and kissing him softly.

“I’m sorry it took me so long.” Geralt says, eyes closed as he rests his forehead against Jaskier’s. “I’m sorry I hurt you, little lark.”

“Hush. No more apologizing.” Jaskier says, stroking his thumb against Geralt’s cheek, his heart flutters as the witcher leans into his touch. “This is all I’ve ever wanted, you’ve already given me the best proof you can that you really mean it.”

“What do we even do now?” Geralt says with a chuckle, shaking his head a bit with a smile. “We won’t fade away in less than an hour, what do people even do with so much time together?”

Jaskier smiles as the witcher’s last last words are drowned in an enormous yawn. He wraps his arms around Geralt’s neck, gently kissing down the side of his throat.

“First you are going to carry me back to the inn and we are going to sleep until tomorrow evening because you look ready to fall over, darling.” Jaskier says softly. “And when we wake up we’ll still be together, and we will still remember we are together.”

“Mmmm.” Geralt hums appreciatively, hoisting Jaskier up into his arms with little effort. “And then?”

“I’m sure we’ll think of something to occupy ourselves.” Jaskier says, resting a hand on Geralt’s chest and leaning up to bite at his lower lip. “I’ve got some very time consuming ideas we can try. I have the room paid for through the end of the week, fresh heartbreak sells very well you know.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Geralt says soberly, holding him closer as he begins to walk toward the inn.

“You already have.” Jaskier says softly, resting his head against Geralt’s shoulder.

There are so many things that must still be discussed, how this changes things. But Jaskier can’t find himself quite caring at the moment, instead closing his eyes he basks in the warm feeling.

Because he feels that he is home. A home that he will finally never have to leave again.  

#the witcher #geralt #jaskier #dandelion #geraskier #wit writes #apparently my 'oh let me write a quick little thing' ideas come in 500 words or 10k #no inbetween #I wanted to see if I could make a soulmate au that had plausible reasons for not recognizing each other right away instead of relying #on bad communication #and here we is #and geraskier weeks has been so fun to read I figure I might as well throw mine into the ring too

[dazed--xx]

I Trust You

REQUEST: Hey! Just saw you wanted requests so here it is So, you're making out with Yoongi and things get hot but you're kind inexperienced and had a bad first time, but you didn't tell him... he notices that you're nervous and stops to check on you, so you tell him and start detaching yourself from him cuz you're embarrassed, but he stops you and show it to you how you should be treated I'm sorry, this was kind specific, feel free to do it you want >< ❤

GENRE: SMUT, ANGST, if you squint fluff

TRIGGER WARNING: SEXUAL ASSAULT 

MEMBER: YOONGI x Idol!reader

WORD COUNT: 1,539

A/N: so this one is kinda a hard one to write i was a victim of sexual assault and it was kinda like this but way more graphic. but i hope you guys enjoy im sorry to the person who requested this because i forgot your tumblr name but i hope it reaches you if it does comment please.

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“Yoongi-ah” I moan as his lips slowly suck on the bend of my neck. “Hmm?” He whispers, His lips attacking mine. My hands buried in his soft midnight hair, his wandering to my ass. Yoongi’s member pressing against my stomach, hard. His hands reach for my breast, as my tongue wanders his mouth. “Baby-” Yoongi bites my lip interuppting my protests. I let out a small moan “Hmm I love hearing you moan for me baby” His hand sliding down lifting my shirt slightly. My hand grasps his wrists, my breathe gets stuck in my throat. Water is building around my lungs and im gasping for air. The dark feeling rises and the memory begins to replay over in my head once again.  

*TWO YEARS AGO*

Min, my back is on the ground. Min-Jun's hands wandering all over my torso, across my chest. No, Don’t, Stop please. His hands trail down my body and lifts the blue shirt I had been wearing and a cool breeze sends shivers through my body. He stops at the button for my jeans, and I close my eyes as he removes them. I don’t like this Say something idiot, he'll stop right?  

His lips travel from my lips to my collarbone. His sloppy, wet kisses that are etched into my skin. "Min-Jun, I don’t want to. I'm not ready." I say. He lifts his head, rolls his eyes, and continues kissing me. I jerk my head to the side "Min-Jun, please stop."

He throws his head back in frustration. "Excuse me?" He looks at me in disgust "Of course you don’t like it, if you relax you'll enjoy it, I promise." I shake my head, and Min-Jun clenches his jaw.  

"Min-Jun, I don’t like this can you please stop? I don’t want to do this, not here and not now" I said. He shushed me, caressing my face " I promise I'll take care of you during this whole thing okay? Just calm down you'll be okay," He said, "If you keep fighting me it's going to hurt." He lines himself up with me, I close my eyes.  

The group is more than a mile down the street and really loud music playing, they cannot hear me if I scream. Min-Jun slammed himself in and out of me harshly, pushing my hip into the bed below me. Please God stop him, send someone looking for us so this can stop please god just stop this. An unfamiliar noise escapes my lips, did....did I just moan? Do I like this? and he moaned "Do that again, I like it say my name baby girl" My mouth stays shut. A harsh stinging spreads across my cheek, “what did I just say?” This isnt my Min-Jun, my Min-Jun has never acted like this before. His thrusts get harsher at my silence. Maybe if I just do as he says this will stop, “Min-Jun” I say weakly as his member attacks my core. “Hmm good girl” His lips fall onto mine as his pace slows and the familiarity of his old self returns.  

The kiss feels loving, as my hatred grows. His head falls to my neck “fuck- youre so tight baby girl” his hand caresses my face softly his thrusts getting sloppy. “Call me daddy” DADDY?! He wants to own me and for me to accept that ownership....fuck no.... I wont.... I don’t care.... I wont call HIM daddy. He looks at me angry, his hand wrapping around my throat “Come on baby girl, what you feeling shy?” I cover my face and nod quickly terrified. He smiles “youre so cute baby. Its okay you don’t have to this time next time okay?” NEXT TIME?!?!?! YOU REALLY THINK YOURE GOING TO SEE ME AFTER THIS!!!!! Im screaming on the inside but my weak and terrified state just nods.

He begins groaning and his hips stutter freezing “Fuck! I just came so hard baby girl” He lifts himself off of me and holds me "Relax, you fought a lot, next time please don’t do that.  I don’t like hurting you, baby girl."  

A large smile formed on his face, he is satisfied and I am silent.

*PRESENT*

“Yoongi, please...stop” I whisper as tears begin to stream down my face. Yoongi freezes panic evident on his face his hands caress my face. “Are you okay?” I nod. His face falls “baby youre crying”. I smile and wipe my face and move past him sitting in the studio chair messing with his piano. “We should finish this track oppa” I smile at him. He nods, distain on his face. After about 10 silent minutes, yoongi speaks up “Listen, im not sure why you started crying, but just know you can tell me anything and I will never judge you. Okay? I know you went through a lot before you met me and I wont push but just know I will always be here for you” the wall of silence I built after all of this time, finally comes crumbling down. The words come out like word vomit, Yoongi listens growing angry as the words come out of my mouth.  

“IM.GOING.TO.FUCKING.KILL.HIM” Yoongi says angrily. “Look baby you tell me stop and we stop okay. Id never pressure you into anything especially something as serious as sex, but I do have to ask.... have you been with anyone since? Like have you ever been able to enjoy it?” I shake my head. He runs his hand through his hair. “Dont worry baby ill wait for you forever if I have to. I want you to trust me enough to want to give yourself to me. I love you and I wont hurt you like that or in any way, id never do anything to lose you. Id be lost. I cant help but be happy you fell into our practice room that day” I smile and move from my chair to yoongis lap pressing my lips against his. His hand caresses my face as his tongue explores my mouth. I stand up and grab his hand leading him to the couch. Seductively I push him back onto it and straddle his lap. I kiss down his neck, a moan escapes his lips. My core grows wet as his member hardens against it.  

I suck on his his neck and he bucks his hips up into me. “Hmmm Babygirl don’t do that....” yoongi whines. Grinding into his lap, I nibble on his earlobe lifting his shirt. “You don’t have to do that” yoongi states grabbing ahold of my wrists. “I want to” I smile soon our clothes are tossed all over yoongis studio and were both in our underwear. “Fine but if were gonna do this babygirl were gonna do this right” He states taking ahold of my waist and pressing me into the couch. His lips are on mine fast need evident in yoongis pace. His member grinding into my core as yoongi attacks my neck. “Hmmm this is gonna be all about you baby girl okay? Im gonna make you feel so fucking good” His words make the blush creep up on my face. “youre so fucking cute and innocent...and your going to be so naughty for me..hmm im gonna ruin you baby” His hand slides into my panties. “Fuck youre so wet already baby girl. Can I taste you?” He asks softly. I nod “No baby use your words I want you to tell me if its okay this is all about you” He kisses my core over my panties. “Yes oppa I want you to eat my pussy please” he pulls my panties down and attacks my core. The feeling overwhelmingly wonderful “FUCK! OPPA!” My hand buries in his hair as he sucks softly on my clit. “You taste so much fucking better than ive imagined baby girl.” The need for yoongi grows “Oppa...?” I ask softly, Yoongi lifts his head worried coming back up to my face. “Yes ? Are you okay?” Panic in his voice, I smile “Im fine I just want you to be inside of me... not that im not enjoying this but I only want to cum on your cock”  

Nodding yoongi sits up and begins looking through his clothes. “what are you doing?” I ask confused “Looking for my wallet I have a condom in there” “you don’t need one” Yoongi freezes and turns around “are you sure?” I nod. He drops his underwear and his member flys up and hits his stomach. A nervous look flashes across my face as yoongi lays positions himself in between my legs “ill go slow okay” his words easing my anxiety.  

“its okay baby I trust you”

#bts angst #yoongi angst #yoongi smut #yoongi scenarios #min yoongi #bts yoongi

[fandom-collective-writers]

Reader x Jihyun Kim {MysMes} - Letters to Heal a Broken Heart

Title: Letters to Heal a Broken Heart Fandom: Mystic Messenger Character: Jihyun Kim Genre: bittersweet? romance Warnings: spoilers for his good ending!  Intended Gender Audience: Neutral Audience  Word Count: 2040 words POV: second person Other comments: no smut but im proud of this! please note that everything with the push back is a letter! i think its pretty clear, but i wanted to make sure it’s understood <3 Written by: @mythiica​ Req: 

Dear –

I’ll admit, it feels a bit strange writing a letter for you, but my therapist recommended it. He told me to explain my emotions with words, saying it would help me become more confident. 

See, the reasoning behind it, at least from what I remember, is that there is no pressure to think quickly. Writing allows a flow, a sense of movement between the words before you pick which one you wish to use. Talking is different because it follows a completely contrasting rhythm. To keep a conversation going, you have to speak rather quickly so the person stays engaged in the topic. 

It’s all really interesting, and my therapist has given me a book over the fundamentals of other practices like this. I read half of it on the plane to Japan. 

To clarify, I’m writing this from my hotel room in Tokyo. I landed a few hours ago and the jet lag has yet to hit me, so I decided to take advantage of this time to write. 

I think you’d like it here – the sakura are in full bloom and I have three days dedicated to photographing the sea of pinks as they ripple in the wind. Until now, I’ve only seen pictures of the famous parks, and I never thought that I would be able to witness them in person. 

I didn’t think I’d

I never conside

Ah, I should mention, I’m not allowed to erase or cross out sentences I start. Another confidence booster? It’s a bit sillier, but it’s meant to force me to say what is on my mind, rather than letting it fester. I’ll try again: 

During my years under Mint Eye, my vision was narrowed, and I had only one duty. However, I am learning to broaden my horizons and expand my mind to encompass everything. The urge to explore bubbles in my chest, waiting for the moment to come out. There are so many chances to do anything, and I’ve got all the time to do all of it. 

I’ve also realized that I went over my word limit. I have to stick to 300 words or under. Confidence booster #3! Express yourself with less words. Take a guess of how many times I’ve opened the thesaurus, looking for better synonyms for words? At least seven times in the past five minutes. It’s crazy! 

For now, I’ll sign this off and try better next time. 

                                                 よりご多幸を祈って

                                                           Jihyun Kim

PS, I’m practicing my Japanese! That says best wishes… I think. 

नमस्कार

Hello and greetings from India! I took a long nap on the plane, and forgot to write. Although I’m only passing through, I ate some delicious food (that I should really try to replicate for you). India is absolutely beautiful – from the sunrises to the bustling markets to the colorful fabrics hung at every corner. I’ll inhale the air and smell six things at once, albeit, not all of them are the best, but I embrace it nonetheless. 

More about what I’ve been doing: funnily enough, my phone died on the bus ride, but I made a new friend named Sunmi, and she was kind enough to lend me her charging cable. Instead of ending the interaction there, we spoke for a few hours at least. I learned she was traveling with her friends on a photography excursion. She gave me all the information, and I’d like to look into it when I have wifi again. 

You wouldn’t believe what they’ve seen! Last year they went to Antarctica through South America. She got to pet a penguin! Apparently the company also takes people to Greenland and New Zealand – some places I’ve been dreaming of visiting since I was a young boy. 

I’ll use my last 100 words to mention that… I’ve gotten a bit homesick. I miss the RFA – well, the people from the RFA minus… 

Don’t tell Jumin about the company though, he’ll insist on flying me around with his private jet. I want to experience for myself. Saeyoung is somehow messaging me when I don’t have service? I don’t… understand. Anyways, I also saw Zen landed a huge international role (someone had a magazine on the plane). Otherwise, I hope Jaehee and Yoosung are well. And Elizabeth the 3rd of course. Send them my wishes. 

I didn’t forget about you though! The keychain you gave me reminds me of home every day. It might have lost an eye, but I found a button and stitched it on. And I also wanted to ask you–

Ah, I’m over again. 

Next time. 

                                                           Jihyun Kim

Iyi günler! I am in Turkey now and actually writing this on a boat. The sun is setting over the horizon, making the sky change colors with every passing minute. It’s breathtaking, but I wish you were here with me. The other passengers and I take turns standing at the front of the boat, and I sometimes linger, trying to take pictures. 

Good news! My vision is getting better. I’ve been taking some Greek herbal remedies, and the seem to be helping. Either that, or they have a wonderful placebo effect. Has that ever happened to you? To think something is working, but you’re just imagining things? 

I apologize, maybe that stirred bad memories for you. 

Back to Turkey: I stepped out of my comfort zone and spent a night camping. Honestly? I was terrified of doing so, but now I want to do it every night. It is the perfect temperature for hiking, even though I am a bit sunburned. 

So many people have been commenting on my hair. Good things mostly, and I started styling it with a bit of gel to keep it out of my eyes. It feels good to look people directly rather than through a curtain. 

What are you up to? Hosting anymore parties? I imagine that you are keeping busy, as always of course. My therapist said it would be best to wait messaging you until I return home. I nearly called you a week ago, but I didn’t want to break my vow. It’s like lying to myself, and I know better than that now. 

Still, it doesn’t stop me from dreaming. 

                                                           Sending love, 

                                                                     J

I’m genuinely angry, but writing to you always calms me. Someone stole my bag – I luckily didn’t have much in it, but your keychain… can you make me a new one please? Now that I don’t have it, it’s almost like I’ve lost a part of you. It hurts a lot, but then I wonder if I am being silly. It’s just a keychain. 

Otherwise, France is nice. I didn’t want to go to Paris, so instead I traveled through the countryside to visit a few wineries. 

Yes, I did… drink a bit, but I wasn’t impaired when my bag was stolen! 

You would laugh at me if I told you what happened, so I will save the story for another time. Before coming to France, I went through Germany and visited some of the most beautiful castles I’ve ever seen. They all looked like they could be straight from a fantasy movie set, and I was convinced one – Neuschwanstein Castle – actually was. 

I’ve barely written anything despite so much happening. 

I got a haircut (finally), because it was becoming a hassle to tie it back at night. 

One evening, I fed some stray cats and they followed me home. 

And a drunk (?) tried to play cards with me. But he didn’t have cards. He was dealing an imaginary deck. 

Other stories will have to wait until I see you again, and I feel better now. It’s okay to be upset, but it won’t hinder my trip any more. 

                                                           Je t'aime, 

                                                                     Jihyun

Alaska doesn’t have a night. 

That’s not exactly true, but it’s basically true. The hotel has special curtains that block the light, and it is only dark for a few hours. 

It has been many miles since I last wrote, but I was caught up in visiting show after event after party after exhibit through America. Their art has given me a new perspective on point of view and emotions, so I hope that the ten camera chips I’ve filled with photographs will be able to convey the same sense of awe. 

I’ve also been mistaken for an idol? Like – multiple times. Interesting to say the least, maybe I’ll say yes to the next person that asks. What should my stage name be? I’ll spare you the embarrassment and not share my ideas. They are all very silly and no one would believe me if I told them my name was Cam Ra. Do you get it? It’s bad, I know. 

I’ll be returning home soon, unless I get distracted or impulsive and go down to California and Hawaii before coming back. I want to – it doesn’t feel right to return just yet. But that doesn’t mean anything about you! 

Really, I think about you and everyone else each day. 

Have you met new people? We’ll exchange so many stories… 

                                                           See you soon, 

                                                                     J K 

You pace around, waiting for the last guest on the list to appear. The party started an hour ago, but he still has not arrived. Then again, it has been three months since anyone heard a whisper from V, and you start to lose hope. Swallowing hard, you remind yourself that V is having a wonderful time exploring the world and finding himself. 

          Taking a handful of your dress, you turn and head through the doors to the main room. Jumin tries to pull Saeyoung away from Longcat, Yoosung explains his most recent surgeries to a group of nurses from his work place, and Jaehee receives many compliments for her majestic cake. 

         Everyone is happy and has moved on. 

         You hope V has too. 

         Maybe all the wishing and praying finally paid off, because you hear his familiar voice calling out behind you. It’s a long shot, but you turn around nonetheless, thinking it is a different guest. 

         Instead, you see Jihyun, wearing the most dazzling smile you’ve ever seen, running towards you. He’s carrying a folder filled with papers, but that doesn’t stop him from embracing you. He smells rugged, like his voyage has transformed him, but you rather like it. 

         “Jihyun!” You melt against his hug. “You’re.. Here… you’re here!” 

         Your squealing draws everyone’s attention, but he focuses on you and only you. “Of course I’m here. I missed you more than I can verbalize.” 

         His stance is open, welcoming, and confident, much different from two years ago. He is a different person now, brave and proud. Jihyun offers you the folder. It is strange to gift something in the middle of a party, but you accept it anyways, happy he has returned. 

         Jihyun’s heart races as he explains. “I wrote you letters every time I went somewhere new. These are just a few of them, really I have so many. But each shows something I’ve learned.” He takes a breath and laces his fingers with yours. “This is sudden, and I’m sure you will need time to think about it, but I’m trying something new: asking without being afraid. Over the past two years, I’ve… longed for you. Art has shown me the power of friendship, joy, perseverance, and most importantly, dedication. I want to dedicate my art to you, if you’ll stand by my side.” 

         You can’t find the words to express yourself because you are so awestruck. He truly has changed, but he has embraced himself and his life. Tears start to roll down your cheeks from the overwhelming surge of emotions. Jihyun brushes them away and presses his forehead to yours. 

         “I still have much to learn, but I want to do it all with you.” 

         “I’d like that a lot, Jihyun,” you whisper, captivated by his intense gaze. 

         “And I can finally say this without fear–” 

         You tip your head up, and Jihyun kisses you the next moment. His lips are chapped and the warmth radiating from his skin envelops you. He doesn’t need words to communicate it, because you understand perfectly what he is trying to say. 

#mysmes #mystic messenger #mysmes v #mysmes jihyun #jihyun kim

[icyharrington]

Is It Wrong?- Part 7 (Michael Langdon X Reader)

hello!!! so i have been trying so hard these past few weeks trying to get this final part of iiw right. i am insanely nervous to put this out there, because i don’t wanna disappoint any of the amazing people who followed this series from the beginning. i wanna thank all the thirsty hoes who have supported this fic and given me feedback, because y’all are the reason i had the motivation to finish the series. this is the most fun i’ve ever had writing anything, ever. i can’t believe this series is finally coming to an end 🤧BUTTTTT don’t forget that there will be an additional, shorter epilogue chapter! so stay tuned for that ;) I LOVE Y’ALL!!!! 

plot: michael langdon is a picture-perfect fuckboy, and, lucky for you, he’s also your stepbrother. how will you survive?

warnings: inappropriate relationships, fuckboy michael, fem!Reader, high school au, teen angst, like seriously A FUCK TON OF TEEN ANGST, fluff, vaginal fingering, handjobs, sexual intercourse, (semi?) public sex, dirty talk

word count: 12.8k (IM SORRY LMFAOOO) 

tags: @alicecooper19 @ritualmichael @blackfyrez @bbyduncan @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @michaelsapostle @trelaney @kissydevil @langdonalien @langdonsdemon @sloppy-wrist @michael-langdon-appreciation @wroteclassicaly @cocosfern @sojournmichael @starwlkers @theinevitableprophecy @sodanova @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @divinelangdon @maso-xchrist @space-princesssss @ahslangdon101 @isabellaserpentiawesson @stupidocupido @nana15774 @urlocalgothb @hexqueensupreme @gold-dragon-slayer @pr1ncessd1e @langdonsboots @langdonstrash @prophesieddarling @isoldedax @fckinsupreme @lvngdvns @hisgirlwonder @telexnesis @venusxxlangdon @obsessivenostalgicbaby @noelle525 @kleinegamerin @lambofcairo @kiiteiru @anacerta @nuke-em-from-orbit @thingsthatoncemeantnothing @littledemondani @beriveri @dcvilrising @grossgayartist @featherpool-852 @imjustasadhoe @cryptid-coalition @nu-tt @diamcndscarred @michaelsfrenchtoast @ms-mead @sarcasticbxtch20 @ringpop-poppy @coollangdon @s7venwonders @littlehouseofleaves @elvahavax @king-of-mischief-and-bitchez @alternativepetewentz @maytheforcebewithqueen

(sorry to anyone who asked to be tagged but isn’t in my tag list!! tumblr won’t let me tag certain blogs for some reason!!)

i.

“Goddamn it, how hard is it for you to follow simple GPS directions?” Miriam’s voice was pitched in annoyance as she scolded your father, whose knuckles were near white from how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel.

“You know what? Why don’t I just pull over, and you drive instead?” your father snapped. You and Michael exchanged a glance in the back seat for what seemed like the thousandth time since you’d all loaded into the car several hours before.

In celebration of summer vacation, and you and Michael’s recent graduation from high school, your father and Miriam had decided to arrange something of an impromptu vacation. Your father was far too cheap to travel anywhere of any significant distance, so he’d decided that the next best option was to take a road trip down to Myrtle Beach, Florida.

“Oh my god, yes,” Michael had said to you after your parents had broken the news to you both. “Do you know how many half-naked sluts we’re gonna see there? Myrtle Beach is like, white trash central.”

That comment had been the fuel for one of the many arguments you and Michael had engaged in following graduation; there was tension in the air, hanging thick and heavy over your heads as the days crept along, and the mindless bickering between you and Michael was at an all time high.

Not that it stopped either of you from having sex. Quite the contrary, in fact— you and Michael had been having so much sex that it was maybe even getting a little ridiculous.

“Seriously, Michael?” you’d said after his crude comment, your tone far whinier than originally intended. “Go fuck one of those half-naked white trash sluts instead of me, then.”

It’d taken him several minutes to convince you that he’d been joking (even though you were still fairly certain that he’d been dead serious) followed by some admittedly top-quality make up sex, which proved to be enough to convince you to move on.

Maybe something was in the water, you thought. Even Miriam and your father had seemed to be fighting constantly as of late, and the stressful atmosphere of the household made you feel constantly on edge; it almost felt like there was an impending disaster coming, one that was impossible to prevent. You only hoped that whatever disaster might be on its way would avoid you and Michael.

Right now, Michael was leaning with his forehead resting against the window, a bored look on his face as he skipped through the music playing on his phone. He only had one earbud in, the other draped over his shoulder (presumably so he could eavesdrop on your parents’ ridiculous arguments), dressed casually in light gray sweatpants and a faded Jimi Hendrix shirt.

Fuck, he looked good. He was jostled slightly with each slight motion of the car as it moved forward, the muscles in his arms subtly flexing as he reached up to run his fingers through his soft, tousled blond hair. For a second, your mind was clouded with images of a beach-bound Michael, his tanned, water-speckled torso lean but still toned, swimming trunks clinging to the lowest point of his narrow hips and leaving almost nothing up to the imagination. Your mouth watered.

“You know, if I’d driven, we would’ve actually arrived at the hotel by the time the GPS said,” Miriam said.

“So why didn’t you!?” your father exclaimed.

You locked eyes with Michael yet again, whose pale eyes glimmered with slight amusement at the nonstop back-and-forth between your parents.

“Because you insisted on driving.”

“Insisted? All I did was offer to drive out of the kindness of my— oh fuck, I think we just passed the hotel.”

“We did,” offered Michael flatly from the backseat, the soft glow of the neon hotel sign reflecting in his pupils as he craned his neck to follow the building.

“Goddamn it,” your father muttered, scanning the road for somewhere to make a U-turn.

“Nice going,” Miriam muttered under her breath, crossing her arms over her chest.

You were jerked forward as your father abruptly turned the car around in an act that you were ninety-nine percent sure was illegal; in a matter of seconds, the car was parked in the hotel parking lot, officially marking the end of the several-hour-long trek. Everyone seemed to let out a unanimous sigh of relief.

“Fucking finally,” said Michael, opening the door and swinging his legs outside so his ratty Converse sneakers made contact with the asphalt. You followed suit, making your way around to the trunk, which you popped open to retrieve your colorful travel bag.

The sound of crickets chirping through the mild Florida night was soothing despite its incessantness, and you found yourself smiling idly, a warm breeze gently caressing your face. So maybe you weren’t in the goddamn Dominican Republic, but you were still prepared to enjoy your time here.

Once everyone had taken their respective belongings from the trunk, your father led the way to the front entrance of the hotel.

The hotel lobby was nice, but certainly nothing special; it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the sole reason your father had chosen this place above all others was because it was the cheapest. Your father, weighed down with his overstuffed black bag, trudged over to the front desk with a pained look on his face.

“Imagine this place is infested with roaches,” said Michael lowly, flashing you a shit-eating grin when your face paled at this terrifying prospect.

“Shut up. My dad isn’t that much of a cheapskate.”

“Or what if it’s haunted?” he said, furrowing his brows to mimic a deadly serious expression.

“It’ll be haunted by your ghost in about five seconds if you don’t shut your mouth.”

“I saw this thing online about a girl who went missing, and then they found her in the water tower of the hotel,” he continued, and you rolled your eyes. It wasn’t at all surprising that he was trying to scare you. “And like, all the people staying there were showering and stuff, but little did they know they were washing themselves in dead body water.”

“Can you shut up, please?”

His plump lips contorted into a devious smile. “What, am I scaring you?”

“No, you’re just being really fucking annoying.”

“Aww, don’t worry, (y/n). I’ll protect you from any ghosts or cockroaches that might be here.” He pulled you into a side hug, squeezing you against him with an iron grip as he nuzzled the top of your head with his chin. You pulled away, exerting minimal strength but still managing to evade his grasp.

“Are you going to be this obnoxious the entire trip?” you said, watching as your father appeared to be looking for something in his pockets. After patting himself down for several seconds, he said something to the man behind the front desk; whatever it was that he’d said resulted in Miriam’s face contorting into a look that could easily kill anyone three times over.

“Here we go,” Michael whispered, mouth twitching at the corners as he averted his attention away from you and onto your parents instead.

“You’re an idiot,” Miriam was saying, practically seething as she spoke. “A goddamn idiot. How the hell did you manage to forget the credit card?!”

Your father’s mouth opened and closed as he attempted to come up with a response good enough to satiate his fuming wife, but of course there was none.

“How did he forget the credit card?” Michael said.

You shrugged.

Miriam huffed loudly as she began to dig through her purse, shooting your father a contemptuous glare when her hand emerged, leather wallet in tow. You watched as she pulled out her credit card, handing it over the front desk to the visibly uncomfortable man standing there.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, the muscles in your arms starting to burn from the weight of your travel bag.

Michael, having apparently lost interest in your parents’ altercation, suddenly turned back to face you. “You think I’ll be able to pass for over 21 at the hotel bar?”

Before you could respond, your father was making his way over to you, brandishing two key cards in either hand. “We decided it’d be best for all of us if you and Michael had your own room. You guys don’t mind, do you?”

He handed you a card, and as you looked it over, you tried your hardest not to pay any attention to Michael.

It was truly astounding how clueless everyone seemed to be in regards to your relationship (if you could call it that) with your stepbrother, but you definitely weren’t complaining. Just the thought of having a room all to yourselves was enough to make your heart race.

“Of course we don’t mind,” you said with a smile.

“Just— y’know. Miriam and I have some things we need to work out, and, well, I don’t want you guys swept up in any of the drama,” said your father.

“Totally understandable, dad,” said Michael, beaming as he snaked his free arm around your shoulders. “I’m sure we’ll be able to manage. What do you think, (y/n)?”

Michael widened his eyes at you, the contorted features of his porcelain face dripping with faux-innocence.

“Yeah, I think so,” you said, tone cheerful and sweet.

In unison, you and Michael looked away from one another and back to your father. His eyes were shadowed with deep rings, and he looked more like he was about to head off to a 9-to-5 shift at a dead-end job rather than a vacation with his family. “You kids be good, all right?”

“Don’t worry,” you said, ripples of electricity making their way up your spine as Michael lightly stroked your shoulder with his calloused fingertips. “We will.”

ii.

“Room number 69, huh?” Michael said with a quirk of his eyebrow, licking his lips as he plucked the key card from your hand and slid it into its designated slot by the door. “It’s like they knew we were gonna be staying here.”

“You are eighteen years old,” you said in a monotone, though secretly Michael’s immature sense of humor and silliness were qualities that never failed in making your heart swell.

There was a subtle beep as the light next to the slot flickered green, and Michael pushed open the door with one shoulder, the other occupied with his bag. “How fucking awesome is this?”

You followed him into the modestly-sized room, discarding your bag at the end of one of the two pristinely made beds. Michael did the same, and without even giving you time to settle into your new surroundings, he pushed you firmly up against the nearest empty wall.

Even despite the fact that he’d been sitting in a hot car for several hours (unsurprisingly, your father was very stingy with the air conditioning), Michael still managed to smell good; the intoxicating mixture of his shampoo, paired alongside his boyish deodorant and woodsy cologne, was dizzying from such a close proximity.

“You didn’t waste any time,” you chuckled, cheeks flushing as he began to pepper kisses along your neck and behind your ear, lifting one hand to brush your hair over your shoulder.

“Why would I?” he said, his voice low and seductive. He took a moment to playfully nip at your earlobe, and you squealed, wrapping your arms around him so you could pull his firm torso closer to yours. “What else are you supposed to do when you’re left all alone with such a pretty girl?”

As much as you weren’t willing to admit it, your heart soared at this validation- Michael thought you were a pretty girl. Those words, coming from that perfect mouth, made you feel a childish sense of giddiness, gave you butterflies in the pit of your stomach like an innocent playground crush.

Michael wandered one hand up over the curve of your hip and onto your waist, lips still moving open-mouthed against your jugular and around to the front of your throat. Reaching up to the back of Michael’s head, you took a fistful of butterscotch-colored hair at the root, using it to guide him back towards your face. Then you kissed him, hard and passionate, your fingers threading easily through his waves as his tongue slipped past yours and into your mouth.

Ding!

You assumed Michael’s phone had just gone off, but neither of you paid it any mind, your breath hitching as Michael slid one veined hand up under your tank top to grope your left breast.

Ding!

“My pretty baby sis,” Michael breathed, swollen mouth slick with saliva. Panting softly, he continued to ignore his phone, tugging his t-shirt over his head and tossing it behind him haphazardly.

With his upper body exposed to you now, you took the opportunity to trace your fingers down the length of his subtly defined abs, stopping just beneath his navel. Just below that, after the cute trail of fuzzy blond hair that paved the way to his v-line, was the low-hanging waistband of his gray sweatpants; you hooked your fingers there, just barely pulling the fabric down as you eyed the mouthwatering bulge prominent in the front of his pants.

You couldn’t help yourself- biting your lower lip, you brought your hand between Michael’s legs and grasped his semi-erect length through the soft material of his pants.

Ding! Ding!

Michael hissed, but he seemed to be somewhat distracted now; you knit your eyebrows as he twisted around to face the source of the interruption- his phone, which he’d left on one of the beds.

Ding!

“What is that?” you asked, frowning. It wasn’t often that Michael tolerated anything getting in the way of his hookups, so you found it mildly concerning when he broke away from you entirely to go and grab his phone.

His tongue poked out of the corner of his lips as he looked at his screen, and you could tell that he was stifling a smirk. “Oh. Uh, it’s nothing.”

You moved from your place against the wall, approaching Michael with your arms crossed in front of your chest. Sure, maybe it was none of your business, seeing that you weren’t Michael’s girlfriend or anything, but he’d piqued your curiosity.

Ding! Ding! Michael fumbled with the phone for a second before turning it on silent.

You cocked your head to one side. “No really, what is that?”

Michael had hidden his phone behind his back now, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet.

“I told you, it’s nothing.”

Okay, now you had to know.

“C’mon, lemme see,” you said, trying your hardest not to sound upset. Why were you upset, anyway? You reached around Michael to take his phone from his hand, which, surprisingly, he allowed you to do without much protest.

You looked down at his phone, jaw dropping as you began reading over the several notifications stretching down the length of his screen.

NEW MATCH! With Sofi

NEW MATCH! With Katherine

NEW MATCH! With Kristen

NEW MATCH! With Mallory

NEW MATCH! With Caitlin

NEW MATCH! With Anna

Your eyes flickered up to Michael’s face, down to the phone screen, and then back again, unsure of how exactly you were supposed to react to such a discovery. Michael just offered you a sheepish shrug, somehow only pissing you off further, and angrily you shoved his phone back into his hands.

“Are you fucking kidding? We’ve been here for less than an hour and you’re already trying to find hoes on Tinder?”

“Well, I mean, that’s one way to put it,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just wanted to see what kind of girls live around here, I swear. I wasn’t actually gonna-“

“-Whatever,” you mumbled, bending over to unzip your travel bag. It wasn’t like you had any sort of right to be pissed- Michael could do what he wanted, and if what he wanted was to hook up with random Tinder girls, then so be it. Still, though, you couldn’t help but feel a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You rifled around in your bag until you came upon the neat ziploc bag full of travel-sized shower essentials, which you tucked under your arm. “I’m gonna go take a shower. I feel gross.”

“Wait, (y/n). Are you mad at me?” You weren’t sure if he actually cared about hurting your feelings, or if he was worried that you wouldn’t want to fuck him anymore; either way, you didn’t think right now was the best of times to be honest about your feelings.

“Why would I be mad at you?” Your voice sounded dangerously close to breaking, and you knew it (and so did Michael, most likely).

“Well… I dunno. You seemed pretty pissed just now.”

“No, no. Do whatever you want. Fuck as many Tinder girls as your heart desires. It’s not like we’re exclusive.” You continued to search through your bag, pulling out your pajamas and hair towel and tucking them alongside your shower supplies.

“Someone sounds bitter,” Michael mused, causing you to narrow your eyes at him in a focused, pointed glare.

“I thought it was sort of established already that this-“ he motioned at himself, and then to you- “isn’t gonna go anywhere. So I don’t really see the harm in looking around.”

Instantly, you felt a lump form in the back of your throat.

He was right. You’d even said it yourself, that nothing good would ever become of this thing you had with Michael; as much as you wanted it to, it was impossible. So why did it hurt so bad to hear it coming from him?

“Which is why I’m not mad,” you said, swallowing thickly. “Do what you want. I don’t care.”

But, like the cliché you were, you did care. Thinking of Michael with anyone else made you feel sick to your stomach. But what were you supposed to do about it? You were his stepsister.

God, if only things had been different. If only the universe hadn’t brought you together in the most inconvenient and unconventional of ways.

You turned on your heels, leaving Michael behind as you made your way to the bathroom without another word.

Once you’d started the shower and adjusted the temperature, you stripped down, catching a glimpse in the mirror of the many marks adorning your body that Michael had left behind at some point or another- hickeys (some bright lilac and navy blue, while others were fading shades of yellow and pink, all speckled down your chest and over your breasts), fingerprint-shaped bruises, shallow scratches.

And those were just the physical ways that Michael had marked you; you were sure that if you turned yourself inside out, there would be thousands more markings to be found.  

You thought maybe this was exactly what you needed right now: a long, hot shower to clear your head. Maybe, if the mood struck, you’d even cry a little bit, just to get your emotions in order.

You stepped into the shower, flinching at the intensity of the stream as it cascaded relentlessly over your body. Shutting your eyes, you ran your palms over your face, skin prickling at the pleasant warmth of the water. After you’d allowed your hair to get sufficiently soaked, you reached for your travel-sized bottle of shampoo, squirting some of the coconut-scented gel into your hand and working up a lather.

You were halfway through your usual hair-washing routine when you heard the bathroom door open; you opened one eye, hardly wider than a squint, to see a tall, blond-haired figure through the steamy glass shower door entering the bathroom. Though the thick layer of steam on the door heavily obscured the intruder, you were still able to see that whoever had entered was butt fucking naked.

Fucking Michael.

There was a metallic squeak as the shower door slid open, revealing an image to you that must’ve been hand-delivered by an angel. There, in all his naked glory, stood Michael, one hand positioned by his side and the other gripping his impressively hard cock.

It was a miracle you didn’t slip and crack your skull open right then.

“Hey,” said Michael coolly, a smug smirk appearing on his lips when he noticed you staring at his length.

“Michael, what are you doing?” you asked, attempting to sound just a little less eager than you were feeling. You tilted your head back, quickly washing away the excess shampoo in your hair, and as you did this, Michael joined you in the shower.

“Saving water,” Michael replied, pulling the door shut and enclosing the two of you within the stream.

“How environmentally friendly of you.”

“Aww, are you still mad at me?” You tensed as he grabbed your hips and brought you closer to him, the head of his cock brushing your stomach and sending chills throughout your body.

“I was never mad at you,” you said flatly. You kept rinsing your hair, refusing to give Michael the attention he clearly was so desperately seeking (not yet, at least).

“You were a little jealous though, weren’t you?” he teased, squeezing your tits without warning and making you jump. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ve already told you before that your pussy is my favorite.”

“I was never worried,” you snapped, but you couldn’t deny the arousal that immediately resulted from Michael’s words.

“Whatever you say, baby,” said Michael, spinning you around so that your back was pressed against his bare chest. You shivered at the feeling of his big cock on your ass, and all at once, whatever snarky comeback you’d been formulating disintegrated into nothingness.

Your eyes fell shut as Michael’s hands traveled over your body, his touch gentle but still possessive; he stopped at your tits, kneading the smooth peaks in both hands until they stung, kissing your shoulder when you squirmed at the slight discomfort. “Just relax and let your big brother take care of you.”

He retrieved your body wash off the ledge in the shower, gathering some in his palms and returning his attention to your tits. You leaned back, resting the back of your head on his broad shoulder as he began rubbing the body wash all over you (mainly focusing on your breasts, because what else would you expect from Michael Langdon?).

His slippery hands felt like heaven on your tits, pinching and toying with your nipples just the way you liked. It wasn’t until his hand began dipping lower, though, that your breath caught in your throat.

His fingers trailed past your stomach and down to cup your cunt, goosebumps erupting across your skin as he hummed in your ear. Your entire body reacted to his touch, muscles tightening and thighs trembling, hips rolling back so you could better feel his deliciously thick cock against your back.

“You like that? Like how I touch you?” he murmured, his words reverberating against your throat and igniting a fresh wave of arousal between your legs.

With one hand, he used his fingers to splay apart your outer lips, gathering some of your wetness by stroking up and down your slit while his other hand worked at your tits. A familiar heat began to spread from behind your navel, and paired with the near-scalding warmth and great pressure of the shower stream, you felt your head start to spin.

You laid your head back on Michael’s shoulder, trusting him to keep you balanced as you reclined limply against him. His fingers moved upwards again, using the sticky arousal on the tips of his fingers to massage slow, lazy circles over your aching bud; you let out a gravelly moan just as Michael administered a sharp pinch to your hardened nipple.

“Fuck, Michael… feels so good.”

You were well past the point of preserving your pride, bucking your hips against Michael’s hand while trying to squeeze your thighs shut around it, keeping him close to you.

“Hm? Is that right? You like when I touch your pussy?” His voice was husky, rich and warm like a roll of tropical thunder; swallowing noisily, you bobbed your head up and down in agreement.

Garnering what little energy you had left, you extended your arm behind you, spreading your fingers in search of Michael’s erection; tongue darting out to wet your chapped lips at the feeling of his stiff, smooth skin, you followed the slightly jutting vein that wound up the side of his length, stopping at the head of his cock and running your thumb over his leaking slit.

He groaned at the sensation, encouraging you on. You returned your hand to the base of his cock, grazing your fingers along his sensitive balls before taking a firm hold of his shaft, pumping your fist up and down his length with as much vigor as you could manage.

“Fuck,” he grunted, and although he now had the added task of awaiting his own impending orgasm alongside bringing you to yours, his fingers did not falter between your legs. Every throaty groan passing his lips seemed to drive his fingers into more of a frenzy, forming fast, sloppy shapes on your aching bud until you were crying out.

“That’s a good- fuck- girl. Keep jerking your big brother’s cock, just like that. Feels so fucking good,” he breathed against your skin, making you shiver even despite the heavy, humid warmth of the bathroom. You could no longer see anything through the glass door, which had become entirely overtaken with thick fog; for a moment you felt like this was the only place on earth that existed- a closed-off world of steam and water and porcelain made just for you and Michael.

With your eyes shut tight as the coil in your belly prepared to snap, all you could do was listen to the melodic blend of sounds enveloping the small space and attempt to move your body in time with the makeshift rhythm. Not one sound fell upon deaf ears- you were hyper-aware of every vulgar, human noise; every breath and every moan; every squeak of wet feet on the slick white floor.

This might be the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard, you thought.

“Fuck, Michael— more.” Stretching your other arm back to desperately grab at Michael’s damp mop of waves, you allowed yourself to come undone, arching your back so your erect nipples were pointed up towards the ceiling.

Michael brought his free hand away from your breasts, instead using it to brace himself against the shower door, creating a hand-shaped imprint in the steam that immediately began to drip with condensation.

Without thinking, you let go of Michael’s hair to join his hand on the glass; lacing your fingers through his, you worked at his cock with your opposite hand until his breaths grew ragged and choppy- a sure-fire sign that he was about to cum.

“Fuck, (y/n), keep going,” he moaned breathlessly, pressing his thumb harshly against your clit and nearly causing your knees to buckle underneath you. “Gonna- fuck.”

His cock twitched in your hand, and with that, he was cumming, shooting his thick load all over your ass and lower back. Miraculously, even as he recovered from his orgasm, he still continued to touch you; his fingers were like magic on your clit, and within a matter of seconds, you, too, were being sent over the edge.

“Oh god, Michael—“

Even during an earth-shattering orgasm like the one you were experiencing, you still were able to notice the way that Michael had switched spots on the glass with you, his large hand enclosing around yours and squeezing.

He didn’t remove his hand from between your thighs until you were twitching and overstimulated, and once he did, he pulled you into a hug, his strong arms cradling you against his chest.

Your eyes fluttered open and shut again, like a person caught between life and death, when he planted a tender kiss to the top of your head.

“I’m never gonna find anyone else like you,” he said, hardly louder than a whisper. You weren’t sure whether it was a reassurance to you, or a solemn statement of distress.

Either way, you swore you could hear something like sadness behind his words.

iii.

Since Miriam and your father were too preoccupied with their arguing to arrange any family excursions, you and Michael were left to your own devices.

Those next few days in Florida, your life was about as close to a teen romance movie as it could get. You and Michael spent the days exploring the nearby towns, trying out restaurants (it’d taken a startlingly long while for you to convince Michael to try out one of the local cafés for breakfast instead of McDonald’s, which had been his original idea) and going shopping; on one occasion, you shared a joint with Michael before dragging him to the local aquarium, which he’d pretended to be entirely disinterested in (even though you could see the wonder and fear in his eyes whilst staring at the shark exhibit- what would happen if the glass broke? he’d asked, nervously drumming his fingers on the paneling as a particularly large shark swam by).

You shared ice cream with him on the boardwalk, licking the chocolate soft serve that had melted off the cone and onto Michael’s hand off his fingers; you rubbed sunscreen on each other at the beach (although Michael wasn’t nearly as thorough as you were, and most of the time you’d wind up with a nasty sunburn thanks to his negligence); you bought 99-cent popsicles from a vendor, making out with cherry-stained lips while the sun went down.

At night, you’d sit on the beach, sometimes stoned, talking and laughing as the waves rolled in and out on the shore.

It was 3 am on your last night in Florida, and you and Michael had snuck out of the hotel room and walked down to the beach, large checkered blanket and a bottle of red wine in tow (Michael had charmed the woman behind the counter in a sketchy liquor store in order to obtain this). You were sitting side-by-side, thoughts clouded from the effects of the alcohol with your knees drawn to your chest, when a sudden realization washed upon you like one of the rumbling waves breaking against the shore.

You were in love with Michael Langdon.

This was an unwavering, undeniable fact; you were in love with him. You loved him, even the parts of him that, at one point, you had hated. The realization was both peaceful and upsetting.

“Michael,” you said, huddling closer to yourself as a cool breeze cut through the night. What were you going to say to him? You couldn’t very well tell him about the epiphany you’d just had- he’d been on Tinder just a few days ago, for god’s sake. But, still, you felt compelled to say something.

“Hmm?” He stretched out his legs, running his palms up and down his sand-covered calves. In the darkness, you could hardly make out the features of his face, save for the sparkling reflection in his eyes as he looked out towards the ocean.

You licked your lips, taking a swig from the half-empty bottle of wine that had been positioned upright in the sand. You winced at the bittersweet taste washing over your tongue, the blood-colored liquid sloshing noisily against its glass confines as you brought it back down to your side.

“I don’t know,” you said, suddenly feeling stupid. “It’s just- I don’t want this all to be over.”

“Me either,” he said, putting his arm around you and drawing you closer to him. You inhaled sharply, breathing in the scent of wine and stale cigarettes and salt water like it was oxygen and you’d just been saved from drowning. “I didn’t think I would, but I had a really great time this week.”

You shook your head. “I’m not just talking about this week. I just mean in general. I feel like it’s all ending so soon.”

“Oh.” He took in a breath, an especially large wave hitting the shore with a startling crash. “God, this fucking sucks, doesn’t it?”

“Michael, I-“ I love you. The remaining words settled on the back of your tongue, refusing to roll off, but perhaps it was for the better. “-I think in another life, we could’ve worked out. Could’ve been something more than what we are. You know?”

If only, if only, if fucking only.

“Lucky us, being born in the universe where we’re fucking step siblings,” Michael laughed, but there was a deep sadness in his voice that you’d never heard before. “But, (y/n). Even though shit isn’t working out the way we wanted it to, and even though it’s gonna hurt when we both go away to college, I’m still so glad that I met you.”

“I’m glad I met you, too.”

There was only silence for a long moment as Michael reached for the wine bottle and took an indulgent sip. “There’s so much shit I wish could’ve been different,” he said finally, angling his head up towards the velvet blackness of the night sky. “I wish I’d treated you differently. I wish I hadn’t been so fucking scared of feeling something.”

You ran your fingers through the soft sand, forming meaningless patterns there as you listened to Michael open up for what felt like the first time since you’d met him.

“I used to lie awake at night and think of how fucking unfair this all is. That the one girl I’ve ever really wanted is the one girl I can’t have. I used to think if maybe I pushed you away, treated you like shit, that everything would hurt less. But it just hurt me more, seeing you in pain from the shit I put you through. And now I realize that it’s all gonna hurt the same either way. ‘Cause I’ll never have you the way I want.”

You felt a well-known pinching behind your eyes, and you blinked, silently willing away the tears that were threatening to escape. You kept your eyes on the drawings you’d made in the ground, knowing that if you were to look into Michael’s eyes, you’d probably break.

“What’s gonna happen to us, Michael? We can’t just wait for each other while we’re away at college and miss out on life. But god, I wanna be with you,” you said, voice quivering.

“I don’t know,” he said softly, shaking his head. “I say we just…live our lives. And if it’s meant to be, it will be. One day.”

You nodded, dragging your fingers through the sand and destroying the mindless spirals and swirls you’d formed. “One day.”

“But enough with all that sad shit,” said Michael, taking your chin in hand and moving it so you were looking at him. “What’s important is that we have each other right now. So let’s make the most of that, hm?”

The look in Michael’s eyes told you right away what he meant by making the most of your time together; your cheeks were hot, prickling from the red wine, fingertips burning to touch something. So you did- you grabbed the front of Michael’s shirt, yanking him towards you and placing a haphazard, open-mouthed kiss on his lips.

The kiss was aggressive and feverish; it didn’t take long for Michael to lay you down on the checkered blanket, his hands wandering your body like it belonged to him (and, in a way, it did).

When Michael broke away to catch his breath, panting, you decided to try something new: with all the strength you could muster, you pushed Michael off of you and promptly rolled on top of him instead, straddling him with your knees on either side of his torso.

In the faint glow of the silvery moonlight, you could see an indistinct smirk playing at his lips; it wasn’t often that you were the one to take control, but it was obvious, from the growing protrusion in the front of his pants, that he liked the change.

You leaned down to reattach your lips to his, hips rocking back and forth over his bulge until the friction sent shock waves up your spine. With you bent forward, Michael was easily able to slide his veined hands up the back of your short skirt, taking two greedy fistfuls of your ass.

Almost frantically, you tore your shirt off over your head, not bothering to worry about where it landed. Now, the only thing separating your breasts from the nighttime air was a thin lace bralette, which Michael took to palming you through.

“Fuck, (y/n),” murmured Michael, rolling one of your hardened nipples between two fingers. “You have seriously got the best tits.”

“Yeah? You think so?” you said, a twinge of playful mocking to your voice; you wrapped your fingers around Michael’s wrists, maneuvering them so that both his hands were fondling your breasts.

“Fuck yeah, I think so,” he said, and you only wished there was just a bit more light so you could properly admire him in his disheveled, lustful state.

“Even better than those girls on Tinder you matched with?” you taunted, grinding your hips down hard against Michael’s erection. “I wonder what they’d think about all the times you’ve been balls deep in your stepsister.”

At this, he tightened his grip on your tits, twisting them almost painfully before hoisting up the thin fabric of your bralette so your nipples were exposed. You helped him in removing the garment, pulling it off and throwing it alongside your shirt, never once ceasing the motion of your hips against his clothed, twitching cock.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” Michael said, running his thumbs over your nipples. “Otherwise I’d take you over my lap and spank your ass raw for being such a little bitch.”

“And you’re lucky you have a big dick,” you shot back, words catching in your throat when he tugged hard on one of your nipples. “Otherwise I never would’ve given your fuckboy ass the time of day.”

This was a lie, of course, but your lighthearted tone of voice was enough to let him know that you were only messing around.

Michael scoffed. “No, I think you’re the one who’s lucky that I have a big dick, considering that you’re a total fucking cock-hungry slut.”

You stifled a laugh. Well, he’s not wrong.

“Is that a complaint?” you said, lips quirking as you scooted your body slightly downward, giving yourself room to pull Michael’s now-fully hard cock out. Sinking your teeth into your lower lip, you took the pulsing length in hand, moving your thin panties to the side and repositioning yourself so that the head of Michael’s cock was nestled just barely against your entrance.

Michael shook his head rapidly, a throaty grunt passing his lips. “Obviously- fuck- not.”

It was almost amusing to you, the way you and Michael had gone from having a heartfelt conversation to teasing each other relentlessly, but you supposed that was what you loved about your dynamic anyway. Unable to hold off any longer, you guided Michael’s cock inside you, gliding down easily on his length until he was fully seated inside. Your mouth fell open, and as you began to properly ride him, he brought his hands to grip your hips with a tight, bruising hold.

“Fuck, Michael,” you sighed, tits bouncing as you rolled your hips forward, increasing your momentum. Michael slid one hand from your hip to your inner thigh, pinching the tender skin before bringing his thumb to your clit and rubbing firm circles over it.

A pleasant, salt water-scented breeze passed by as you rode Michael, further disheveling your hair, which you ran your fingers through; the lewd noises of your body connecting with Michael’s were overtaken by the unmistakable sounds of the tide.

“Good girl, riding my cock so fucking good,” Michael breathed, lifting up his free hand so he could push two fingers into your mouth. Your eyelids fluttered at the salt of his skin, lips instinctively wrapping around his calloused digits and sucking.

Swirling your tongue over Michael’s fingers, you continued riding him, swaying your hips in figure-eight motions; the thick girth of his cock stretched your tight walls, and from this angle, you could practically feel him in your stomach.

The pad of Michael’s thumb pressed against your clit again, and as electric pleasure rippled up your spine, it took everything inside you not to cum right then and there. Your pussy was clenching tight around him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to let go—you didn’t want to be apart from him. Not yet.  

For a second, you could see every contoured feature of Michael’s face illuminated in the pale light of the moon, the exaggerated shadows and highlights coming together to form an image that was almost otherworldly. His eyes were droopy-lidded, so much so that you might’ve thought his eyes were shut if it weren’t for the glint of his pupils; he’d sucked his full lower lip into his mouth, nibbling on the rosy pink flesh as he admired your curved, supple figure on top of him.

I love him, you thought, matter-of-fact, as he pulled his spit-soaked fingers from your mouth and dragged them down between your tits, leaving a shiny trail of saliva in their wake.

I love him, you thought, bowing your body forward to kiss him hungrily, moaning into his mouth as you hurried your pace on his cock.

I love him.

Why the fuck did you have to love him? It wasn’t fair. Your insides churned with jealousy at the thought of all the other teenage girls who were currently experiencing their first love; you thought of the constant Instagram posts of girls in new, happy relationships, the public displays of affection against lockers between classes. Those things, so seemingly insignificant, would never become a part of your reality (or at least not any reality involving Michael).

In another life you’d have Michael over for dinner to meet your father, holding his hand under the table when you’d notice his thigh jiggling anxiously. You’d kiss him freely without the underlying fear, swirling deep in the pit of your belly, that someone might catch you. You’d be his prom date, match your gown to his bow tie and take awkward pictures with him, his strong arms holding you from behind.

In another life, things would be normal. In another life, you and Michael would be happy together.

“(Y/n),” groaned Michael; the sound of his raspy voice calling your name was enough to send you over the edge, bracing your tense body with one hand next to his head as you rode out your orgasm.

You were able to move even faster now, both of his hands holding your ass as you leaned far enough forward that you could bury your head in his neck. The feeling of his cock pulsing inside of you was almost too much now that you’d orgasmed, but you didn’t stop, eager to witness Michael drift into his own realm of bliss.

“Fuck—“ was all that could leave Michael’s lips before he came, using your ass to hold you in place as he spilled his warm load inside of you. You  didn’t move, keeping your face by his neck so you could listen to him catch his breath.

When you finally picked yourself up, Michael looked down to his shoulder and furrowed his eyebrows. “Were you just crying?”

Fuck. Yes, yes you were. Tears had apparently leaked from the corners of your eyes without you realizing, wetting his neck and the cotton fabric of his t-shirt. You said nothing, pulling off him to retrieve the clothing articles that you’d discarded in the sand earlier.

“Just a little,” you said, embarrassed, shaking the sand off your bralette and putting it on. “Red wine makes me angsty.”

“Oh.” There was a pregnant pause as Michael cleared his throat. “C’mon, (y/n), it’s not so bad.”

There was wavering uncertainty veiled beneath the confidence of his words, and you could tell he was trying to convince himself of this sentiment just as much as he was trying to convince you. Your back was to him as you slipped your shirt over your head, willing yourself not to start crying again.

“(Y/n)?”

His hand was on your back, the tips of his fingers circling lightly over the fabric of your shirt. You turned to face him, slowly. “Yes?”

“I…” He halted for a moment, contemplating something. “I really, really like you. More than I’ve ever liked anyone before.”

“I really, really like you too.” Somewhere, a chorus of crickets were unknowingly performing a custom symphony for your own teen romance movie moment. Michael took your hand in his, lacing his long fingers through yours, and you swallowed.

He looked down at your joined hands, an almost solemn look on his face. “Just. I don’t want you to forget, all right? No matter what happens.”

No matter what happens. You didn’t want to think of what he could mean by that.

“Don’t worry,” you whispered, as if to shield your words from the ocean’s prying ears. “I won’t forget.”

And that, you knew, was an irrefutable fact.

iv.

Late August hit you like a truck, coming by so unexpectedly that you thought surely you’d been caught in some kind of time slip. Your college move-in date was a week before Michael’s, and so Michael had spent the days leading up to your departure helping you pack (he’d also, of course, made plenty of time for “breaks” throughout the process, one of which consisted of you being fucked on the floor amidst the vast array of brown moving boxes).

Your bedroom was now a shell of what it’d once been- the comfortable teenage clutter you’d been so accustomed to was now gone, and you’d finally gotten around to throwing out the pictures and stickers you’d had on your wall since freshman year. It was depressing, hollow.

On the morning of your move-in date, your father helped you bring your belongings to the car and load the trunk. The car ride was going to be fairly long, and you were dreading it, especially since Michael wasn’t coming along. He had his own matters to attend to, what with his own move-in date creeping near, and the car would be far too crowded with all your things there anyway.

You were scheduled to leave at 9, and downstairs you could hear your father and Miriam shuffling around as they prepared for the trip. You sat at the edge of your bed, surrounded by the pale purple sheets you’d had for as long as you could remember, idly scraping the toe of your sneaker back and forth along the wooden floor.

You weren’t ready to say goodbye to all of this, but when had you ever been ready for anything life had thrown your way? You hadn’t been ready to fall in love with your stepbrother, and yet that had happened all the same.

From across the hall, Michael’s bedroom door cracked open, and out he came in his flannel sleep pants and plain white t-shirt (which now perfectly complemented the slight summertime hue of bronze to his skin), blond hair in beautiful disarray. Your heart ached- you were going to miss seeing him in the morning, all sleepy and soft, voice pitched lower than usual from sleep.

You recalled all the times you’d passed him as he stood at the counter in the bathroom, brushing his teeth; he’d look at you with a lazy half-smile, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, his elbows resting on the edge of the sink. He always looked so handsome even when he wasn’t trying, a quality you almost envied him for.

He noticed you watching him from the corner of your bed as he approached the doorway, waving at you as he balanced his shoulder against the frame.

“‘Morning,” he said, his bleary-eyed gaze meeting yours. He looked tired, dark rings prevalent beneath his crystal blue eyes, and you briefly wondered if he’d gotten much sleep the night before. “You should be grateful that I got up at the ass crack of dawn to say goodbye to you.”

“The ass crack of dawn? Michael, it’s 8:45,” you said, and if you really tried, you could almost pretend that this was a regular conversation between the two of you, and not the very last time you’d be interacting face-to-face until November.

“Yeah, well, 8:45 is the ass crack of dawn to me,” he said, and you stood up, meeting him halfway in the middle of your barren room. He flashed you a grin, but there wasn’t much happiness behind it, and you could see that he was… uncomfortable? Sad? Angry?— you couldn’t quite tell— from the way he’d folded his arms in front of his stomach. “So yeah. I, uh, wanted to say goodbye. And also remind you not to fuck too many frat guys. You could, like, catch something.”

“I’ll try not to, but I can’t promise anything,” you joked, following the sentence with a forced-sounding chuckle. “Bye, Michael.”

You stepped forward, winding your arms around Michael’s waist and placing your head against his chest; you could just barely hear his heart beating, the warmth of his skin touching your cheek even through the fabric of his t-shirt.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he murmured, his chin resting on the top of your head, strong arms holding you to him in an unyielding embrace. “So much.”

There were too many things you wanted to say, racing through your mind so quickly that it’d be impossible to articulate them aloud. Instead, you let out a shaky sigh, eyes falling shut as you tried your hardest to immerse yourself completely in Michael’s touch. Sometimes, there didn’t need to be any words for you to understand each other.

“Don’t be sad about this, (y/n). When you’re at college, you’re gonna meet so many guys who are so much better than I am. And you’re gonna wonder why you ever were hung up on a dumbass like me.” His tone was lighthearted, but you knew better than to really believe that he was unbothered. “But I don’t think I’ll ever find someone better than you. I’m so fucking lucky that you gave me as many chances as you did. I didn’t deserve them.”

“You’re wrong,” you said, pulling away so you could look pointedly into Michael’s eyes. God, his eyes were beautiful, and you drank in the moment, knowing this was your last chance to really look into them face-to-face. “I gave you those chances because even though you acted like a total fucking asshole, I still knew there was good in you. I could just… feel it.”

He cocked an eyebrow skepticall y. “No, you gave me all those second chances because I give good head and have a big dick.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, maybe those were contributing factors, but they weren’t the only reasons I stuck around.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he said, licking his lips and settling his hands on your hips. “For the record, your pussy really is my favorite. Like, I wasn’t just saying that.”

“I’m honored.”

The interaction was cut short by the sound of your father calling you from downstairs, indicating that it was time to leave, and your heart sank deep into your stomach. Standing up on the tips of your toes, you planted a chaste kiss on his lips before hurrying out into the hall, waving over your shoulder as you went.

“Bye, (y/n),” Michael said, not moving from where he stood in your bedroom. He’d dug his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants, shoulders slumped forward as he watched you go. For a moment, you wished you’d hugged him for longer. “See you in November.”

“See you,” you called back, imitating nonchalance to the best of your ability, only averting your gaze when you felt tears wobbling along your waterline, threatening to overflow and spill down your cheeks.

In that last moment before you turned, you could almost swear that he had tears in his eyes, too.

v.

When you finally made your way up those familiar porch steps again, the November air chilling you slightly even despite the thick sweater you wore, you felt like an entirely different person.

Those first few months of college had been a blur; your life was far more interesting than it’d ever been while you were in high school (if you didn’t count the whole ‘fucking your stepbrother’ thing), with a surplus of boys at your disposal at all times. You’d gotten perhaps a bit carried away with the dating and partying and hookups, but you figured you were simply making up for all the experiences you’d missed out on in high school.

Michael was a thought that you trained yourself to keep tucked away. During those first few weeks, you’d spent several nights crying yourself to sleep, the stiff dorm room bed so uninviting compared to the way Michael’s arms had always felt around you. At parties, you’d scan the crowds for boys with blond hair and blue eyes, hoping that one of them could temporarily stand in for Michael during your time away from him. None of them fulfilled the requirements, of course- you’d come to realize early on that nobody was quite as good as Michael Langdon. It took a while for you to stop searching for Michael in every boy you became acquainted with, but with practice, you became rather skilled in the art of forgetting.

You and Michael kept in contact, albeit only sometimes. His messages to you were comprised mainly of memes he’d found on Instagram that he thought you’d appreciate, along with the occasional drunk text late at night (‘Cna you send me a pci of your tits/??? Lmfao’ was one of your favorite messages from him that you’d received thus far). It made you feel special to know that he was thinking of you, even despite being surrounded by girls like you assumed he probably was.

You tried not to think of him too much, though- you knew you’d drive yourself crazy if you did.

When Thanksgiving time rolled around, you were confronted with the fact that you’d be seeing Michael again for the first time in months, a prospect that ignited your nerves far more than you were willing to admit. As excited as you were to see him, you also couldn’t help but worry: what if he announced that he’d found a girlfriend? What if he wasn’t attracted to you anymore? What if you weren’t attracted to him anymore?

It probably would be easier for the both of you if things played out that way, but you didn’t want things to be easy. It was unrealistic, but part of you was praying that things would be exactly as they were before you’d gone away.

Your hand trembled a bit as you raised it to the doorbell, and you braced yourself before jamming your finger into the button. From inside the house, you heard the muffled, off-key tone as it resounded throughout the upstairs area, followed by bounding footsteps down the stairs that you pinpointed as belonging to your father.

The front swung open and there was your father, a wide smile stretched across his face as he ushered you inside, taking it upon himself to bring in your travel bag for you. “(Y/n)! Finally! How was the train ride?”

“Not bad,” you said as he pulled you into a hug. As soon as you were apart, you started up the stairs, your pulse quickening as you came closer and closer to the moment you’d been anticipating for months. “Did Michael get back already?”

“Yeah, about an hour ago.”

Your heart skipped at this revelation; your legs couldn’t bring you to the top of the stairs fast enough, and, sensing your heightened enthusiasm, your father chuckled from behind you. “Hey, hold on a second. I haven’t seen you in months.”

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” you said breathlessly, the rubber soles of your sneakers making noisy contact with the wooden upstairs floor. You supposed that maybe you should’ve spent more time greeting your father, but you could no longer contain yourself- you needed to see Michael.

Leaving your bag at the top of the stairs, you hurried to the hallway where your bedrooms were located, unable to stifle your eagerness. You felt like a starved animal, finally being presented with food by a pair of benevolent hands, and you were ready to devour.

You didn’t bother knocking on Michael’s door when you approached it, bursting in with such force that you stumbled over your feet. The room was dim, what with the blinds being open so only a few rays of late-afternoon sunlight could peek through; seated in front of his once-cluttered empty desk, now occupied only by a laptop, was Michael, massive headphones positioned over his ears as he fixated on whatever stupid game he was currently playing (does he still play fortnite? you wondered).

The sound of your intrusion was loud enough to catch his attention, and as his head turned from his computer screen to your face, something shifted in his eyes. Immediately, he tore off his headphones, jumping to his feet so abruptly that they clattered to the ground. “Holy fuck, (y/n).”

It was evident, from the way you fell easily into his arms, that the attraction hadn’t faded. If anything, the distance apart seemed to have only made the magnetic connection between you grow even stronger.

Your lips clashed together feverishly (you had no idea who had been the one to initiate this— it seemed that you’d both moved in perfect unison into one another), hands wandering freely over each other’s bodies and teeth bumping against teeth. When you broke away, a string of saliva stretching and breaking between your faces, Michael beamed down at you.

The slight layer of baby fat that had once rounded out Michael’s cheeks appeared to have dissipated, his cheekbones even more pronounced than you remembered them being. His sharp jaw was shadowed with the smallest touch of brown stubble, (which you assumed was there because he’d been too lazy to shave), but you thought the more mature look suited him well.

“Jesus, (y/n), I missed you.” His voice was like smooth velvet; you’d inject it into your bloodstream if you could. “You’re even more fucking beautiful than I remembered.”

“Oh, good. I was worried you’d be grossed out by my freshman fifteen,”  you laughed.

“Fuck no. The fatter the ass, the better,” he said with a devious smirk, running his long fingers through his overgrown mop of blond hair. He smelled just like you remembered, a mixture of cinnamon gum and cigarettes and cologne (and the faintest hint of marijuana, of course), and you wished you could bottle up his scent and take it with you.

“So you’re still a fuckboy, I see,” you teased, twisting the front of Michael’s t-shirt in your hands and pulling him towards you. “Some things just never change, I guess.”

“Guess not.” He was speaking lowly now, assuming the smooth tone he always used when he was attempting to seduce you, and as if on cue came a dull, throbbing ache between your legs. “I wonder if your pussy is as good as I remember?”

His fingers found their way to the bottom of your sweater, fumbling with the chunky fabric and swiftly maneuvering it off over your head. You mirrored his actions, pulling off his shirt and exposing his torso, pressing your lips back against his with urgency once his upper half had been disrobed.

“Fuck…” you breathed against his parted mouth, palming the growing erection in the front of his pale gray sweatpants (your favorite pair of pants that he owned). “Need you to fuck me, Mikey…”

“Is that right?” He tilted his head to one side, kissing you deeply as he bent his knees, using his own weight as leverage to lift you up. You intertwined your ankles behind Michael’s back, securing your place in his toned arms as he carried you over to his bed; the vulgar, wet sound of your tongues melding together filled the room as he laid you down on his checkered comforter, your legs still wrapped snugly around him. “Did my baby sis miss having her pussy split on her big bro’s cock?”

“Mhm,” you purred; there truly was no man in existence better at dirty talking than Michael. You tensed in excitement when he began fumbling with the top button of your jeans, proceeding to deftly work the form-fitting denim material down your thighs once he’d freed it from its hold. “Can’t wait to feel you inside me.”

Impatiently, you reached between your bodies, your fingers coming upon the thick outline of his bulge as he peppered your throat with sloppy kisses. You moved your hand up to the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging the elastic as far back as you could; this resulted in him chuckling against your flesh, your body erupting in goosebumps at the sensation.

“So needy,” he mumbled, the vibrations of his plump lips traveling straight down to your cunt. “Did you touch yourself when you were away at school, thinking of me? Thinking of how good I touch you, how hard I make you cum?”

“M-Michael,” you whimpered, rolling your hips in melodic time with his, his clothed cock making friction against your thinly veiled pussy. “C’mon, just fuck me already. Please.”

“I like it when you beg,” he said, smug, standing so he could pull down his sweatpants and boxers, putting his long, weighted cock on display for you. You lifted your knees up for him, and in one swift motion he stripped you of your flimsy black thong. “Beg me again.”

You squirmed, sliding your flat palm down your stomach so you could touch yourself between your parted thighs; slowly, you coated your fingers with your own sticky essence, looking up at Michael from under a canopy of thick lashes. “Fuck me, Michael. I need you.”

“Ask nicely,” he chided, hoisting your thigh up to drape around his waist, eyes darkening as he observed your fingers spreading your slick wetness around your folds.

“Pleeaaaaseeee, Mikey,” you pleaded, syllables so drawn out that it almost sounded like you were singing. “It’s been so long.”

“Fuck.” He brought his lower lip into his mouth, sucking for a moment as he lined the flushed head of his cock up with your dripping entrance. When he released it, it was several shades darker than it’d been before, completely swollen and glossy with spit. “I’ve been thinking about this since the last time I saw you.”

Taking a firm grip of your thighs, he slid effortlessly into your tight heat, your jaw unhinging at the intrusion; you’d definitely be feeling him for the next few days, his thick shaft stretching out your narrow walls to the point where it was almost painful. You liked it, though, liked the delicious burn that only he could create, reminding you of who you belonged to.

“Shit,” he hissed, pausing momentarily to compose himself before assuming a deep, hard rhythm to fuck you with. “You’re so fucking tight. Must not’ve fucked anyone as big as me while you were away.”

All you could manage was a broken moan, your head lolling back towards the ceiling. He bottomed out inside you, bringing himself down to press his chest against yours, indulging in the feel of your warm, wet cunt as it spasmed around his massive length. When you started whining for more, he retracted his hips back until only the head of his cock was inside you, slamming back inside so hard that you were sent halfway up the bed.

“Oh god, Michael…” Your fingernails scraped aimlessly along the warm skin of his back, eyelids flickering open and shut in a fucked-out daze. You’d slept with a handful of guys at college, but none of them even came close to fucking you the way Michael did. He was just… special.

Fuck, I love him.

The thought startled you; you’d almost been able to forget about the little epiphany you’d had, that night in Florida when you and Michael sat side-by-side by the ocean. But now that you were with him— under him, taking every last agonizing inch of his cock, it became obvious that those feelings had remained stagnant.

After all the boys you’d been through at college, you still loved him.

God, were you fucked.

“Missed my baby girl so much,” Michael murmured, tucking your hair behind your ear and peering down at you. His forehead was glowing, the sides of his face framed with cute, damp curls of blond hair; he was so beautiful, you thought. How had you survived so long without him?

He impaled you again with a sharp upwards thrust, a string of expletives passing your lips and mixing with the lewd sounds of sex swimming through the air.  “I missed you— fuck!— too.”

“Yeah, I could tell,” he said, tucking his head into the crook of your neck and running his tongue along the salty skin. “Your pussy is fucking dripping for me.”

“Keep going,” you panted, wetting your chapped lips; with each brutal thrust of Michael’s cock, you bucked your hips forward to meet him halfway, desperate for all that he had to offer. “Feels so fucking good.”

“Yeah? You like that? Like how I split you open?” His hips pounded against yours with a bruising intensity, his chest pinning you down as you writhed beneath his lean frame. His voice was becoming hoarse, breaths short and choppy, letting you know that he was close.

“Yes, yes, yes, please, more…” Your affirmations were like a prayer, encouraging Michael to fuck you even deeper, his torso making electric contact with your clit as he moved his body in time with yours. “Make me cum, Mikey, please..”

The wind was knocked from your lungs each time he pumped his length into you, and by the time the coil in your stomach was unwinding, you were struggling to catch your breath. You ran your hands through Michael’s sweat-soaked hair, letting the strands stretch around your fingers as you tugged at the root; Your toes curled when Michael administered a particularly hard thrust inside you, your lips falling open in a silent scream; there was a burst of brilliant colors behind your eyelids as you finally reached your climax, your thighs shaking as they clasped firmly around Michael’s waist.

Like a perfect teen-movie cliché, Michael came just as you did; the feeling of his hot load as it spilled deep inside your cunt was a welcomed one, and your spongey inner walls instinctively clamped down, milking his cock for all it was worth.

With a throaty grunt, Michael pulled out of you, his cum dribbling crudely down your inner thigh and onto his bedspread, which he didn’t appear to pay any attention to. Lying down beside you, he sighed, bare chest shining with slick perspiration.

“I missed doing that,” Michael rasped, eyes focused up towards the ceiling rather than on you.

“So did I,” you said, tracing idle patterns along the expanse of Michael’s torso, watching his stomach rise and fall with each breath he took. “I can’t wait to have you all Christmas break.”

Michael’s lips turned downwards at the corners, his eyebrows knitting together in a pained display. “Oh. Yeah.”

It seemed as though he’d wanted to say more, but he pressed his lips shut into a thin line, Adam’s apple bobbing. What the hell? All at once you felt nauseous- there was something about the way he’d said those two words that made you very, very uneasy.

You sat up, your mind already starting to overflow with horrid possibilities. “What, Michael?”

“I, um. I have to tell you something.” Michael’s eyes darted throughout the room before settling on his palms. You frowned, mouth going dry at his apparent reluctance to talk to you, thoughts racing in all directions to try and pinpoint what exactly he might say.

“Michael…”

“So. Um.” He was stalling, extending his arms up so his palms were flat on his forehead, still refusing to look at you as he contemplated his words. “So you remember over the summer when I spilled Red Bull on my laptop?”

You raised an eyebrow. Where exactly was he going with this? “Yeah?”

“And remember how I would borrow my mom’s laptop to play video games while I was waiting for it to get repaired?”

“Yes, I remember. Can you just get to the point?” You were growing impatient, the anxiety increasing with each additional second that Michael continued to leave you in the dark.

“Okay, well…” He inhaled sharply. “I was borrowing her laptop one night and ended up looking at the search history because, well… you can probably guess why. Anyway. I ended up seeing all these searches for, like, new apartments and divorce lawyers.”

Oh shit. Divorce lawyers? Was he about to say what you were thinking he was about to say? “You mean…?”

Michael held up a hand as if to say let me finish, and you held your tongue. “So like, I asked her about it. And she told me that her and your dad are, like, splitting up or whatever. But she told me not to mention anything about it in case they ended up working shit out.”

You didn’t understand— wasn’t this good news? If your parents divorced, wouldn’t you finally be able to be with Michael the way you wanted? You forced down the giddiness that started to bubble up from your stomach and into your throat, knowing that there had to be a catch if Michael was acting so serious.

“So our parents are getting a divorce?”

“Well… there’s more.” He licked his lips, finally gathering the courage to look at you, the expression on his face so grim that it scared you a little. “She found an apartment in California. And she’s moving us there next month.”

California!?

No, this couldn’t be happening. How could this be happening? This was perhaps even worse than the predicament you were already in. If Michael moved to California, it was pretty fucking likely that you’d never see him again.

“I… what? And you’ve known all this for how long!?” Your voice was pitched several octaves higher now, eyes watering uncontrollably, and you felt as though you were on the brink of having a total fucking meltdown.

“I always thought there was a chance they’d get things worked out, or that my mom would change her mind about moving so far away. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I already knew you were sad about us going away to college, so I just thought-”

“-Answer the question, Michael! How long have you known this for?” Hot, angry tears were falling down your face and onto your bare chest, your entire body shaking with an overwhelming mixture of rage and despair.

He sighed. “Since August.”

Your mouth fell open in disbelief. How could he have hidden this from you for so long? “And you never thought to tell me? So I could at least come to terms with the fact that I’ll probably never see you again once you move?”

“I didn’t wanna ruin the rest of our time together,” he said softly, eyes glossy with tears that were still yet to fall. “I fucked up, okay? I should’ve told you as soon as I found out. But I kept thinking that maybe something would change, and…I don’t know. I’m sorry, (y/n).”

“Fuck,” you mumbled. Your limbs felt numb and heavy, your heart hollow. “Why did your mom have to choose fucking California, of all places?”

“I dunno. I think it has to do with this weird religion thing she’s into,” he said. “Look, (y/n), if I had any choice, I’d stay here. But you know I can’t afford my own place right now.”

“I know. It’s just-“ you collapsed backwards, your back making contact with the bed below with a soft thud. “This is so fucking unfair. We’re finally able to be together- like, really be together. But of course there has to be a catch.”

“Remember what I said, (y/n)? How if things are meant to be, they will be?” It sounded to you like Michael was attempting to make sense of a senseless situation, but you let him speak, somewhat comforted by his words. “I only have to stay in California until I can afford my own place. And I’ll still be going to the same college, so we won’t be too far from each other during the school year.”

Your college was a five hour drive away from Michael’s. Would he really be willing to make such a long trip up to see you? Would you be willing to take a trip to see him, with the new knowledge looming on your conscience that he would no longer be an arm’s length away once the school year was up? You wanted to be optimistic, but how could you be? A fresh wave of tears escaped your eyes, blurring your vision, but your cries faded to soft whimpers when Michael pulled you up against his chest.

You tried not to remind yourself of the fact that this would likely be one of the last times you’d be able to feel him there against you, one of the last times you’d absorb the heat from his skin, his distinct scent overtaking you like a natural aphrodisiac, intoxicating you.

You tried to reason with reality: if the universe had tried so hard to keep you apart all this time, maybe you and Michael being together had simply not been written in the stars (or at least that’s what you tried to convince yourself— how could a connection so strong not be meant to be?, you asked yourself dejectedly). The way you felt for Michael was special, unlike anything else you’d ever experienced before. He was a natural high, a gust of fresh springtime air, a golden ray of good in a gray-black world of bad.

But, as the saying went, all good things must come to an end. Don’t they?

Perhaps you’d always known, in the very back of your mind, that things would never work out. Perhaps you’d always known that your heart would wind up broken (no, not broken— incinerated). The cards had never been in your favor, and there had been a hundred million warning signs that you’d blatantly ignored time and time again.

But it hurt.

And you doubted it would ever stop hurting. The pain of losing Michael might one day fade from a stabbing agony to a dull ache, but that initial wound would likely never heal completely.

The only thing left to do now was stay entangled in Michael’s warmth for as long as possible, and make weary peace with the tragic ending your time with Michael had come to.

“If we survived being stepsiblings, we can survive this,” Michael said, his lips against your knotted hair, firm arms holding your naked body with a delicate tenderness that you weren’t used to. “You know that when I want something, I make sure that I get it. And what I want, (y/n), is you.”

You nodded, curling into Michael, your bodies fitting together like two perfectly-cut puzzle pieces.

“And I’m gonna have you.” You felt his hand smooth your hair out, and then he placed a kiss on your forehead, as if to imprint his words into your brain. “One day.”

Your eyes fluttered open, and all at once you were lost in a rushing sea of crystal blue, like the one that had lapped against the shore that night you’d fallen in love. As you reached up to caress Michael’s porcelain cheek, thumb grazing the rough stubble that had gathered along his jaw, you couldn’t help but believe him.

One day.

#mine #michael langdon #michael langdon fanfic #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon smut #cody fern #Duncan Shepherd #american horror story #ahs #ahs smut #ahs imagines #michael langdon imagines #michael langdon imagine #ahs season 8 #apocalypse #ahs apocalypse

[somefinelipstickonthatpig]

Of Tunnels and Light Fic #6, Zestiria - AtlA AU

[Read on AO3]

In order to avoid the ever-encroaching Fire Nation, Sorey and the gang need to sneak out of the valley surrounding the mountaintop city of Omashu. Luckily, the Sparrowfeathers know intimately well the songs and tales of the "Secret Tunnel" that cuts straight through the mountains.

o - o - o

“Ohhhhhhh my gooooooooshhhhhhh! Would you look at him? Would you just wook at ‘im! He’s adorable, yes he is!”

“You probably shouldn’t get too close, Rose.”

“Aw, he’s harmless!”

“Right now. Atakk isn’t known for being friendly to anyone else that isn’t Lailah or Sorey.”

“Oh, but I think we can make an exception for me, right? Because you’re just so cute and friendly! Aren’t you?” Rose deepens her voice and puffs out her cheeks as if she were talking to a baby as she squeezes the sides of Atakk’s snout. From where Mikleo stands a few feet away, it looks more like she’s hugging his giant nose. 

“Aren’t you sweet, you big, adorable, scaley, big, winged, big dragon, you?” 

Mikleo fists his hands at his side and huffs. “Rose!” 

“Lighten up, would ya, Mik?” The merchant-turned-ally turns to toss a grin over her shoulder. Her hands rub all over the snout of a very happy, contended black dragon. Atakk rumbles, a sound not too unlike a purr emanating lowly from his chest. “He’s like a little pupling. He’s fine.” 

Atakk rolls over and kicks his claws into the air. The surrounding forest shakes under the toss of his weight; trees shudder and shake loose idling birds. Leaves flutter slowly to the earth. Mikleo blows off the one that fell on his nose and rolls his eyes. 

Rose squeals.

“Then again, maybe it’s just Fire Nation assholes he likes,” he mumbles and, despite what Sorey and Lailah said about keeping watch as Rose was finally introduced to Atakk, turns around to wander back to camp. 

o - o - o

“We’ll have to cut through the mountain.”

“What? Are you kidding me? That’s the last thing we should do. You’ve heard the stories about the tunnel, right?” 

“We only sing them twenty times a year--”

“--and whenever the spring comes because spring brings romance and romance brings paying audiences,” Eguille finishes, his voice overlapping with Dezel’s dry tone. He turns to Dezel and shakes the map in his hands so that it rustles very loudly in the forest clearing. “That tunnel is a tunnel of death. We’re not guiding the Avatar through a place that could potentially kill him.”

Sorey turns the instant he hears a rustle of leaves. A broad and relieved smile breaks out on his face. “Mikleo. How’d it go?”

“Well, Atakk seems to have a new best friend.” Mikleo tries not to sound too glum about it. He plops down on the log next to Sorey and props his chin in his hand. “But I think I traded one annoying situation for another. Doesn’t sound like things are going too well over here either.”

“Yeah…I hope Lailah is having better luck than us with the twins and getting food.” 

Dezel sighs as if this conversation is taxing him. “He’s going to die anyway if we take the main or back roads. There was a reason we had to leave Omashu.”

“I know it as well as you do. If the Fire Nation takes Omashu…”

“So you don’t actually disagree with me.”

Eguille sighs and rolls up the map. In lieu of an answer, he turns behind him. “What do you say, Sorey? You’re the one we’re trying to smuggle out of the way of the Fire Nation’s raids. Do you think this entire crazy venture is worth risking the tunnel?”

“Tunnel?” 

As Eguille walks over to unroll his map before them, Dezel mutters, “There’s a secret tunnel, known only through legends and folktales, that cuts through the mountains surrounding Omashu. As occasional performers--at Rose’s behest--we’re well familiar with the songs and tales.”

“Does that mean you sing?”

Dezel’s mouth quirks at Sorey’s question. Mikleo’s pretty sure he saw Eguille’s eyebrow give a funny twitch. 

“I want to hear the song!” Sorey asks with fisted hands. Mikleo’s pretty sure those are stars he sees in his friend’s eyes.

“No.” Eguille shakes his head and quickly rolls up the scroll. He straightens to a stand and turns around. “Besides, that has nothing to do with determining our way out of this spirit-forsaken valley. If we want to get away from Omashu and the encroaching Fire Nation, then we need to decide how.”

“Well, you know what my vote is.”

Sorey and Mikleo turn around. Rose stands behind them, her feet shoulder-width apart, with her arms crossed proudly over her chest. She winks at them and then with a flourish of miming a guitar solo, belts unceremoniously, “SECRET TUNNEL!” 

Eguille slaps a hand over his face. Mikleo stifles his snicker behind his hand.

Sorey gasps excitedly. “Is that the song?”

“You bet it is!” Rose grins. She makes a dismissive gesture. “I mean, more or less. Usually I make Eguille sing; he’s got the much better tenor. But that’s besides the point!” With no warning, she squats down behind Mikleo and Sorey and loops an arm around each of their necks, sticking her head in the space between them. “With you two along, it’s practically a no-brainer for us to take that Secret Tunnel, because we’ll be out through that labyrinth in no time!”

“Labyrinth?” Mikleo asks at the same time that Sorey wonders, “How’s that?”

“Uh, duh, ‘cuz the legends always say that if you trust in love, then you’ll make it through okay.” 

“Trust in--” Sorey looks to Mikleo immediately.

At the same time, their faces burn bright red. Mikleo looks away first, stuffing his hands in his lap.

“See?” Rose straightens up and claps her hands in the center of their backs. “With you two dorks around, I think we’ll be just fine.”

“It’s not--” Mikleo tries to say but Rose has already stepped around the log, her attention on Eguille and Dezel as they talk about travel plans.

In the awkward silence that follows her departure, Sorey risks a glance at Mikleo’s profile. His eyes fall to his bare neck. 

They still hadn’t talked about what happened that night in Omashu.

Sorey doesn’t think he knows what he wants to say of the bubbly, twisting feeling in his gut. He doesn’t know what he wants to say about, “Hey, sorry I freaked out and went all Avatar state when you got hurt,” or “Hey, do you want me to make you a new necklace? Would you even wear a new betrothal necklace? We aren’t eight anymore, but I think maybe my feelings about you haven’t changed so much as deepened, but now I kind of wonder: does a necklace even encompass everything I feel about you now?”

The words never come.

“It’s just a legend. Right?”

Sorey blinks, eyes snapping back up to Mikleo’s. His friend’s eyes seem lost in the shadows of the trees far beyond their camp. “What?”

“Nothing.” Mikleo stands up with a heavy sigh, not meeting Sorey’s eyes. “We’d better get everything packed.”

“Right…”

o - o - o 

Atakk is afraid of the giant, gaping tunnel. Sorey isn’t sure what to do to calm him down, especially when even Lailah seems to be at a loss. They both walk with one hand on either side of the dragon’s belly, bringing up the rear of their wandering group as they stride deeper and deeper into the tunnel’s maze. Floating above their free hands, palm-up, are small balls of fire.

It’s Mikleo’s idea to use a map and mark the directions they came from. He borrows a blank scroll from the Sparrowfeathers’ cart and scribbles furiously at every turn. Every once in a while, his tongue peeks out between his lips when his face tightens in confusion.

Sorey thinks it’s adorable.

When they find their tenth dead-end, Dezel sighs. “This isn’t working.”

“Course not.” Rose doesn’t sound the least bit surprised; with both hands clasped behind her head, she seemed to be the epitome of relaxed. “The legends don’t say to uh, try and create a map of the tunnels’ twisting labyrinth and maybe you’ll find your way out.”

Mikleo spins around and glares.

Rose shrugs. 

They retrace their steps.

When they arrive at the previous intersection of tunnels, Mikleo gets into a heated debate with Rose and Eguille, one in which Dezel occasionally throws his two cents into. Sorey straightens the same instant Atakk does--a thing Mikleo chalks up to the strange connection the two have--until Sorey worryingly mutters, “Hey. Guys, you hear that?”

Atakk grows more agitated. He wriggles and backpedals, eyes scanning the many surrounding dark tunnels. 

Felice cups her hands around the back of her ears. Her twin answers for her, quiet and frowning: “No.”

Sorey’s eyes snap to the same tunnel Atakk’s does. “I think there’s--”

With an ear-piercing shriek, a giant mole-bat launches itself out of the shadows with mad flaps of its two, veined wings. Its mouth is open as it flies for their faces, teeth gleaming sharp in the dark. 

Rose yelps and squats low, covering her head. Eguille throws up his hands in front of his face. 

Dezel throws up a gust of wind that buffets the mole-bat, knocking it up and away before it can sink its teeth and claws into anyone. As if he had stirred a hornet’s nest, a dozen more mole-bats immediately drop from the ceiling and flutter together in a swarm. The mole-bats form a cloud of unearthly, cacophonous screams, gushing out from the tunnel and over their heads.

Atakk freaks.

Roaring loud enough to drown out the panic of the mole-bats, Atakk darts away from Lailah and Sorey’s hands, backpedaling in a mad haste.

“Atakk, wait--!”

Atakk thrashes against the walls, squirming and screaming. The bellows rising up from his chest augment the moment he realizes, beady eyes wide, that there’s no escape. There’s no sky. There is only the earth and this tomb and already, Atakk had been uncomfortable in this underground tunnel; now, it is suffocating and terrifying and Atakk wants out--wants out--wants out--

Sorey presses the heel of his hand to his temple with a quiet groan.

In a flash, Mikleo is at his side. “Sorey!”

“Calm him down!” It is perhaps the first time they have ever heard Dezel raise his voice beyond a murmur. “That damn dragon is going to bring down the entire ceiling if he--”

A sudden crack drowns out the rest of his words. It booms, reverberating throughout the underground cavern. Two more thunderous cracks follow, and then giant, lumpy chunks of rock drop. 

In a brilliant spin that fans out the ends of his black coat, Dezel jumps. 

It is the last thing Mikleo and Sorey see before they are flung to the side by a mighty gust of wind.

Dust fills the chamber.

o - o - o

Atakk’s screams have quieted into pitiful whines. His claws scrape and pull against the piled stone in front of them. Mikleo and Sorey hold onto each other with wide eyes, fingers fisting tightly in the dirtied blue other’s water-tribe wear.

It is so, so quiet on this side of the cave-in. It would be so, so dark without Sorey’s fire.

“Should we help him?” Sorey murmurs.

Mikleo can still taste a filmy, grainy layer of dust on his tongue, coating his mouth and drying his tongue. He shrugs weakly. “I’m not sure what good it would do.”

“Sorey! Mikleo!”

Sorey jerks up to his feet. He stumbles over to the mountain of rocks. “Lailah! Lailah, we’re here! We’re both here and okay!” With one last, meek wimper, Atakk collapses against the stone and slides down to the earth. Sorey swallows and bends to put his free hand on the side of his head. “What about you? Are you okay?”

“Oh, thank goodness! I was so worried!” There’s a pause before Lailah’s muffled voice reaches them again. “Yes! We’re all fine, thanks to Dezel’s quick thinking. I imagine you’ll learn that trick yourself sometime, Sorey!”

“Y-yeah…”

“In the meantime!” Rose’s voice drifts over. “It’s no use trying to dig through this. We’ll meet you on the other side of the tunnel, all right?” 

Mikleo’s presence is warm as he joins Sorey’s side. “The other side?” he sputters. “How?! How, exactly, are we supposed to find our way out when the tunnels themselves keep on changing! This is impossible!”

“No, it’s not! You just gotta trust in love, my dude!” Rose calls back. “Sing the song if you want! You know the words by now!”

“I’m not singing!”

“Then that’s Sorey’s loss!”

Sorey’s ears burn bright red. He thinks he sees Mikleo’s face tinged red, too--or maybe that’s a trick of the firelight still burning above the palm of his hand.

“You guys will be fine! Trust me! Or rather…” Rose pauses dramatically and then adds, “Trust in love.”

Mikleo groans and shouts, “Rose!” but Rose’s laughter grows distant. When he grabs at the stone and calls for her again, there’s no answer. “This isn't funny!” he adds and with a huff, he pushes away from the pile. “Fine. Whatever. If she’s going to be like that and we’re on our own, then we’ll just…we’ll…” 

“Mikleo?”

“C’mon, Sorey. I don’t think we’ve tried this tunnel yet.”

“O-okay. C’mon, Atakk…”

Atakk makes a pitiful sound but lifts himself from the ground to slunk after them.

o - o - o

The tomb is the last thing Sorey expects to find in these Secret Tunnels, but the one thing Mikleo was most anticipating. With help from Atakk, the heavy round stone blocking the entrance is shoved aside and immediately, eras-old, undisturbed dust wafts over them.

“Eugh. Gross.” Mikleo scrunches his nose up and coughs.

“But so, so cool,” Sorey breathes and when Mikleo looks to his friend’s profile and sees the wonder in his green eyes, he starts to smile.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I guess.”

Sorey turns to Mikleo to give him one bright grin, before he bounds down into the crypt. Mikleo follows.

In the antarctic tundra of the South Pole, Sorey and Mikleo have had little exposure to underground tombs and crypts and dusty rock walls covered with hieroglyphs. This feels like hallowed ground: two sarcophagi in the center of the chamber and two giant statues carved into the wall at the back, bent into a tender kiss. The ancient stones whisper stories to anyone willing to listen. Mikleo and Sorey have never seen anything like it.

“I think I want to keep this close to my heart,” Sorey murmurs, voice lost as if he were in a happy dream. “Y’know?”

“You want to keep close a tomb?” Mikleo chuckles. 

“You know what I mean!” Sorey huffs and when Mikleo has to press a hand to his mouth to keep from laughing more, Sorey turns away with a sheepish smile. “I just think there’s something so neat about this. We were so, so afraid of being lost forever in these tunnels and then, all of a sudden, we found something incredible. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Well, the timing surely is convenient.”

“Yeah. And maybe it’s silly, but I think if I weren’t the Avatar, maybe I would like to find more cool, forgotten things with old stories. I think I love exploring,” Sorey whispers. Mikleo watches him, something tightening in his throat as Sorey’s fingers trace the tragic romance of Oma and Shu on the cavern wall. “I think I love this.” 

Mikleo doesn’t know why his chest feels tight and at the same time so warm. Why is he, in turn, so happy to see Sorey so happy? Shouldn’t they be frustrated and hungry? Afraid? Why, of all things, is he only glad to hear Sorey talk about something he loves?

Because I think I--

Oh.

Mikleo’s breath hitches in his throat.

Oh.

Sorey doesn’t notice. His hand not occupied with keeping a fire going continues to trace the tragic romance of Oma and Shu. 

Mikleo’s fingertips brush his bare neck.

“Sorey.”

Sorey lifts his gaze from the wall. “Yeah?”

“I think…I think you should let the fire go out.”

“What?”

Mikleo turns around, violet eyes burning in the firelight like iridescent burgundy. Sorey can’t take his gaze away, not when his childhood friend looks at him with such intensity and certainly not when Mikleo presses himself so close to his side. Sorey feels his heart flutter high in his throat. 

“It’s okay,” Mikleo breathes. He gently takes Sorey’s hand holding the flame. Sorey turns bright red. “Let it go out.”

“Mikleo--”

“It’s okay.” Mikleo feels a thrill of pride at managing to sound so calm and so sure, so steady, despite the fireworks show his nerves are putting on at their close proximity. “It’s love. Right? The only way out is love. We have to trust it.”

“Okay.” Sorey swallows hard.

And there it is: the smallest tense of a slender eyebrow--a bend just near the curve of his eye--that probably tells Sorey a million things about what Mikleo is really feeling in this moment. Sorey has known Mikleo his entire life, far long enough to recognize what that flicker probably means, what that crack in the careful mask of his cool composure reveals:  that he is afraid, that he is nervous. That he isn’t sure about what is to come. Uncertainty has always put Mikleo at his most uncomfortable; he is a young man of careful planning and thoughtful action. Not spontaneity. He is not Sorey.

And yet, if he could be just as brave… 

“Sorey,” Mikleo begins, his voice soft and small. He can feel his own cheeks begin to burn. “...do you…love me?”

There’s a beat.

A brief snapshot of time where Sorey stares at Mikleo and Mikleo hesitantly raises his eyes to gaze back.

And then--

The fire goes out the same moment Sorey leans forward.

o - o - o

“Hey! You guys made it! See, I know you would!”

Sorey and Mikleo turn away from the dry valley ahead. Up in the sky high above, Atakk happily curls and uncurls, a slender, dark string sailing through the thick clouds at his leisure. His shadow passes over them as Sorey lifts a hand and jogs over to hug Lailah once she has slipped down from the giant badger-mole’s back. Over Lailah’s shoulder, he smiles at Rose and her Sparrowfeathers as they, too, descend from the back of two other badger-moles.

“You guys made it out okay, too!” Sorey passes a glance over them once the badger-moles have retreated into the tunnels. He can’t see any signs of injuries. “How did you get those badger-moles to help? That’s amazing!”

“We sang,” Rose says and puts her hands on her hips to sneer at Mikleo. 

Mikleo rolls his eyes.

“How about you two?” Lailah’s hand cups Sorey’s face. She tilts his head left and right and Sorey laughs. “You didn’t get hurt, did you? How did you get out of those tunnels?”

Sorey’s face reddens. “Well…” He looks to Mikleo.

After a long moment, Mikleo shakes his head. “That’s our secret.”

“Yeah, right. Ha! I bet you two--” 

Immediately, Eguille plants a hand over Rose’s mouth, dragging her by the arm ahead of the group. The bottom of Rose’s boots leave twin divets in the dirt as he marches along. “Let’s just all be glad we’re finally free of that spirit-forsaken Secret Tunnel and get on with our lives, yes? Yes,” he says.

“Agreed,” Dezel rumbles. He stops in front of Sorey. “Now that we are out of the valley, we should begin making our way for the Northern Air Temple. I will teach you airbending as we travel, but you should know that it will do you well to learn among your predecessors.” 

Sorey looks up to Dezel. “My predecessors?”

Dezel nods as if this is the end of their conversation and what he has said makes complete sense. He strides ahead. Lailah giggles and follows on his heels, motioning for Sorey and Mikleo to hurry.

Sorey looks to Mikleo.

Mikleo shrugs back and smiles. After a moment, he sticks out his hand.

Sorey takes it slowly and intertwines their fingers easily. Perfectly. Finding every space in between the other to weave and to hold. 

When they walk forward, it's together.

#tales of zestiria #zestiria #sormik #sorey #mikleo #atla au #fanfic: sorey #fanfic: mikleo #fanfic: sormik #it returns my friends #and a week early too bc i just recently rewatched this episode and was Inspired #mod krissey writes a thing #avatar sorey #i can't remember my tags rip

[istheresomebodywhocanimagine]

Tomorrow Never Came PT. 4

You have one job - travel decades into the past and save your mother from a horrible future. You can’t fail or you’ll have to start over again completely, and you have to act on your own. Already having broken rule number two, a new revelation forces you to reflect on how much impact you’ll truly have, not just on your mother’s life, but on other’s as well. 

Read PT. 1 here | Read PT. 2 here | Read PT. 3 here

(a/n: i wish i could have put more deacon in this ksdkfjsd i love him but it felt forced if i put too much in there. anyways big things happening here hehe ok not huge but still wild. im gonna go to a basketball game now pray that the nacho cheese is good bc im craving a walking taco)

“So you were just working and you heard this loud boom? That’s terrible!” Brian exclaimed, leaning forward from between you and John. His abnormally long legs were spread out, leaving you scarcely any room to sit comfortably as the six of you chatted away.

“Yes, it was quite terrifying, really,” Mary practically gushed, leaning over Freddie’s lap as they lounged on the floor together, Freddie’s back against the side of the chair Roger was casually seated in. “There were hundreds of us in there, I’d never learned any protocol on how to handle a bomb threat. Closed us down until a few days ago, the back room was in shambles!”

“Who did it?” you questioned, genuinely curious about who would have a beef with Biba in this day and age. That being said, you also knew this day and age almost purely in textbook definitions and whatever the limited scope of your world had to offer you in the last two months – so basically, you only knew 70’s Kensington.

“Wasn’t it the Angry Brigade?” John chimed in, rifling through a magazine lackadaisically as he spoke. “I think I read that they claimed it in IT.”

“What have they got to be so angry about?” you asked, Roger snorting and letting his head fall back against the chair as he rested a leg on Freddie’s shoulder, quickly getting it brushed off. Giving Freddie a sour look, he hooked his legs over the armrest instead, lazing back in the chair and getting extra comfortable as he began to speak.

“I’d be angry if I had horrid taste in clothing too. Imagine wanting to bomb Biba and thinking ‘Wow, I’m really letting those fashionable fuckers have it! Anarchy!’”

Freddie toyed with Mary’s hair as she draped herself over his lap completely. Smiling at the sweet gesture, you hugged your knees to your chest and rested your chin on your right knee, looking down at the couch in front of you and tugging on a frayed fabric.

“Well, at least you’ve got a job again,” Freddie directed at Mary, who nodded and smiled as she leaned into his hand that was running through her hair.

“And you’ve got a place to come pester me besides my flat,” she added, laughing when Freddie retracted his hand and gave her a resentful glance before crossing his arms. “I’m joking, I love when you come see me at work, lovie! Don’t stop playing with my hair, I like it.”

Rolling his eyes playfully, Freddie sighed before going back to running his fingers through her hair. You were observing their conversation all the while, so when they quieted, you looked up and found that Roger had also been watching them. He looked up and met your gaze, pretending to gag himself with his middle finger and making you laugh as you turned away from him.

“What’s so funny? Surely, it’s not Roger.” Brian’s tone held a sort of faux innocence, but he was clearly prying at Roger’s patience – what was new, though? In the handful of times you’d been around this rag tag group of friends for the past two months, they had tested each other’s patience in every way possible. Yet here everyone was, laughing and having a good time with each other over a couple bottles of cheap wine. You regretted that you didn’t get to spend more time with them – you used overtime hours at the café as an excuse, but you knew that it was mainly because you really didn’t want to cry any harder than you already were going to when you had to return to your actual reality.

“I’ll have you know, Brian, I’m a regular comedian!” Roger protested, taking a sip of his wine as he glared over the rim at the curly-haired giant next to you. “Y/N was laughing at me, in fact. Or maybe it was your pants, who knows?”

Brian looked down at his admittedly hideous trousers, a shitty shade of brown that did not compliment his skin tone well at all. On top of that, they were a horrendous pinstripe pattern, and they didn’t match the striped green jumper he had on. “I’d rather accept that than even entertain the notion that you were remotely funny enough to make anyone laugh.”

“Salty today, Brian?” you asked, giving him a gently nudge with your elbow and receiving a nudge in response as he chuckled, crossing his arms.

Suddenly, Roger was giggling gleefully to himself, playing with a kerchief he’d had around his neck as he seemed extremely amused by it. “Brian,” you thought you’d heard him mumble, and you raised an eyebrow as you watched his snickers intensify, making him squeeze his eyes shut for a moment. He was clearly enjoying something, and you were eager to know what was so funny about what you’d just said.

“Rog, what in the hell are you going on about over there?” Brian asked, doing the dirty work for you as you watched expectantly, Roger’s eyes raising to meet the gazes of both of you.

His cheeks reddened a bit and he nervously let his eyes fall back to his kerchief, fiddling with it. “Nothing, I just thought of something funny.”

“Let’s hear it then,” you encouraged, giving him a smile as he chuckled and glanced at you quickly, giving an almost ashamed smile while he tried to decide whether he should say it or not. He felt anxious, like he was under a microscope suddenly, and he knew that the joke he’d said in his head was cringe-worthy at best. But you looked so insistent and so supportive of him that he finally grumbled and dropped the kerchief to his lap.

“I was laughing because I thought you called him Brine.”

The look on your face faltered as you struggled to comprehend what he was saying. “You thought I called him Brian? Isn’t that his name?”

“No!” Roger whined, Brian cocking his head to the side and making Roger groan as he pressed a hand to his forehead. “I mean, yes, that’s his name! But I thought you called him Brine, like salt water brine, and I laughed because it’s salty and so is Brine. I mean, Brian. Damn it! It’s fucking funny, okay?” He quickly shot up out of his seat, stomping towards the kitchen as you watched, still just as confused as ever, but Brian was laughing.

“You ever notice how much faster he moves when he’s wrong?” Brian noted, and you couldn’t help but laugh as he rose from his seat, following Roger into the kitchen as he refused to pass up an opportunity to keep giving him hell. Today, and only today, Brian seemed to have time to keep up with Roger.

Keeping up with Roger any other day? Now that was a chore. As much as you tried to focus on the sole reason you were here in 1970’s London, you couldn’t help but be intrigued by Roger as an individual. He was an enigma, his motives, knowledge, and way with words completely baffling to you. With people like Brian, it was easy. Brian, although reserved, was very much an intellectual when he spoke, and he always had a sort of predictability to him. Sure, he was a wild man when he’d had a few pints, but not like Roger. Roger was a wild man every single day, and it excited you so much that it simultaneously exhausted you.

You were lulled out of your thoughts by the feeling of the couch sinking down next to you again, and you found that Roger was now seated next to you instead, in the midst of an argument with Brian.

“Brian, you’re just upset because you’re so clearly up your own arse that you can’t understand anyone else’s humor! Get a grip, mate.” Watching Roger, you observed as he glared at the taller man, who sunk down into the chair that Roger had been in just moments ago.

“Or you just have an unrefined sense of humor?” Brian suggested, his voice laced with the slightest bit of animosity as he tried and nearly failed to ignore the “up your arse” comment. When Roger rolled his eyes and began mocking him in a high-pitched, feminine voice, Brian scoffed and looked down at Freddie, who’d been watching the exchange quietly. “What a pathetic display. I’m genuinely ashamed God made me a man.”

“Yeah, well I don’t think God’s doing a lot of bragging either!” Roger spit back, fire practically shooting out of Brian’s eyes as his head whipped up so he was staring at Roger.

“You fucking wanker! You’re just showing off and trying to be all funny because Y/N is here,” Brian accused, his usually gentle hazel eyes brimming with hostility. Your eyes widened at the tension that settled between the two of them, a heavy weight in the air as you desperately looked at Freddie for some help. Freddie just shrugged, though, offering no assistance and pretending to ignore the petty argument as he braided a small section of Mary’s hair.

“Um, should I go?” you asked, pointing at the door as you glanced between Brian and Roger. Obviously, this tiff had something to do with you, and while you had no idea how, you figured it was best for you to just let them figure it out. Rising to your feet, you tugged your pajama shorts down before grabbing your glass of wine and padding off to Roger’s room as Roger yelled at Brian once again.

“Now you’ve done it, you big moron. You’ve scared our roommate out of her own room! God, you’re really something, Brian.”

Snickering at the fiery words, you shook your head and entered Roger’s semi-messy room, crossing over to the window and curling up in one of the two beanbags situated next to it. Tucking your legs underneath you, you sipped your wine and stared out at the twilight sky, a creamy semidarkness to the horizon that framed the city’s buildings. You could just see the outlines of the church across the street, which made you scowl as you imagined your mom’s haggard face, her head leaning back against that damned rocking chair, just sitting there motionlessly. “Fucking prick,” you muttered, the fleeting thought of your father and the two men from the church poisoning your thoughts, a bitter reminder of your current purpose.

“Yeah, Brian can be a bit of a headcase, but he’s alright sometimes.” You jumped as you suddenly heard Roger’s voice behind you, and you turned to look at him as he crossed the room and stood opposite of you, leaning against the window frame..  “Definitely a fucking prick, though.”

“Oh,” you breathed out softly, furrowing your eyebrows as you pushed all of your previous thoughts out. “Yeah, he’s mental. Funny guy, though.”

“Don’t say that,” Roger groaned, giving you a small grin before he looked out the window as well. “Fred wants you back out there. Says he’s got an announcement.”

“I suppose I better bless the room with my presence then, huh?” you teased, Roger chuckling and pulling you to your feet before letting you lead the way. As you exited his room, he tried and failed to ignore the way your pajama shorts were riding up, just revealing the curve of your ass beneath it. Catching his tongue between his teeth, he had a brief ‘Lord help me’ moment before it was ended all too soon by your hand reaching down to tug the shorts back into their original place again.

Following you out to the main room again, Roger resumed his spot on the couch next to you as Deacon chatted with Mary politely, quieting down when he realized everyone was there again. Brian shifted uncomfortably in the chair, avoiding looking at you or Roger as he waited for Freddie, who was now in the kitchen, to speak.

“Now that we’ve decided to take the band more seriously, I figured I should start taking myself more serious now too.” Freddie walked out with an envelope of things, pulling out what looked like a passport and handing it to Brian, then pulling out a few sketches and handing them to Deacon, who marveled at the artwork as Brian looked up at Freddie. There was an amused look on his face, and you listened curiously as they spoke while you sipped your wine.

“Mercury? Like our song?”

“Freddie fucking Mercury. Doesn’t that sound delightful?” You choked on your sip of wine, turning beet red as they all glanced at you. This was news. Freddie Bulsara was actually Freddie Mercury, standing right here in front of you, your roommate and closest friend for two months, and you’d had no idea. “Well, if you didn’t like it dear, you could have just said so!” Freddie laughed, handing you a paper towel so you could wipe the wine off of your nose.

You laughed nervously with him, cleaning yourself up as you stared up at him, still floored at this development. “Just went down the wrong pipe,” you replied quietly, in awe at the living legend who’d just handed you a paper towel because you were a moron who didn’t put two and two together for actual months. If that was Freddie Mercury, then this must be Queen. It had to be Queen.

Your suspicions were confirmed as Deacon handed the sketches over to Roger, who ooh’ed and aah’ed at them as he eyed the details. There was the Queen crest, and you felt dizzy as you realized how blind you’d been all this time. You were casually rooming with two rock legends and you thought you’d just been slumming with a few students that had side gigs as musicians.

“Mercury seems like a bit much, but then again, you are a bit much,” Brian taunted, Freddie tossing a pillow at him as he sat back down again, chuckling.

“Well, as some illustrious person once said, ‘You can tell a lot about a man by his name.’”

“You just made that up, didn’t you?” Brian asked, raising an eyebrow at Freddie, who laughed once again.

“Maybe. But I do stand by it, honest!”

It all made sense now. Your mom had been a huge fan of these guys – you, not so much, for you were admittedly out of touch with the 80’s and 70’s. But you very vaguely knew about them, and of course, the two remaining members were still bigshots as far as your country was concerned. John Deacon, the bass player who’d dropped off the face of the Earth in the 90’s, lounging at the end of the couch. Brian May, the guitar legend who’d once played on top of Buckingham, squinting at Freddie’s passport and turning it in his hands. And next to you, ogling at the newly designed logo for his band, Roger fucking Taylor, a legend as far as drumming was concerned and one hell of a singer from what your mom had said.

You’d never asked him about the band or about the name. You really had thought they’d just been playing in pubs for fun, which at this point, they might very well be. And you’d never been around to hear them practicing or talking about the band – you’d been too busy in your own little world of the café and the church that you hadn’t paid any mind to their musical work. Now, you realized that you very well should have.

“You want to have a look?” Roger suddenly asked, grabbing your attention again as he offered you the papers, which you accepted shakily. It felt like your head was spinning as you stared down at the iconic crest, the two lions that framed the crown and letter Q, which was topped by a crab. Two fairy women stared up at the Q from below, and a phoenix stole the show at the top of it all, encompassing the entire work and bringing it all around into one big individual crest.

“Don’t hog it, I want to see,” Brian complained, and Roger rolled his eyes as you took a deep breath and handed it to Brian, who switched you for the passport. There was Freddie, long hair, clean-shaven face. This was not the iconic Freddie photo you knew. You only knew Freddie from the mustache, from the unique voice. This was a young Freddie, an inexperienced Freddie – this was not the same rock legend that your mom adored back in the present.

Oh, God. “I need some air, I’m getting a bit overheated,” you murmured, handing off the passport to Roger, who glanced at you curiously before looking over the document with Deacon. Excusing yourself, you tiptoed back to Roger’s room and opened the window, leaning out as your heart sank in your chest, heavy with the weight of what you knew.

Freddie Mercury was dead long before you’d even been born. AIDs had prematurely ended his life, his career, and that was something that even you knew. A man you considered to be one of your best friends as of currently would be dead in 20 years, and there was nothing you could do about it. You couldn’t stay here for a whole two decades, monitoring Freddie, keeping him out of harm’s way. Who knew how he’d contracted the horrible disease? It could have been anything at any time. And that killed you inside.

On the other hand, you had to watch yourself. This was literally Queen you were talking about here - if you meddled any more than you currently were, who knows what kind of shit could happen to the band? How big of an impact were you going to have here? Anything you say could alter their path irreversibly. If it was bad enough, you’d have to restart your mission completely, setting you back months in your progress already. God, this is some Butterfly Effect-type shit. I miss Brooklyn 99 and not having an existential crisis every time I make a choice.

“Freddie asked me to bring this to you, I figured you’d be in here again.” Roger’s voice once again interrupted your train of thought, and you sighed as you waved listlessly at the floor next to you, leaving your head resting on your other arm in the window frame. “You alright? You’re not gonna keel over on me, are you? ‘Cause I’d prefer if you bit the big one in Freddie’s room.”

“Fuck off,” you laughed weakly, sliding back into the room and dragging yourself onto one of the bean bags as you picked up the refilled wine glass that he’d brought you. When you looked up at him, he shrugged and took a seat across from you, his legs tangled with yours in the small space. “Sorry for being a party pooper. Just have a lot on my mind, and I’m tired.”

“Well, you are working a lot,” Roger remarked, a worried expression crossing his face as he crossed his arms. He was undeniably gorgeous, even in the dark. The streetlights coming in from the window highlighted his face in a way that made his cheekbones seem even more prominent, his jawline sharper than usual, casting an angular shadow on his neck. Light played around in his eyes, making them paler but just as striking as he observed you with a concerned eye. “Maybe you should take some time off, you’ll catch your death if you don’t relax a bit.”

His words were sinfully calming to you, and you beat yourself up inside as you sipped at your wine glass, tearing your eyes away from his irresistible gaze to look out the window at the now-night sky. “No, I need to focus on work,” you murmured, an uneasy look passing over your face as you avoided his piercing gaze, refusing to falter. You had to focus. Your mom’s livelihood was in your hands. “It’s too important.”

“Are you not important too?” he questioned, making your heart race. You couldn’t help yourself – you met his gaze once more, chewing on your lip as the intimidating stare seemed to try and pick you apart, piece by piece. He was worried about you - this meant he was genuinely attached to you, and that terrified you. But you couldn’t help yourself once again - you had to pry. 

“I don’t know. Am I?”

PT. 1 PT. 2 PT. 3

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EDIT: HI IM SORRY I FUCKED UP THE LAYOUT ON MOBILE I LITERALLY HATE TUMBLR MOBILE WITH MY WHOLE BEING HAHAHAHAA FUCK

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #queen imagine #time travel #time travel imagine

[justdani14]

“Now no more talking ok?”

This is a prequel to lovehacks book one. Its something I've been mulling over in my mind for a while now. I'm a huge Dani and Mark shipper I love the best friends turned more story. This is a combination of clues that I've gathered from the books with my own twist.

Description: In the books you see a scene of Dani and Mark before they graduate he walks her to her dorm. They talk about how she's leaving, that he should come visit, they almost kiss but they get interrupted. All I keep thinking is what if he did go to New York and they did end up kissing and maybe more. It's in Marks pov

“No more talking ok” A couple weeks after graduation I find myself in my car finally entering the city of New York. It's been a long few days traveling cross country but I'm finally here. I follow the gps directions to her apartment. I've been driving for 10 hours today and I'm dying to get out of this car. The traffic is insane here, how do people drive like this? Duh Collins they use the subway mostly. Why am I even thinking about this? Is it nerves? It's just Dani she's my best friend why should I be nervous? We've known each other for years and spend countless days together and even some nights in each other's beds. Sleeping of course there's never been anything between us. I sound a little bitter about it even to myself. Ever since the night before graduation I’ve let more and more of those thoughts come. I use to be better at keeping them away. We almost kissed though and that was enough to break a dam in me. The dam that kept at bay the feeling I have for her. Feeling that I shouldn’t have for my best friend. Maybe I'm nervous because we're in New York away from everything we know and everything we're suppose to be.

Finally I reach her apartment and I send her a text that I'm here. I start collecting my bags and I scan the crowds for a familiar face. I catch sight of her and she takes my breath away. It's not like I forgot that she was beautiful but there's something about seeing her in person again. I can't even move, I'm sure I look like an idiot but I don't care. She finally gets to me and she wraps me in a huge hug. I hold her and breathe in the sent of her perfume. As we let go and I feel a small twinge of regret, get a hold of yourself Mark you have a whole week to hug her. "Come on Collins we don't have all day" she says as she grabs my hand and pulls me away. She leads me to her apartment building and I'm still in shock that I'm looking at my best friend right now. We make it to her apartment and she apologizes for it being so small but says her roommate Rylie won't be home all week. We order pizza and decide to stay in to catch up and I'm grateful it helps me feel more like myself around her. She tells me two days after I leave she'll start her new job and you should see how her face lights up when she talks about it. It makes me want to be excited about it but a part of me still aches that her dreams took her so far away. Why leave to New York? It was selfish but the question had lingered there for months. Her smiles makes me want to smile though and I do because I should be supportive.

The next few days we spend at museums and doing touristy things. We go to Central Park and visit Coney Island and it's the most fun I have had in a long time. After a couple days I confess to her that Amy and I are taking sometime apart. We’re not the same people we were when we first meet. Things have been hard with us and Amy wasn't to happy about me coming to New York to see Dani. She’s always made a big fuss about Dani and me being so close. She thinks it’s strange I'm using my savings to do this. Its worth it right? Yes Dani is worth it she always has and always will be. She frowns when I tell her about Amy. “Oh Mark I’m so sorry I know how much you wanted it work.” she says softly not looking into my eyes. She’s looking at her feet bitting her lip. Huh most be try not to say something but what? “What is it?” I ask her curious. Sometimes even I have a hard time figuring what’s going on in her head. She sighs “I just worry that you want it too much like your forcing it, that maybe it shouldn’t be so hard?” she looks at me expectantly. “I want you to be happy I need you to be happy best friend code one oh one.” she says with wide eyes. Well shit I need that too but I say “I think that too it shouldn’t be and I need you happy too why do you think I’m here?!” I make the goofiest face I can muster at her. She giggles “Ok Collins race you to the cotton candy stand!”. Thats just how it is for us, its easy sometimes we communicate without words. I don’t need to tell her in so many words that bummed about Amy but also a bit relieved. She already knows she just does because she always been there. She knows when to give me an out and am in. I don't know what I'm going to do without her.

Before I know it the night before I'm leaving comes and it's really bumming us out. We decide to have a couple drinks and that turns into a couple more. Before we know it we're stumbling back to her apartment. Its late but we fall into a fit of laughter on the her bed. The alcohol is weakening my resolve because all I can think about is kissing her. She’s just so beautiful when she laughs. I can't help myself I push a strand of hair out of her face. She stares at me with a look in her eye I saw right after graduation when we almost kissed. Would it ruin our friendship if we did? Would it make it better? All those doubts are gone though it’s just me and Dani. “Mark?" she says breathless. Is it from the laughter or something more? “Dani?" I say just as breathless. She moves closer to me and I don't dare move I don't want to break the spell. Before I know it she's holding my face in her hands as she bits her lip. She does that when she wants to say something but doesn't know how. I want to tell her that I need her to kiss me more then air right now. I want to say something to put her at ease tell her she can say anything to me. Before I can say anything she kisses me.

It's better then I ever could imagine it could be. It goes from tentative and gentle to passionate. Like all those years of pent up emotions bursting at the seams. The admiration, familiarity and love. I crush her close to me hoping its not a dream. I kiss her with everything I have hoping she can feel it all through the kisses. I run my fingers through her hair and she starts trying to take my shirt off. "Wait wait wait are you drunk?" I ask her breathless. Terrified that she is and she doesn’t really want this that I crossed a line. She stares at me like she’s staring into my soul. Her lips slightly swollen from kissing and her hair messy from me running my fingers through it. Her eyes are so wide oh no what have I done? “No do you want me to recite the alphabet back wards for you?” she laughs. “No that’s ok.” I say laughing. Relief washes over for so many reasons. I didn’t take advantage of her and it’s not just me that wants this? She smiles at me the smile that can bring a grown man to his knees. “Mark I need you I’m not drunk but I need you.” she says it in one breath. She looks so vulnerable I know how much it took to say that to someone. She doesn’t like to need anyone for anything. So I nod and say “I need you too maybe I always have.” then I clamp my mouth shut. I say no more not trusting my own voice afraid I’ll say too much and scare her away. “Now no more talking ok?" she says nodding. I nod too and and that our lips collide and we resume where we left off.

It’s like a switch goes off in my head. That insecure voice that tells me to be smart, to think things through shuts up. It’s just Dani its all Dani. The sent of her skin, the sound of her voice and the feel of her body. I methodically take off her clothes. Im finding it hard to concentrate when she bitting my lip. I moan her name as she kissing her way down. I eventually pull her up by her arm pleadingly I need all of her not just her mouth. I flip her on her back now it my turn. I need to kiss every inch of her and I do until she’s moaning and screaming my name. My name never sounded so good. I lay down next to her trying to catch our ragged breathes. She gently pushes me flat on my back and climbs on top of me. We share more delicious kisses as our hips move in perfect unison. The moans continue into the night until were breathing each others name through ragged breaths. We stay in this perfect bubble all night. We doze off and wake after a few hours to start all over again. After we’re done again we spend the rest of night in each others arms. It’s by far the best night of my life.

The next morning though reality starts to sink in. She’s not next to me when I wake up so I get up and look for her. I find her in the kitchen but before I can say anything to her she blurts out "I'm sorry." I'm sorry is not the words you want to hear after you sleep with a girl. I study her face she's staring at me and I'm thinking back on last night. Unless she was faking it then it was good for her so what was it why was she sorry? Then I see her bite her lip and instantly I know. With those two words her walls were up again. The walls that kept her safe from getting too close to any boyfriend in college. We all have our patterns and this was her's. In order to protect her self she puts walls up. I sigh instantly more tired then I’ve ever felt. Time to say what I know she needed to hear in order for her to live out her dream and salvage our friendship. ��I'm sorry.” I say feeling defeated. Was I actually sorry though? No not in the least bit what had happened was amazing. It was more then sex it was an extension of the connection we already share. She interrupts my inner monologue. "Mark please stop I started it you didn't do anything wrong." she said looking so sad. "Dani let's just forget about it ok?" Urgh I feel sick just saying it how could I ever forget about it? "Your right it was just a one time thing." she says with sad little smile. It’s working were going to be ok if I could just force a smile and make her laugh. "Well it was more then one time but sure a one time thing." I force the best smile I can and wait to see if it works. "Omg Mark stop!" She starts laughing and even though I hate it I laugh too. Huh it worked I must be better at pushing my feelings down then I thought. Maybe I’ve been doing it for longer then I was willing to admit. If I could keep it together for a little bit longer we might be ok.

The rest of the morning goes by in a blur of packing and before I know it it's time for me to go. She walks me outside and says "I guess this is your stop." Was it my imagination or did she sound wistful. I study her closely she's looking at me with a that sad smile again. Was she sad because I was leave or something else? I didn't have the courage to ask. I was too afraid of the answer or of ruining our friendship. We seemed to find a way to keep it together but it was fragile, breakable and I wasn't going to break it I refuse. The hustle and bustle of people coming and going on the street is distracting this isn't how I wanted to say goodbye. Suddenly I feels her grab my hand and lead me to a quiet alley. We stare at each other for a moment and I realizes that we are still holding hands so I pulls her into a hug. I feel her starting to cry against my chest and with all the strength I have left I forces myself not to. I blink away the tears I have to. We stay like that for a long time, until she's all cried out. She finally looks up at me a little puffy eyed but still beautiful. How could she still look so beautiful? Its like a knife though my heart. "What is it do I look like a hot mess?" she asks me. “Of course not you always look beautiful.” I tell her. I fell so tired a part of me just wanted to get in my car so I could stop pretending. She's still staring at me and blushing a little from my comment. "You better go, you don't want to get behind schedule.” she says. No we wouldn't want that would we? All I could muster was "right I guess this is goodbye." I say wistfully. Who was wistful now, I pushed the thought out of my head and hug her. Trying to commit to memory everything about her. “Take care of yourself” I say in a whisper. I kiss the top of her head, look at her one last time and start walking away. She stops me by grabbing my hand. "Wait Mark I love you, your my best friend and I'm going to miss you so much it's killing me.” she says it all in one breath. Like she was afraid that if she didn't say it fast she'd never get it out. So I hug her again and say "I love you too and I hate this so much." “Ok go before I start crying again!" she says with a half hearted laugh. I laughed too the tension gone for a moment, her laugh had a way of doing that. "Text me along the way and when you get there." she pleads. "I will." I say and that’s it I walk away and don't look back because if I do I know I would never leave. I put the bags in the car and go before I do something stupid.

I let the empty feeling wash over me, I welcome it. I had made it I was where I was suppose to be and so was she. She'd start her new job in a couple days and I’d start mine in a week. For now at least I would let myself feel bad. Id let regret, anger and sadness wash over me like waves. I let the tears come as I stare out the windshield silently, the words I never said to her choke me. I text her along the way give her updates. I'm still trying to hang on to what we had before we slept together. Four long days later I'm finally in San Francisco. I just moved into my new apartment a couple days before the road trip. I didn't know Cole that well yet but he seemed like an ok guy. I didn't know he'd become one of the best friends I’ve ever had.

“I'm home :)” I text her.

What more is there to say she was probably sleeping. My phone starts ringing and my heart jumps but it's not Dani it's Amy. What could she want? She calls again and again by the time I reach my apartment. There front and center is Amy and she runs to me and hugs me. I stiffness a little. Her arms and her should be comforting but there not. I push the feeling down. I puts down my bags and hugs her trying not to think of Dani. "Marky I missed you! Can we get back together please?” she asks me.

That was three years ago and since then I've found my calling at Zabble, made some amazing friends and rededicated myself to my relationship with Amy. I don’t know if part of it was that she'd been right about me and Dani all along. She never thought we could be just friends and she was right we couldn’t. Or maybe I just desperately wanted things to go back to the way they were. My friends say I'm a pushover, they'd call Amy names but they don’t get it. Sure Amy and I had changed since college but she cares for me. A part of me was still in love with who she use to be and maybe can be again. Why am I here at 1 o clock in the morning mulling everything over? Remembering New York with Dani and San Francisco with Amy. It comes in flashes the feel of Dani’s legs wrapped around my waist. The way she’d bite her lip and her infectious smile. Amy’s arms around me like she’s hanging on for dear life. Amy’s laugh and how her eyes light up when she talks about work.

I thought those feelings for Dani had faded it took time but they did. Or maybe I just hoped they had. It took a while to forget and in that time I kept Amy at bay telling her I needed to think. It wasn’t a lie but eventually I gave in to her. I needed to feel something that wasn’t Dani and Amy gave me that. Time made the memories fade but now Dani is here in San Francisco. She texted me a few days ago saying she was coming home. Home like it was where she should have been all along. Maybe things would have been different between us if she had never left. What is wrong with me?

Tomorrow was going to be a very long day if I don’t try to sleep. I roll over and think of New York again. The Statue of Liberty, cotton candy, holding her hand on a crowded street. The memories are faded around the edges but there still in my mind. I though I was free of them I spend less and less nights thinking about them. Until now that is, they come flooding back torturing me with guilt and hope. I roll over again as if that would knock the memory out of my mind. She had been such a big part of my life for so many years I reason. How could she not be in my thoughts? It means nothing. We did try to hang on to us and we succeeded for a while. It just didn’t work out in the end. She had some doctor boyfriend in New York and I was back together with Amy. We only randomly texted or emailed now. This last year has been more and more infrequent. We had our own lives now. So why am I feeling like this from just the thought of her being back in San Francisco?

#choices #playchoices #lovehacks #mark #dani #fanfic #markxdani #choicesgame #pixelberry

[dragonwitch77]

Shadow Girl (Prologue)

Once upon a time in a distant land far away, there was once a small kingdom. It was ruled by a benevolent king and his kindhearted queen. Under their rule and guidance, the kingdom prospered—

That means that the kingdom was doing well. And benevolent means well-meaning and kind.

The kingdom prospered under the king and queen. The years would go by and the small kingdom thrived. Everything seemed to be at peace in the small kingdom. But all was not well as everyone had hoped.

Outside of the kingdom, war raged as different nations—

Well they’re kinda like a kingdom but bigger and have a united history or common ground. Now as I was saying.

War raged between the different nations, fighting with each other with—

I don’t know what they were fighting about back then kiddo. People will fight with anyone if they feel like it. Now are you going to listen to my story or not?

The nations fought with each other, each side coating the ground with blood of their enemies and many innocents that were caught in the crossfires. With so many losses on all sides, the nations so realized that if one of them didn’t get any backup soon, then all would be lost. But no one wanted to side with anyone. They were all enemies! All except for one small kingdom.

The nations pleaded with the king and queen, offering gold, food, trade, knowledge from the furthest corners of the planet just so the small kingdom would side with one of them and turn the tide against the war. But, they would not budge. While they wanted to help, their people came first. War would not help the small kingdom. It would only bring destruction and death in its wake.

Not wanting to risk spreading the war to their kingdom, the king and queen rejected all offers and turned down all the requests to join the war. But this turned out to be a bad mistake. A terrible one.

The nations, angered by the king and queen’s refusal to fight, turned on the small kingdom.

They figured that since they refused to fight with them, they didn’t deserve to live in peace.

Lives were lost, villages were destroyed, and it continued to get worse as time went on.

The king, filled with grief on the turn of events on his once peaceful kingdom, begged for mercy from the nations. All his pleads fell on deaf ears and—

No I didn’t mean they couldn’t hear him kid. They just ignored him and didn’t care about how he felt. Yes they were big meanies and poopyheads, but war will do that to you sometimes.

His pleads fell on deaf ears and the nations continued to attack his kingdom. All hope seemed lost as the war went on, until one night the king received a visitor. The visitor was a curiously strange fellow to the king and spoke in a tongue that both seemed foreign and familiar to him. The visitor greeted the king like an old friend, showing compassion and condolence for the king in his current predicament he and his kingdom where in.

The visitor told the king that they were but a kind traveler who had wandered for many years and know of many things many did not. They told the king of stones that reached the stars, a sea made of sand, and a place where snow never ceased falling from the sky where the lights danced with colors. Fascinated by the visitor’s stories, the king asked if they could possibly know how to stop the nations from attacking his people.

To his delight, the visitor did. But not only did he know how to stop the war on his kingdom, they knew how to stop the war altogether! The king only needed to do four important tasks to end the war. The first was to find the strongest tree found in the sea of sand. The second was a gem found in the deepest caves of the rocks that touched the stars high above. The third was a carving knife that could cut and shape anything the wielder wanted. And the final was light of a full blue moon.

At once the king sent out his best men to track down the items required to stop the war, and in two months his men returned with the three items. Handing them to the visitor, the king and him men watched in awe and wonder as the visitor started to cut the strongest tree with the knife, cutting into it like in was nothing more than air. The visitor carved and shaped the wood down till it was a small wooden block the size of a humans head. He then asked the king to step forward, and with the knife carved the block, shaping it smaller and smaller till it was only a small piece of its old form.

Taking the wood and placing it near the king’s face, the visitor once again started carving with careful steady hands, stopping multiple times to place the block of wood against his face for making it into a perfect fit. Finally, the visitor finished his work.

The wood that was used from the strongest tree had been made into a mask! Made to fit the king’s face and his alone.

With the carving done, the visitor took the gem and gave the king very strict instructions.

“My king. With this mask it will grant your deepest wish and stop this war. But I must warn you. Only the light of the blue moon must this mask be bathed in and not by any other light of the moon. For if that were to happen, a dark force will be upon your kingdom far darker than what this war has caused.”

With his final words of wisdom, the visitor placed the gem on the mask, and right before everyone’s eyes the mask transformed into the most elegant mask anyone had laid eyes on. Handing the mask over, the visitor left without saying goodbye and vanished.

The king, mindful to what the visitor had told him, kept the mask hidden, waiting for the night of the blue moon to come. During his waiting the queen gave birth to their son—

Oh! Um! It’s uh-how to explain this to a two year old, uh, it’s-it’s-i-i-it’s when you come into existence and uh there’s the birds and the bees and-I-I’lllll tell you when you’re older alright? Can we just get back to the story? Please?

During his waiting, his son was born, and for the first time since the nations attacked, the king was overwhelmed with great joy. So much that he spent every moment with his new son.

Too much.

The king spent so much time with the boy, he completely forgot about the mask and the moon.

Once he realized this, it was too late. The blue moon had passed and the mask had not gotten even a single ray of its light. To make it even worse, the king’s spy told him of an upcoming attack that would surely kill them all.

The king fell into despair but suddenly remembered of the soon coming blood moon. The queen and his men begged him not to go through with the plan, fearing the warning the visitor gave and dreaded to even think what would fall upon them if the king went through with it. The queen even went far to hide the mask, but king found it and promised his dear wife that he would fix everything.

On the night of the blood moon, the nations were marching in for the final attack, ready to kill off what was left of the kingdom and its people. But before anyone could attack, the king came out on his best horse in his best regal clothes and the mask adorned on his face. He rode out to the edge of the kingdom, riding tall and proud.

The nations thought the king was surrendering, and laughed thinking how foolish it would be to stop them now. But they wouldn’t be laughing soon.

In the light of the blood moon, the mask started radiating with dark power that grew under the moon. The more the moon’s light shone down on it, the more the darkness grew until the kingdom and the nations could feel its power radiating. With a raised fist and an angry yell, the earth shook, startling everyone and terrifying many to flee for their lives. The ground cracked, splitting open and spreading apart like never before seen by the eyes of many.

Farther and farther apart the ground went away, shoving land away from itself to far corners of the world. But even when the last of the nations lands were gone, the ground still shook and the king was still yelling.

Fearing for her subjects lives, the queen ran out to him with the craving knife in hand. Her quickly formed plan was to break the mask, fearing what evil that now lurked there had taken control of her king. But to her despair, she could not reach her king on tumbling ground.

With a heavy heart, she called out to him and threw the knife at his face.

To her dread, the knife hit the mask. And her king.

With the mask now split, its evil was stopped, and the king was dead.

Heart broken, the queen ordered two of her men to take the two halves and hide them away so no one would find them. She never wanted the mask to fall into the wrong hands or see the grim reminder of what she had done.

Over the years everyone soon forgot about the mask and lived peacefully in their new kingdom that grew inside of a forest. The end.

“Wad bout the qween?”

He blinked, peering down at the two eyes staring back at him. “What?”

“The qween? Wad happened to hew?” The child asked again, sucking on her thumb.

“Hey, hey! What did I tell you about sucking your thumb kid?” He growled, pulling her thumb out of her mouth. “And well, not much to tell you about the queen kiddo. No one really paid her too much mind after what happened. I guess they wanted to give her some space to… help with what happened with the king.” Help in the form of grieving and dying of that grief years later, but he wasn’t going to let her know that. “Anyway, it’s bedtime kiddo! Off to bed with you!”

“Nooooo! No Bed Snawer!” She whined as she was scooped up and carried over to her plush bed.

“Snatcher kid. You’re getting close, but not quite there.” Snatcher ruffled her hair, taking pleasure in her whining as he tucked her in.

“But I’m not sweepy!” The child whined, though her argument was very weak as she let out a loud yawn.

“Oh yeah. VERY convincing kiddo.” Snatcher rolled his eyes, tucking the blanket around her carefully. “Come on. We agreed that we would have one more story then you’d go to bed.”

“But.” The girl tried to struggle to stay awake, but the comfy bed and Snatcher placing her Mr. Floppy Ears in her arms was making her tired. She snuggled her toy, looking at Snatcher with a pleading drowsy look. “One mowe? Pwease?”

Snatcher hummed, rubbing his head before sighing. “Alright alright. ONE more story. But you go right to sleep when it’s over kid!”

She nodded, snuggling deeper into her covers.

“Ahem. Once, long ago, there was a man and a woman. They were deeply in love with one another.” Snatcher gazed at the young girl, seeing her eyes drooping. She was already falling asleep, but he didn’t mind. He never finished this story with her. “Every day they spent their time together, loving and cuddling, talking about their dreams for the future.” Her breathing evened out as he went on, talking more to himself then to his sleeping audience. “But one day a fight broke out between them, and the man and woman changed. Forever.”

#ahit #ahit fanfic #ahit au #shadow girl #snatcher #hat kid #a hat in time

[jujywrites]

WIP Challenge

I got tagged by @kikithedeceiver to do this!

Challenge: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.

Here’s the thing. I don’t have many separate WIP files; most of them are in one huge doc. and most of the separate wip files are... pretty dead? but ok whatevs. under a read more since it’s long...... and my ego won’t let me skip snippets hjkhkhk thanks for the idea Kiki

From my main miscellaneous folder:

50 Grades of Steele. 1 and a half chaps of a role-flipped 50 Shades of Grey rewrite (i haven’t read the books so I extra don’t care about the characters lol). why do i still have it i’ve lost interest.... *side eyes her entire wip ecosystem* ...Then I see my interview subject, seated at her desk.

"Mr. Grey. I'm pleased to meet you."

And I stop breathing. [end CH1]

[open CH2) I forgot to mention something: I exaggerate occasionally. But I'm not now. I literally stop breathing for a few seconds. A thousand thoughts are racing through my mind, which doesn't help my chest stop seizing, but the main problem here is that Anastasia Steele is quite possibly the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.

Fanfic idea masterlist. my most active file and where I keep most of my WIPS, unless they get too “large”. Organized by fandom. lotta stuff i keep passing by & may as well be dead but don’t wanna delete. here’s a zero-draft snippet of probably the next chapter of my G-rated yukyoru fic collection

He grabbed a pillow and placed it to his chest, grabbed her arm, and yanked her to him, praying his idea would work.

Seconds passed and he didn't transform. He put his arms around her gingerly. Should he try to immobilize her or would that make it worse?

She made the decision for him. "Mom," she sobbed, clutching him with an iron grip. "N-Need to help...!"

His stomach dropped to his shoes.

Thudding footsteps announced Yuki's arrival. "What's wrong?! Honda-san--"

He didn't say "What did you do?" The thought raced by and Kyo said, "Grab a pillow and help me!"

As Yuki positioned the pillow and himself without having to ask, Kyo said, "She won't wake up. I don't know what to do!"

"Night terror," Yuki said tightly. He was too close but it almost didn't matter. "Not much you can do besides wait."

MayxWard BDSM fic agents of SHIELD. mix of notes and actual writing. kind of a half AU. Melinda climbed into the driver's side and buckled in, then started up the car. "If you've not ridden on the left before you might have motion sickness. It's normal. Just close your eyes until—" She paused as she looked at him; his hands shook so much he couldn't manage the seatbelt. "Here, let me."

"Thanks," he muttered with a sigh, looking rueful.

Modern AU Zelink. What it says on the tin~ Teenage-ish Zelink, with a mash of supporting characters from other games. another mix of notes and fic. Link wasn't sleeping tonight. Tonight was the night he'd been planning for and awaiting for weeks. He was going on a quest: the quest to meet Princess Zelda. 

She wasn't really a princess, of course. That was just her nickname. Zelda Nohansen was Hyrule's sweetheart, the most sought-after young actress in the movie business. And Link had fallen in love with her the first time he'd seen her, two years ago in a tiny theater in Kakariko.

PMMMfic homumado. Madoka Magica. AU, been around since about an hour after I finished the series (5 years yikes, still gotta watch Rebellion). Homura's time power still somewhat involved, but Mami's an adult, everyone's at a boarding school (I think?) where ~things aren't as they first seem~ and Madoka has mysterious powers and night terrors. just notes at the moment.

SoubixHitomi.  Loveless. 3 unfinished/dead first-person Shinonome-senseixSoubi snippets, all of ‘em spicy.

yvy abo. Yuri On Ice. Yuri (Katsuki!!)/Victor/Yuko(!!?!), my attempt at. well. omegaverse(!!!!!!!). orignally started as part of a “bad YOI fic” bigbang and now I’m taking it seriously dgdgfg. Alpha Yuko. “Please, please stop,” she whispered, like saying it aloud would make any difference. But the pressure in her head kept building. Her limbs had begun to itch restlessly.

And Victor wouldn’t let go of her hand.

With the last scrap of her control, she straddled him quickly and kissed him awake.

Even in half-sleep he arched to meet her, and when he opened his eyes sapphire blue had already turned stormy with lust.

yvy canonfuturefic. Yuko-focused following of canon, or: how canon can I keep YOI while still rareship OT3ing it. She and Yuri fall in and out of love, in between falling for Victor. Victuri is still my life I swear   

“You have got to watch this,” she tells Yuri. She watches Yuri’s face instead of the video, having seen it at least forty times by now.

Yuri’s eyes transform into beacons of awe, and Yuko swallows around her rapid heartbeat, breaths coming too short. She sees everything she’s feeling and more on his face. She remembers that she loves him, that he’s real and here and more important than the beautiful boy on her phone who’s trying to pull her under to a scary new world.

ZnT ot3 bdsm AU. Zankyou no Terror, 9/12/Lisa. mix of notes and fic, not just PWP. in heavy need of editing bc a lot was inspired by a non-spicy book.

“But it’s not just me. It’s everyone. You need everyone because you have no idea how to need yourself. Or even how to be yourself.”

“You’re wrong.” The force and volume of her voice shocked her and pushed her onward. “You and Touji. I don’t need anyone except you and Touji! Because you both taught me how to be myself-- no, how to find that on my own. I know exactly who I am, and that me isn’t complete without both of you!” She could feel the tears streaming down her face, yet somehow her voice didn’t waver. She felt so full of conviction she could burst into flames. “Don’t you understand, Arata? We’re all meant to be together.”

From my SnK folder:

Cave of the Crystal Maiden (working title). Aruani. Modern AU. MMORPG shenanigans with a dollop of magical realism/supernatural. Just notes. @portraitofa-girl suggested “meeting online” and it’s been there literally for years oh lord im sorry. no fic yet, just notes.

Falling Anthem (working title) Modern AU Levihan, art student Hange and young professor Levi. just notes. fic one in a planned series. also has been years ;_;

Raindrops and Soft Steps. Jearmin. unsurprisingly, modern AU. One morning, when Jean looks out of his bedroom window, he sees a boy dancing across the street. In the street, to be exact. There wouldn't be anything unusual about that, Jean supposes, except it's raining cats and dogs outside.

In my IAMXfic folder (fff i almost skipped this):

2ndPOVCalberto (DO NOT CORRUPT WITH HET) ChrisxAlberto? not much to say?? yes i know they’re real people??? which applies to everything after this oh my god *crawls under desk* Of course she knows; she is annoyingly perceptive when it comes to romance. The only thing preventing you from asking her (like a fucking lovestruck teenager) if Alberto likes you back is emptying that beer bottle. By then the only thing on your mind is ordering another.

CalbertImmi. i can’t even keep my poly shit outta RPF ahaha omhg Imogen has a conversation with her lover's lover. (AlbertImmi, sequel to...) Imogen finds herself in an unenviable position. (emerging CalbertImmi)

Alternate summaries (CC POV, first fic?): Chris loves two people. He doesn't want to choose. Chris has fallen in love a few times in his life. But he's never fallen for two people at once. (Chris also isn't good at choosing.)

ChrisxJ. several self-insert fics bc CC is just that powerful, apparently. haven’t looked at the file in a long time,,,,,

He started calling people to the stage with him, and one by one, my row emptied.

"Come on, yeah, come on," he was saying, waving his hand in an inviting gesture and grinning like a little kid. "Hey, you want to?" I did a double take.

"Me?" I mouthed, pointing at myself just to be sure. He nodded, smiling wider.

So it was that I walked unsteadily down the ramp and waited in line, feeling like I didn’t belong there. Soon I was next in line. What would I say? What would I do? I was sure if I opened my mouth I’d either burst into tears or faint.

Genderswapped IAMX sci-fi. The sci-fi was inspired by a word prompt, genderswapping by my own brain. (play spot the Immi lmao) Across the aisle, Sam rolled his eyes. “Leave Chris alone; she’s nervous.”

“And put on your own seatbelt, Johann,” shouted Jess, two seats back and in Sam’s aisle.

Patrick turned  to look at Chris. “Subspace travel is a bitch,” he said simply, and turned back to his book.

“Oh, I feel much less nervous now,” Chris said with a sardonic grin. “How do you know that, anyway?”

"I'm not exactly what I seem to be." He didn’t look up.

Chriimmi (While I Was Gone inspired). Chris/Imogen, inspired by scenes from Sue Miller’s While I Was Gone.

"You really ought not to do that, you know," he said softly.

"Do what?"

"Sneak up on me."

My eyes slid from his face. "I didn't mean to. It just... happened."

"Mm." I glanced back at him; he wore a lopsided smile. "Not that I minded." The tension was so strong the air nearly vibrated with it, yet I held my tongue, terrified that I was the only one feeling it. He took a breath, deep, nearly rising on his toes. "No. I didn't mind at all." He took my hand, circled his thumb over the back. My breath caught as I felt it, as I watched him looking down at our hands.

Chriimmi bathtub dream. dream inspired Chris/Immi smut.

Chriimmi twitter. twitfic plus some, inspired from an actual tweet iamx made that i’m still not over. 

@ imogenheap Come sing your lovely lyrics with us in London. @ IAMX misses you. CCx

ChrisxImmi main. grab bag of Chriimmi I was too lazy to put into separate docs.

“What do you think?” She grinned, twirling.

He cleared his throat. “Ah, I-Imogen, what are you wearing?”

“Well, I didn’t want to clash with your theme…  Janine helped me. Does it work?”

Scandalously short skirt, midriff-baring top, knee-high boots.

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you? You’re trying to fucking kill me.”

Her grin only widened, even though a blush had started.

Fic edit chriimmi ver. yeah. editing someone else’s original fic to be chrimmi. either never posting or editing the frick out of. ~_~

He kissed her neck, whispered into it, “I love you.”

Imogen laughed. “Bollocks,” she said lazily.

”I do!” Chris protested. She looked down at him, nestled on her shoulder. He looked back, open, a little adoring. “I fell in love with you halfway through the show; I sang every note just for you.”

”Oh, please. You couldn’t have seen me.”

”No,” he said. “But I knew you were out there… I knew it had been you the minute I saw you backstage.”

Hospital Chriimmi. In which my guilty feeling over RPF are even worse bc of the inspiration ^_^U “Ms. Heap. What a pleasant surprise.” It’s surprising, how well she remembers his voice.

“Mr. Corner, what have you got yourself into?”

“Oh, just a bit of lingering insomnia. You know how it is.”

She takes a seat in the chair near his bed, crossing her legs. “Well, I’ve certainly had a sleepless night here and there, but I’ve never ended up in hospital from it. So no, I don’t suppose I do know.” Her tone is light, but her smile has begun to crack.

ImmixChris genderbend smut. the my secret friend video is... fertile material. have not actually written the smut yet.

...he saw us as characters– we put on those clothes and become separate from ourselves, removed. Whereas I simply felt like myself in men’s clothes, and instead of feeling what He felt for Her, I just kept right on feeling what I felt for Chris, amplified to a distracting level.

ReluctantdommeImmixSubCC. ...shrug emoji? notes and uh. visualizing.

Vampire Chriimmi. based on a dream. smutty. inspired by True Blood so wow that’s old.

From my Markipairings folder:

demon dream. markiplier self insert...... ughhhhhhhh o///o

"You can have me," I tell the creature. "But this one," I jerk my head toward Mark, "comes with me. He's mine, you see." A bold proclamation to make, but in the moment I know that the truth in those words surpasses everything I've ever said. He is mine, and saying the thought out loud fills me with courage. He squeezes my hand, two short and a long one so strong I think he might break it.

I know we’ll win.

DommeJujY. same as above, same as the next four. smutty.

Fight team AU. i forget where i got this one from. vaguely inspired by loveless i guess.  The first clear thought I had was, He shouldn't have gone ahead of me. The second one was, I should have been able to protect him. But these came later, after the rage went away, after I hugged him and apologized, after I bandaged him…

Gaming meetcute. i win some contest or whatever to secretly tagteam w/ Mark. stuff happens and yeah......

The adrenaline surges through my veins as I take in the scene. Mark's avatar is flailing around, backed into a corner by some Eldritch Abomination and holy shit, the graphics in this game are amazing.

"This is not good, I can't move, I can't move…"

There's a voice in the back of my head screaming to shut the game down, to get that horrible thing off the screen. I ignore it.

Markinpanties. .......smut.

shifter-slight sci-fi AU. shrug emoji.

I looked up from the ground and saw I was heading straight for a brick wall. There was no time to slow down. I braced for impact...

It didn't happen. I opened my eyes and found myself in a café.

What.

Looking behind me, I saw a door. On impulse I walked over and opened it; the tree-lined street I could see through the glass was indeed there. No brick wall to smack my face into. Bewildered, I turned around and looked for a seat, choosing one near a window.

Gouldiplier~. master doc of ficbits of my cracky mccrackship, MarkiplierxEllie Goulding.

I check my phone during break time again. My selfie has been liked and retweeted thousands of times, and I shake my head in disbelief; I don't think that will ever stop surprising me, deep down. To make things even better, Mark's liked it! I'm in the middle of a happy jig when I realize there's a text from him and a squeak of joy slips from me.

hellooo gorgeous

looks like you're having fun. Hope the shoot's going great! <3

I quickly send a reply. it has been. Be glad when it's done tho. Missin u lots xo

Markipicbunnies. fanart of Mark for Gouldiplier insipration. photographer au. 

"Ms. Goulding, I'm really not sure about this…"

"I produce pictures that are intimate because I'm an intimate being, Mark." Ellie looked at him directly, a hint of a smile shaping her lips. "Deep down, I think you are too. We just need to draw you out a bit."

showersexgouldiplier. WELP. IT’S SMUT.

Also I have folders for my 2010/11 nanowrimo novel that are kinda still WIPs but also kinda not

i’m gonna tag.... @kippielovesyou @kiridork and @mistergrass and anyone else who wants to do this can too :3

#JujYwrites #Mintyblather #i have too much stuuuffffff

[pixelz01]

Is Roca dead? If so, how and why? She seemed so nice and a wonderful mother.

Oh boy this is kind of a long story so be patient with me

Roca as we know was the leader of a clan of shape shifters the shadow clan she had a husband and a son but what was her life before this?

Roca was originally a normal shape shifter she lived with many other shape shifter under one clan just known as shifters The clan was peaceful and was known to the outside world as a fare and just people with many gifts some shape shifters even left the clans to join regular society and some became heroes but also villains

But there was trouble brewing in this clan as other shape shifters thought they were better than others these people formed groups and would attack anyone who disagreed with them this led to many deaths in the clan and had started riots and even more groups to pop up and attack now which group started all this mess you may ask well it was none other than the earth clan or as they were known at the time the green lotus

Soon the riots and groups soon turned into a war and the clan was separated into four groups the earth clan the shadow clan the fire clan and the air clan

Before the war had started Roca was very good friends with the soon to be leaders of the clans one of them the leader of the earth clan alani was madly in love with Roca but Roca never felt the same way about her and when Roca married Tirich this left Alani in rage and heart broken and as time moved on after the war the more and more alani became bitter and cruel Roca after the war became the new shadow clans leader and had become a wife and a mother but Roca was an adventurous soul and she would often visit the outside world and discover new things and meet new people she has been everywhere the danger zones neo riot city you name it she’s been there this is where she met one of the heroes from P.O.I.N.T silver spark Roca had been having traveling when she was attacked by a group of monsters and since she had been a few months pregnant she was weak and while she could handle herself and if in any other situation would have been able to beat the crap out of these baddies she couldn’t risk her unborn child from getting hurt her husband had warned her of this even insisting on goings with her but Roca was unfortunately stubborn and decided she could handle anything that came her way but when the actual thing came this was a wake up call to her that she’s not invincible that she was being cocky and didn’t consider the conuqences Roca was able to knock a few out but was cornered just as she was about to be slaughtered a sudden flash zoomed by and the first beast that pounced towards her had been defeated and there who stood before her was a woman with huge blonde hair wearing a heroes uniform “you okay miss?” The woman asked Roca only nodded and with that the woman had defeated the creatures Roca thanked the woman for saving her and the woman introduced her self as silver spark she asked the reason as to why she was out on her own and in the danger zone of all places and Roca had explaned her nomadic habit and once again apologized silver spark said it was fine and that saving folks is what she does that and she was actually on her way back to point from a solo mission and offered to take her home Roca gladly accepted the offer and was escorted home While walking silver spark found out that Roca was pregnant and was expecting soon this was very exciting to silver spark she had always wanted a child of her own one day and had started to ask questions about Roca’s child like the gender or what Month Roca gladly told her that she was expecting a son he was to be born on July And soon they made it back silver spark let Roca know if there was any trouble or if somthing happend to her child or her clan to let her know and to inform p.o.i.n.t at any time and she then left Back at point there had been rumors that shape shifters were starting trouble in nearby cities and villages there had even been a murder committed by them this had left point to go investagate each clan and one of these investigators was a new recruit golden Leaf she was a short tempered heroic woman she was a bit full of herself but she always had her heart in the right place Golden Leaf was a fairy who’s powers came from the earth she could manipulate plants and the forest along side her for the investigation was silver spark volunteering to prove the shape shifter innocent golden leaf on the other hand knew they were guilty and had to be pushished for there crimes It was July 18th when swift was born it was the happiest day in Roca and Tirich lives there son was born the future leader of thier clan was here Rocas pride and joy had finally come to her she was the happiest mother alive she would love and protect her child no matter what and raise him to be a strong caring person yes this was truly a time of joy for the shadow clan But that would all end Two years later more and more attacks claimed to be by shape shifters had appeared more and more and more people were losing thier lives the shape shifters had gotten themselves a bad reputation and many were placed on pow cards in the negative even though all clans had denied being a part of these acts p.o.i.n.t still kept the investigations going even arresting many shape shifters but one day the proof That point needed for shape shifters to be guilty cameA woman of golden hair covered in cuts and stab wounds burst throught the doors of point crying out for mercy claiming that the shadow clan had dystoyed her small village Killing every one in thier path she held up a small torn up cloth with the clans insignia on it and the rest was history when shown the village corpses and crumbled homes was all that was seen and the clans flag was raised Over the pile of corpses iN the middle of the town This enraged golden leaf and shocked silver spark she couldn’t understand this she had gotten to meet these people there leader heck even the leaders son they couldn’t have done this but the evadence was all there and soo point had joined together and had gone to the shadow clans village and had attacked taking in many shape shifters into custody and unfortunately killing some while fighting Rocas husband was killed while trying to save thier son Roca was badly injured and and run away from the village trying to reach another clans home for help but she was stopped by A wall of vines there a woman stood behind her golden leaf had stopped her in her tracks Roca was terrified she needed to escape no… she needed her son to escape she had him covered with her cape so golden leaf couldn’t see much of him so she had thought Roca had kidnapped him and had ordered to give the child to him Roca was outraged she would never this was her baby and like hell she would give him up and so Roca fought for her and swifts lives but golden leaf had got her tied too a tree a took her son Roca tried to untangle herself but she couldn’t she cried out in agony “MY BABY GIVE ME BACK MY BABY!!! “ but her cries were ignored but before golden leaf could leave Roca had broken out of the restraints and and lunged at her her body forming into a hidious and frightening monster this terrified golden leaf and she in a seconds noticed summoned a sharp thick vine to shoot out of the ground and it had hit Roca in the abdomin a horrifying wail of pain echoed the forest the words of curses and of Rocas child were yelled and soon Roca died while memories of her life and of her son played in her head a memory of silver spark and her kind words played once more as she succomed to her injuries “if you or your son are in any danger just let me know im part of an organization point were heroes so you’ll be safe with us!” “S-swift… I’m sorry mama… loves….y-”Roca died she was never able to say goodbye swift then started to cry golden leaf look down at the child lifting the hood of the Cape to see that the child looked exactly like Roca golden leaf screamed in horror what had she done! She just killed a mother she… she was a monster!! Then the sounds of feet running came it was silver spark “golden leaf wait! The whole thing was a lie the village was a fake the corpses are gone! The woman had fled shape shifters are innocent they-”Silver spark had froze in her tracks she couldn’t belive her eyes her friend Roca was lying dead with a vine through her abdomin and her comrade with blood on her hands and the child of Roca

Silver spark ran to golden leaf and took swift from her trying to calm the baby down golden leaf had fled leaving silver with swift A few months had passed and swift was put into foster care and golden leaf had returned to point silver spark was very cautious of her but golden leaf had gotten on her knees and begged for forgiveness golden leaf then told carol she was leaving point for good and that she would be adopting swift as a way to make up for what she had doneAnd that’s it sorry its so long

[odderancyart]

The Cherry Chronicles pt. 5

AO3

First Last Next

Warnings: Past abuse, PTSD, Self-hatred

Summary: Another Sans appears in Underfell. The only problem, except getting him home, is that this one’s showing signs of abuse, and is terrified of Papyrus. 

The two familiar faces were staring at him. Frowning.  Eye sockets dark. Not that terrifying blankness, lifelessness, but dark. Cherry shook, and he felt sweat drip down his face. His mind was in shambles. He hadn’t even been able to focus on the food out of pure nervousness and fear of what was to come. His breathing was short, it coming in gasps. He clawed on the floor, trying to find something to hold onto. The carpet. Gathering it in his claws he focused on the texture. It was soft. Much softer than the carpet at home. That carpet was covered in blood – mostly his, but others’ as well, like that bunny kid – and had stiffened a long time ago.

“e-everythin’?” he managed to ask, almost proud he only stuttered a little. Cherry bowed his head and stared on his legs. That way he only had to feel the gazes on him, not see them. It was a little better. There was a short silence. Then:

“NO,” Boss said, almost carefully. “YOU CAN START WITH TELLING US WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT YOUR PAPYRUS.”

Cherry’s dim eyelights glowed a little brighter. He smiled slightly, despite the trembles wracking his body at the mention of his Boss. He took in a winded breath and forced himself to look up at the native brothers.

“Boss i-is th’ coolest,” he began. Strangely enough Sans exhaled at that. He seemed relieved. “th’ li-lieutenant of th’ royal g-g-guard, ‘n’ a favourite o’ ‘is majesty. undyne's g-got nothin’ on ‘im. th’ only reason she’s not d-dust and Boss isn’t th’ c-captain is that Boss respects her. c-completely ruthless and merciless. th' st-strongest, ‘cept for ‘is majesty, o’ course.”

His breathing had calmed and his soul was no longer trying to beat its way out of his chest. Talking about how awesome Boss was he could do all day. If he didn’t have to mention himself. Just thinking about having to talk about how pathetic he was made Cherry start to sweat again. Everyone knew it, he couldn’t understand why they kept making him say it.

“AND WHAT DOES YOUR BROTHER THINK ABOUT YOU?”

Sans listened as Cherry spoke about his brother. He grinned, recognizing himself in it. The comment about Undyne was almost a little worrying, and so was the ‘merciless’-thing, but in the end, it could be chalked up to their world. It seemed crueller than theirs. Otherwise, it was so familiar it almost wasn’t funny.

He felt shame travel through his spine, and he shivered. Tears formed in his eye sockets and he had to fight to keep them back. He was such a crybaby. Boss hated when he cried. Unless it was during punishment, during those he seemed to appreciate tears. Boss once said that covered in bruises and tears and blood were the only times Cherry wasn’t disgusting to look at. Ever since, he had almost wanted to be punished. Just to please Boss. Almost.

He swallowed. Cherry closed his eye sockets for a short moment. Just to buy himself some time before he had to tell this version of Boss and himself how revolting he was.

“m-m-me?” He let out laugh and hunched his shoulders. “i-i-i’m a b-bother, a-a l-loathsome waste o’ sp-space. o-only good as a p-p-punchin’ b-bag ‘n’ ‘a-ardly even th-that. w-weak, ‘n’ annoyin’ ‘n’ u-ugly t’ l-look at. th' only r-r-reason 'm n-n-not e-exp is B-Boss’ s-se-sentimentality. he's told me that enough times for it t’ be clear.”

As he spoke, the others two monsters’ expressions grew more and more horrified. That was the only word Cherry had to describe them, and it didn’t fit at all. It wasn’t logical. Why would they look horrified? It was only the truth. He forced himself to take deep breaths. He flinched and whimpered as both of them suddenly were in front of him. Way too close. Only decimetres away. He wanted to recoil, but that would certainly anger them even more. Cherry felt a tear drop down his cheek, and furiously wiped it off with his sleeve. Why did he have to be such an embarrassment?

“hey, yer no…” Sans began to say, only to be interrupted by a loud knocking on the door. Cherry jumped high at it, and whimpered again. Boss swore loudly.

“THE DOGI. THEY’RE HERE TO LEAVE THEIR WEEKLY REPORT,” he stated. His brows furrowed and his mouth was a tight, edgy line. He trembled more at that, Boss seemed mad. “I COMPLETELY FORGOT. SANS, GET CHERRY INTO YOUR ROOM OR SOMETHING, THEY CAN’T SEE HIM. BE BACK AFTER.”

Cherry flinched as hand quickly grabbed him, and he felt himself getting dragged into the Void. It did not feel good. Taking shortcuts were one thing, but being a passenger was truly awful. Within seconds he was sitting on the floor of a familiar room. Except his one was dirty in a way his hadn’t been for years. Boss detested how he let his room get messy.

He didn’t anymore.

“stay ‘ere, be quiet,” Sans ordered him before leaving him behind. Cherry nodded, despite the other’s back being turned to him, and curled into a ball on the dirty rug.

“y-yes, sir.”

Don’t move and stay silent. That was the only order he managed to follow most of the times. Not always though. Sometimes he was in so much pain or his nightmares got so bad that he simply couldn’t. He wasn’t even able to always follow such a simple command.

He was so repulsive.

Sans’ frame shook as he closed the door behind him. This was all kinds of wrong. He didn’t want to believe what this was implying. He didn’t… A Papyrus couldn’t be so terrible. Not toward his Sans. Yet…

Was there another conclusion to draw here?

To hear and see someone who looked so much like himself filled with so much self-hatred was horrendous. He wasn’t the most self-loving monster Underground, but this kind of disgust for oneself was something new entirely. Not even growing up in New Home he had seen something like it. And he had seen all kinds of things there. Sans took a couple deep breaths to steady himself. His hands were trembling. He quickly shoved them into his pockets. The dogs were here. He couldn’t break down now.

He put back the lazy, threatening grin on his face and went downstairs.  Acting confident when not feeling like it was the first thing they had been taught as babybones. Their key to survival.

The dogs yipped in greeting as they saw him. They lowered their heads in submission but wagged their tails to show they were glad to see him. Sans chuckled, petting Lesser’s head as he walked by. They were good dogs, despite the climate of their world. Sans’ hand froze for a moment as he wondered how the Dogi was in Cherry’s ‘verse. He had been terrified of them as well. Lesser threw him a questioning, almost worried, gaze. Shaking his head slightly Sans smirked back. No worries. Lesser licked his hand.

“WELL,” boss said as they all had taken their usual seats. The dogs saluted. “REPORT.” Dogaressa, as the leader of the unit, immediately stood. She began to go through everything that had happened in Snowdin the last week. Most of it was things they knew already. Sans yawned, but his brother nodded as she spoke. Ever the dutiful soldier. The food transport had come safely – duh. Some criminals from Hotland had tried to rob the shop and had been dusted.  A brawl had broken out on Grillby’s. Sans had been there, encouraged the whole thing. He grinned at the memory. It had been hilarious to watch Grillby throw them out and give them a month’s ban from the bar.

As soon as she had finished and Boss had nodded his permission, she sat down again. The dogs sniffed the air, looking slightly disturbed.

“Is other Sans okay?” Dogamy asked. His ears were pressed closely to his head.

“This place smells of fear.” Doggo added, lifting his nose into the air for good measure. The brothers glanced at each other, unsure what to say. Eventually Papyrus crossed his arms, staring at the dogs.

“THAT IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS,” he declared, and they winced and immediately showed of their throats again. At that, the look on Papyrus’ face softened. Just a tad, just enough for Sans to see it. “BUT IF YOU REALLY WANT TO KNOW, HE’S HAVING A BAD TIME. YOU NEED NOT WORRY THOUGH. I AM SURE WE WILL BE ABLE TO FIX IT WITH ENOUGH TIME.”

“(We want to help!)” Dogaressa quickly said, and Greater Dog panted in agreement. Papyrus petted her head once, and she smiled.

“GOOD DOG.” A happy gasp. “BUT AS IT IS, WE WILL HANDLE IT. I WILL TELL YOU IF WE REQUIRE ASSISTANCE. AND THAT IS MY FINAL DESCISION.”

“Lieutentant!” The dogs all saluted at that, accepting what Papyrus told them. Sans supressed a smile. It was kind of funny how loyal they’d gotten to them, seeing how they fought them when they first came to Snowdin. Although, he guessed it wasn’t too weird. Papyrus was probably the first officer they had who treated them fairly, just like he treated everyone fairly. From what he had heard, basically every officer in the Royal Guard were complete assholes except for boss and Undyne. The only ones with any kind of morals and sense for earning respect instead of immediately commanding it.

He plucked a cigarette out of his inventory and lightened it. Inhaling, he sighed in relief. It wasn’t long-lived though.

“SANS!” Papyrus complained. He frowned and glared at him. “I’VE TOLD YOU NOT TO SMOKE IN THE FUCKING HOUSE. I DON’T WANT THAT DISGUSTING SMELL INSIDE. GO OUT IF YOU NECESSARILY HAVE TO DO IT.”

“sure thing, boss,” he sighed and stood up. He wasn’t going to put out a brand-new cigarette. Well out on the porch he watched the denizens of their little town go on with their daily business. Everyone was glaring at everyone, warning them to get closer. Except the kids. Sans almost smiled as the children played on the streets, unbothered by the hostility around them. The only ones safe around here. Even if it hadn’t been illegal, boss would’ve flipped his shit if anyone had killed someone still in stripes.

As one of the bears looked up at him, though, he immediately stopped. Instead he changed it into a cocky smirk, and lifted the cigarette in greeting. Exhaled the smoke. The bear averted his eyes after a few moments.

Sans let out another relieved sigh as he felt the cold wind hit his face. This was so much better than being caught inside with either the frankly worrying Cherry or the dogs talking about stuff he didn’t care about one bit.

Perhaps he’d go to Grillby’s tonight again. Alone this time. Get drunk of his ass and not have to think about the possibility that Cherry had been abused by his Papyrus. The possibility he almost couldn’t deny after what he had heard.

Yeah. That sounded like a really fucking good idea.

Cherry wailed quietly as he heard steps. He hadn’t moved. He was being good. He had almost not made a single sound. There was no reason he would be punished, right? They hadn’t punished him yet even when he had messed up.  

They were probably just biding their time. Waiting until he felt safe before striking. That had happened one too many times. Both with Boss and with others, such as Grillby.

These steps didn’t sound like they came from anyone his size, which was strange. They were far too quiet and quick. Suddenly something soft pressed again his hand. Cherry swallowed, and looked down. It was that cat again. Doomfanger purred, and licked his hand. He let out a giggle. It tickled. Those amber eyes stared at him. But they were soft. There was nothing threatening in that body language as Doomfanger buffed his hand again.

Hesitantly, Cherry lifted his hand. He held his breath as he put it on the cat’s head. He had done this before, but both Boss and Sans had been there then. Nothing happened. The spinning only got louder. He almost smiled as he slowly stroked the cat’s back. He froze as the cat let out a meow. When nothing else happened, he moved his hand again. The fur was so soft. The softest thing he had ever felt. His shoulders fell and his breathing level out as he felt tension disappear.

He continued to pet the cat, who eventually climbed into his lap and lied down. Like he had done to Boss before. It was… nice. Yeah. Nice. Cherry’s eyelids dropped and he yawned. He was getting sleepy. He hadn’t felt this relaxed in he didn’t know how long. Doomfanger licked his hand again, and purred even louder. Huh. He wondered how loud the cat could be. He yawned again.

The next thing he knew, he was curled up on the mattress – which was much softer than his own – and covered in a blanket. Doomfanger was still there, resting on his head. Cherry hadn’t had a blanket for years. Boss took once when the temperature got lower than normal; he deserved it, Cherry did not. He hadn’t been able to argue with that, and afterward he simply hadn’t gotten it back. He frowned slightly at the restricting feeling. Still. It was warm. Pleasant. This was so weird.

As he began to move slightly, Doomfanger woke up. He licked Cherry’s cheek and then disappeared out through the slightly open door. Cherry stayed, thinking about whether it would be acceptable to just stay in bed for a while. Normally the answer would be a clear no, but someone had even tucked him in, so perhaps.

After a few minutes, the door opened slowly, and Boss was standing there, the cat by his feet. He just gave Cherry a short glance, but it didn’t look hostile, before putting down the tray he held in his hands next to the shorter.

On it a steaming cup of coffee and a plate with pancakes stood. Cherry stared at it, wondering if that was for him. The last two days’ happenings did make him believe it was quite likely, yet… breakfast in the bed? With luxuries like coffee? Whoa.

“IT IS FOR YOU, YES,” Boss said like he had read his mind. “EAT UP, BUT DO TAKE YOUR TIME. ONCE YOU’RE FINISHED I’D APPRECIATE IF YOU CAME DOWNSTAIRS.”

“o-o’ course, Boss,” he stammered, almost wondering if he had heard right. Why was Boss so polite to him? The only monsters Boss had ever bothered being polite with was Undyne and the King – and of course his officers when he had others than Undyne. Boss winced slightly.

“ABOUT THAT. WOULD IT BE OKAY IF YOU CALLED ME PAPYRUS INSTEAD? BOSS IS WHAT SANS CALLS ME, AND THE IMPLICATIONS WHEN YOU DO IT IS NOT VERY COMFORTABLE. I WON’T FORCE YOU, BUT I WOULD APPRECIATE IT.”

Cherry gaped at that. He got permission to use his Boss’ first name? He hadn’t done that since they were babybones.

“’c-c-course Bo… papyrus. whatever ya wish.”

#I am now at the point in this story where I'm not sure where I'm going with it #I'll probably try to wrap it up relatively soon #Any specific things you want to see before the end? #my writing #cherry #the cherry chronicles #cherry pt. 5 #underfell #past abuse #ptsd #panic attacks #self-hatred #uf sans #uf papyrus #uf dogi #the canine unit #dogaressa #dogamy #greater dog #lesser dog #doggo #doomfanger #cats are wonderful #smoking

[trendingnewsb]

Glenn Close: You lose power if you get angry

From vengeful mistress to Agatha Christie matriarch: the actor talks about Harvey Weinstein, mental illness and growing up in a cult

Glenn Close and I sit at the corner of a large boardroom table in an intimidatingly minimalist office on the 14th floor of a Los Angeles talent agency. Its the kind of environment in which Patty Hewes, the ruthless lawyer Close played in Damages for five seasons, would feel at home and Im almost waiting for her to stand up, slam both hands on the table and shout, Ill rip your face off or any of the other terrifying put-downs that defined her double Emmy award-winning performance.

But Close is in high spirits and radiates such warmth I barely notice the chill from the tower blocks air-con. After we fiddle with the settings on our swivel chairs, which are so high they make anyone under six foot kick their legs like a child on a swing, the 70-year-old, six-time Oscar nominee and star of stage, television and film starts telling me about her dreams. I have had a lot recently, full of this wonderful love for a younger man. The dreams just keep coming and I wake up thinking, that was wonderful! It wasnt necessarily us doing the sexual act, just the feeling of love.

With her white hair cut to a sharp crop, and wearing a relaxed navy blazer, chinos and black scarf on account of the arctic corporate temperature, she looks stylish and fit. I have never felt better in my life, and I am, like, 70, she says. Im really a late bloomer.

She says she feels a disconnect between how she sees herself and how people may view me when I walk down the street, like: Theres an old lady. You know, there is now this cult of the model. Everyone on the red carpet is made into a model. That is very hard to not play into I have a bit of podge I am trying to get rid of, but its hard. I just think, Oh fuck, Ive been doing this my whole life! But the irony is, you just get better and better with age. You dont feel less alive or less sexy.

In Agatha Christies Crooked House. Photograph: Nick Wall

We are here to talk about Crooked House, the Agatha Christie adaptation debuting on Channel 5, before its theatrical release, in which Close plays Lady Edith, a matriarch of a very dysfunctional family. Close says, Christies grandson came to the set and he validated the fact that it was her favourite book, and the one that had never been adapted. He said when she handed it to the publisher, she was told she had to change the ending, because it was too upsetting and controversial. She refused. Its still pretty controversial.

This production, co-written by Julian Fellowes, might not be as spendy as Kenneth Branaghs $55m Murder On The Orient Express, but the ensemble cast is equally starry: joining Close are Gillian Anderson, Max Irons, Terence Stamp and Christina Hendricks. Close presides over her co-stars with gravitas and grace, in an understated performance that finds the humour in an otherwise bleak setup. But youd expect nothing less from the actor whose 40 years in the business started with star turns in Broadway productions (she won a Best Actress Tony in 1983 for Tom Stoppards The Real Thing). Her first film role, at the age of 35, was with Robin Williams in The World According To Garp, for which she received an Oscar nomination as she did for her supporting roles in The Big Chill and The Natural. Her performances in Fatal Attraction, Dangerous Liaisons and Albert Nobbs, about the life of a transgender butler in late 19th century Ireland, which she also co-wrote, racked up further Oscar nominations but still no win. This is seen by many as a travesty: Close brings a precision to her film work, honed through her years on stage. She has that rare taut quality Jack Nicholson also has it where you believe that beneath the steely control she is capable of snapping at any moment.

It was this that led Andrew Lloyd Webber to cast her in 1993 as the tragic silent movie star Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard on Broadway. Close reprised the role 23 years later, getting her old costumes out of storage (she has kept all her costumes and recently donated the collection to a university in Indiana) for its revival in Londons West End.

As Alex Forrest in Fatal Attraction: Clearly she had mental health issues. Photograph: Rex/Shutterstock

But it was her Oscar-nominated turn as Alex Forrest in Fatal Attraction in 1987 that proved career-defining. Thirty years on, Close still counts Forrest as the character of whom she feels most fond; she has admitted to fighting tooth and nail against the films eventual denouement, which turned the character into a bunny-boiling psychopath and Close into the casting directors go-to woman on the verge for years afterwards. Now we have the vocabulary to talk about these things, clearly she had mental health issues, she says.

Close sits regally still as she speaks, emphasising her points by leaning forward and locking eyes. Shes comfortable with silences and often takes a theatrical beat or two before answering questions. Shes all poise and control, but does she ever lose her temper?

I express my feelings quietly. I am not afraid of confrontation, but I am not particularly good at it. If I get attacked, I am not good at attacking back. There is fight, flight and freeze and I tend to freeze. That is not a strength of mine. I love the fact that my daughter Annie [Starke, an actor] is more of a fighter than I am. She doesnt let people get away with shit. While she agrees that women have a harder time being angry, publicly, than men, she says, I have played a lot of characters, and actually anger makes you lose power. Patty Hewes [in Damages] she hardly ever lost her temper, but when she did, it was very specific. I have always felt you lose power if you get that angry.

The collective outpouring of anger among women in Hollywood right now is something of which Close is acutely aware. She says that sexism in the industry has shifted more slowly than it should have done throughout her career: It took Harvey Weinstein and someone calling him out [for real change to happen]. I know Harvey, and he has never done that to me, but people would say he was a pig. I never knew that it was that bad and I dont personally know anybody who has endured that. I would like to think that I would have done something about it.

We discuss whether its possible to separate the work from the personalities involved in it. News has just broken that House Of Cards will be back for another series without Kevin Spacey, after it was originally canned because of harassment claims brought against its leading man. Close wraps her scarf around her chest and fixes me with her electric eyes. Artists, to make a huge generality, walk on a very thin line. Sometimes, like my beloved friend Robin Williams, who was one step away from madness, whatever makes them a great artist also makes them very complicated human beings. Again, that doesnt mean they can prey on and abuse people.

With Harvey Weinstein in 2013. Photograph: Mike Coppola/Getty Images

At the root of the problem of sexism in Hollywood right now is, Close says, biology. I think the way men have treated women, from the beginning of time, is because they have different brains to women. So I am not surprised by it at all. I say to a guy, Tell me the truth, if you see a woman walk into a room, what is the first thought that goes through your head? His answer, always, is, Would I fuck her? It doesnt mean they act on it. If you can evolve into a society where men know that they should not always act on it then there has been a positive revolution. But you cant just say that theyre not going to have the thought that is ridiculous. It also has to be the women, who are not powerful, to be OK to say no and leave the room. I think its unrealistic to say were going to change but we have to evolve.

I ask Close who she thinks is a great man today. She is silent, thinking, for what feels like a full 60 seconds in which I am so tempted to throw out some options: Barack Obama, the Pope, the friendly security guard on reception who let us in

Nelson Mandela, is her final answer, but Im not sure shes convinced. I guess for me, she says, greatness is taking your humanity and still doing the good thing. Its sad to say that there are very few men, who are leaders, who have some sort of moral code that they dont deviate from because of popular opinion.

She thinks we are undergoing a crisis of masculinity: In the public mind, yes. I was outraged when I heard that there was a war against men I was like, are you joking? What do you think has been happening against women for centuries?

Close knows all too well about the misuse of power, because her own upbringing was, as she puts it, complicated. When she was seven, her parents joined a cult. Moral Re-Armament or MRA was a modern, nondenominational movement founded by an American evangelical fundamentalist which extolled the four absolutes: honesty, purity, unselfishness and love. Her father, a physician working in the Congo, sent Close with her brother and two sisters from the family home in Greenwich, Connecticut, to live at the MRA HQ in Caux, Switzerland (Closes mother, Bettine, was a socialite).

She is vague on the details but clear on the impact this experience had on her as a teenager: I was repressed, clueless and guilt-ridden. The timeline is patchy, but Close travelled with MRA in the 60s as a member of their musical groups, and spent time back in Connecticut at an elite boarding school. I had a wonderful time at Rosemary Hall, a girls school, she says. I was in a renegade singing group called the Fingernails: A Group With Polish. But she remained, as she calls it clueless. A lot of my friends knew boys youd have these horrendous dances with boys schools and they would get the guys they wanted and I would just stay with the person I was with.

As Patty Hewes in Damages. Photograph: Rex/Shutterstock

She was briefly married before going to university. It is a complicated story for me. I was married before college, and kind of in an arranged marriage when you look back on it, and my marriage broke up when I went to college, as it should have. I was 22. But my liberal arts school had a wonderful theatre that was my training, my acting school.

Was that where she finally learned about sex, popular culture, the ways of the world? Not really, she says. I still am learning.

Close has two sisters, Tina the eldest, and Jessie her younger sister; and two brothers, Alexander, and Tambu Misoki, who was adopted by Closes parents while living in Africa. At the age of 50, Jessie spent time in a psychiatric hospital and was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, a weight that had been hanging over the family, undiscussed, for years. Talking about mental illness just wasnt done, Close says. You dont have a vocabulary for it and youre also very aware of appearances. You dont want to appear a crazy family.

In 2010 Close founded Bring Change to Mind, a charity that aims to end the stigma around mental illness by talking openly about it and its effect on families. It was my nephew who was first diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder. This is basically schizophrenia with an ingredient of bipolar. And when that happened, it was like, What? My sister Jessie, his mother, didnt know what was wrong. He went to the hospital for two years and that saved his life. Then Jessie was, finally, correctly diagnosed herself.

With sister Jessie in 2009. Photograph: Getty Images

Close felt a duty to her family to give them a high-profile person who is not afraid to talk about it publicly. It affects the whole family. We always knew my grandmother and mother had depression my sister does, I do to a certain extent. But I didnt know my great-uncle had schizophrenia. I knew my half-uncle died by suicide. There was a lot of alcoholism addiction, self-medication. Nobody ever talked about it. I knew my grandmother was depressed, but at first I thought she lived in a hotel, not a hospital, because she always said how good the food was.

Close says she and her siblings are of one mind politically, but admits she does have members of her family who voted for Trump. I tried to understand that. Theyre not crazy people who have been brainwashed by Fox News, but I try to understand the anger, because I think that has been building up ever since Watergate. It was watching that scandal unfold that made her realise Americans have always been naive, we just take for granted what we have, and we always thought of our leaders as good people. With Watergate, people became cynical about government.

Today, she says, Washington is a bunch of self-serving She searches for an expletive and after a second settles on men. She says, Its hard to believe that people are so out for themselves. It goes against what you would like to believe about your country. I feel eloquence is incredibly important for a leader, and we had that with Barack Obama, who made his initial impact because he gave that incredibly eloquent speech, but he lost his eloquence in his presidency. We always need someone to say, I hear you, someone who can put their words into unity and hope and we dont have that. I think the last person may have been Robert Kennedy.

And now you have Trump tweeting nonsense.

Its devastating. Social networks are now like our nervous system, and if you keep pumping that kind of crap into the nervous system, it is going to have an effect on a population.

With Kevin Kline in The Big Chill. Photograph: Rex/Shutterstock

Close doesnt talk politics with her friends because she doesnt really have many friends. I have always forced myself into situations I am not comfortable in. I am an introvert, and I was painfully shy as a child. I think I still have a big dollop of that in my persona. I read a book called Quiet: The Power Of Introverts In A World That Cant Stop Talking and it was a real comfort to me I realised I was that person I had always been. And it was at that point I told myself to stop pushing myself into situations that I dont enjoy. I dread cocktail parties.

She tells me shes pretty reclusive and can count her closest friends on two fingers. I ask if shes still good friends with Meryl Streep.

I have never been close friends with Meryl. We have huge respect for each other, but I have only done one thing with her, The House Of The Spirits.

I apologise for assuming they were pals, being of a similar age and stature in Hollywood, and admit this negates my next question: Who would win in an arm wrestle, you or Meryl?

Close laughs. Oh, I would, because I am very strong.

***

The tightest bond Close has is with her only daughter Annie, 29. Annies father is the film producer John Starke whom Close dated for four years from 1987, but never married. Annie was never a door-slamming, difficult teenager. Close tells me: When my Annie was three, she looked at me, and said, I want you. I knew what she meant. I, at the time, was a single working parent, sometimes even when I was home, working or producing something, I was there and not there.

With daughter Annie Starke in 2010. Photograph: Rex/Shutterstock

She doesnt think its any easier for working mothers today and acknowledges, I had it easy because I could afford to have help think of the women who cant afford it and have to put their child in some shaky childcare centre. No, I think it is incredibly hard for women. Any person, in any profession, feels that tug [of guilt]. We discuss the intimacy of the single-parent, only-child bond. Once, I went to vacuum Annies car seat as we were moving house, and a lot of life had happened there, so I was crying. She said, Mummy, are you OK? I said, Yeah, Im OK. And she said, Here I am.

She was married to businessman James Marlas from 1984 to 1987 and then, following other relationships, including that with Starke, she married again, in 2006, to venture capitalist David Evans Shaw, divorcing him nine years later.

Would she marry again?

I dont know.

Does she think marriage is important?

I think it is a positive evolutionary component that we are better with a partner. I think to have a partner that you can go through life with, creating a history with, that you can find a comfort with, have children with there is nothing better. This is an opinion I have come to very late in life, at an ironic moment, where I dont have any of that. I dont know if I will again. But I do think its a basic human need to be connected.

Despite this, shes happy on her own right now. This is a good time in life. I do think, what would it be like to have a partner again? But it would have to be very different from what I had before. Then I have that great dream and wake up happy.

Crooked House is on Channel 5 at 9pm on 17 December.

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Read more: https://www.theguardian.com/film/2017/dec/16/glenn-close-harvey-weinstein-mental-illness-cult-fatal-attraction

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[colourfulserendipity-blog]

WORLDS BETWEEN

What seemed to take an age of flying in a darkened box was broken by intercoms on arriving at the destination. The helicopters speed slowed, and light G-force of its descent can be felt, the vehicle soon lands on the platform with the sounds of the engine decreasing. The sliding door opened and you are then faced with a very large structure in the middle of an ocean, where, is unknown.

Climbing down from the helicopter you are escorted by the two men who walk you over towards large double door which slide open on approach, revealing an elevator. Standing inside with a man on each side, buttons on the panel were pressed and then a card was placed into a holder which read its access code for entry.

You are then slowly descended into the bowls of the building which contained many levels. After a while in an even smaller box, the doors pinged and opened. You are faced with white walls and long corridors before you, one had security with metal detectors and readers. You swallow hard, nervous about what you have in your bag. Dictated by one of the men to push forward, you went. At the gates just as you are about to set down your belongs, “*____*, Welcome, you're coming with me down this way” as your friend Peter came over, one of the guards pipes up, explaining that she needs to be scanned before proceeding! Peter replies “I can vouch for her, she has special permissions to be here” You pass Peter the letter you received along with himself giving over his ID. Reluctantly the guard allows you to go with Peter. Peter finishes with the guards and turns to you, his expression changes to the excitement of you being here and he practically skips on over to you, greeting and going ahead in explaining what has been going on.

As yourself and Peter walk he guides you through the facility and tells you about the project.

The project “Worlds Between” is a newly built device made by scientists researching into dimensional travel. Where there coexist another universe and the world just like our own. As Peter explains, he simply states, it's like stepping through a mirror but is not an opposite world to ours, your stepping through it but not all the way through. Think of it like a family tree, we are the origins world, a true world for us, it’s our home it is where we came from. Branching out to another world just like ours is made, but in one case, the dinosaurs never died and we have trained them and we ride them. Along that particular branch would hold similarities (Monster Hunter, Final Fantasy etc). Or another world where mechanical sentient life is made on earth or we are visited by them from a different plant. Or even where magic is real.

You pipe up to the second to last part, and say “like the Transformers stories?”. He smiles widely. And presents a question.

“what if you could travel to another world that was made up here, but it really exists somewhere else! The worlds we make up here are real in stories, because creators made them up, but imagine actually stepping into their world and live it as we do here and now!. So many possibilities of so many worlds to step into. For the imagination is endless, the number of worlds is unmeasurable”.

With that firmly stuck in mind, going to all those places you dream of sending sparks throughout your body and mind.

But How? You mentally question. Peter states that the device they have created makes a vortex with a type of anchor to the other side, but you need special coding to get there, like having a phone number, if you don’t know it then you cannot get to the said place. But if you end up at the other end, we cannot get you back, but the side which you are on can, by reading your signature by a type radiation that sticks to you, non-lethal of course. Unless we have the coding to the side which you are on, then we can bring you back.

The both of you end up at the device, situated in a very massive room in the centre. Terminals around the sides with small video cameras around the device itself, over to the side is an upper-level from the ground floor filled with computers and Peters colleagues, they warmly greet you both.

Peter sits you down at the corner by one of the computers and sets out to demonstrate the device and what it looks like. The group run around setting things up, readying themselves before the system initiated.

A countdown starts. Then once it ended, flashes and sounds of an engine ushered into action. In the middle of the platform of the device, a white and blue vortex sphere appears and small debris starts being stuck in, like a breeze in the air.

One of the scientists moves over towards it hooked up on a safety harness and throws in what looked like a watermelon. The device swallows it in and then disperses a moment after taking the object and powers down. Serious faces all around even more so on Peters, whats up? “Initiate return sequence!” he shouts loudly. The device restarts and sounds of its power whirl into action, other than that dead silence amongst everyone. The machine initiates the sequence and a flash of light the vortex sphere appears then disappears leaving a grotesque mangle of what the melon once was. The whole group gives a sigh and Peter slams his hands down onto the table growling

“WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED!!!” some of them saying that there is too much power or an inference of it, one knows for sure. Peter sighs heavily.

“this is the problem……we can get it to start, but we can’t send something out without destroying it upon return! The non-organic matter has no problem, but anything organic dissolves!!! And don’t even think about what happens to a living being, the probability of one surviving is 0000000000.1%!!!”

You then reply about sending a robot with a camera on? Peter dismisses it by saying that the circuitry gets fried. Until they sort out this problem, getting to the said world is impossible.

Peter then smiles, “what was that famous saying you would tell me…..ow yes, ‘The impossible I can do at once, miracles take a little longer’” he winks and you smile and giggle recalling the moments when your friend got frustrated in solving difficult situations and you would tell him that saying.

Peter sighs, and asks if you want a closer look at the device, you enthusiastically say yes, dropping your bag to the floor by the staircase. Peter escorts you down to the machine and you start taking in its details as Peter talks about it.

Time passes and Peter recalls the other reason for bringing you here, excitedly he brings up a device and demonstrates 5D holographic projection, like working with clay but made with light. As he discusses it capabilities an alarm sounded off, and yellow light starts to flash. You jump to the sudden noise but are settled by Peter “It’s a passing storm, we get those quite regularly, nothing to worry about we use them to power up our generators to power the device”. You sigh with relief, Peter then continues.

Somewhere else on the facility. Two workers are carrying out maintenance of the power generators in a room, due to the amount of power it takes the room get very, very hot. Both workers are having to wear thermal suits to protect themselves, one has issues with the suit and goes to the other side of the room to deal with it. By a window, he opens it whilst the storm is in full throttle and takes off his helmet, gasping for cool air.

“come on, the systems need working on, and close that window we don’t want a bolt crashing in here!!”

“Really mate, what are the chances of that happening, like a million to one!”.

Your mouth, to god's ear. A very loud crash of thunder and a bolt of lightning strikes near the window, appearing into the room is an electrical anomaly known as Ball Lightning an unexplained and potentially dangerous atmospheric electrical phenomenon which occurs in thunderstorms. 5 meters in size, pulsing, the lightning ball hovers a high in the room before striking the generator surging it with immense power. Red lights and a danger siren sound off whilst the generator suddenly disperses its power, out of control, the power races to the device.

Back at the main part of the facility the same red lights and a danger siren sound off. Before anyone knew what was happening the lights go out and the power surge hits the device, a loud whirring of power quickly turns on the vortex with white and blue light and immediately starts sucking everything in with great velocity. Peter grabs your arm and firmly pulls you away, like being pulled by a tornado, both of you are being pulled back. Peter manages to grab ahold of the railing with you in hand.

Colleagues that are close by race to grab Peter to pull him up with you in tow. Equipment flying past, you are terrified. The power of the vortex greatens and you find yourself off the ground and screaming for help. Peter yells out that he will NOT LET GO.

Suddenly time slows and a loosened filing cabinet falls forward and rams into your side, heaving with the pain in your side the tight grip you had on Peter loosens and you are overwhelmed and you fall. Screaming in horror an earsplitting sound carried throughout the room and you are enveloped by the vortex along with anything else that was loose.

(IM DEAD, IM SO DEAD SOMEBODY HELP HELP ME!?!?)

From what you saw, light and all means of colour on the spectrum came into sight.

Unimaginable things came and went.

But then you were left all alone with nothing more but Darkness.

The night is at its darkest before the dawn.

#megamanx #x #stories #part2