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Took me being mega emotional over V and Johnny to finally finish this one but, shit picks up fast y'all OwO

— SPOILER ALERT - this is post-game stuff, read at your own risk —

Read on Ao3

Walking up those steps to the Columbarium was the most difficult thing she had ever done. V had been avoiding it for an entire year, having promised herself she would visit regularly but never doing so. She couldn’t.

Perhaps it was time to finally stop ignoring the truth and the hurt. V took a deep breath and stepped into the Columbarium, knowing the path to the niche like the back of her hand. She did not look at it right away, her eyes fixed to the floor, the walls, the sky—anywhere but his name.

Her gaze had brushed over Alt’s first, sending a chill down her spine at the thought of the irony behind its placement. There they were, the two names stuck so close to each other after their parting from this world—unbeknownst to everyone that ever knew them just how accurate of a depiction it was.

He was right there, but not quite beside her. One panel higher. He was there with her, but not quite. Another chill ran through her spine, particularly when she glanced at his name so absentmindedly, she hadn’t realized what she’d done until it was too late.

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The one where it was supposed to be a sex scene, but Chris fucked you for real - and he didn’t care that your boyfriend was watching

Warnings: infidelity (reader cheats on oc boyfriend with Chris), smut, exhibitionism, public sex, dirty talk, angst.

Word count: 1.7K

A/N: thank you to my ride or die, @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​ for looking this over and giving me her thoughts about it. Writing is such a better process with you to scream about it!

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Ain meu amor!! Hahaha eu preciso escrever uma pansmione nova! To já morta de saudades desse ship é de escrever algo longo sobre elas. Tu viu q eu postei uma micro pansmione fic bem hot no outro dia? Aqui, tenho duas:

my latest 2 pansmione ficlets:

Lick it

Lead the way

ENGLISH: Carol is one of my oldest reader-friends. She used to read my long pansmione fics in Portuguese back in 2010-11. She said I’m teasing her way too much while reblogging nice pansmione arts, and that I should write a new pansmione fic. (I totally agree!!). So I added these two links for my latest pansmione smut ficlets.

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Crosshair always keeps people at a distance, that’s just how he lives, and this counts also for the rest of the Bad Batch crew, though for them it’s just from a physical prospective.

He doesn’t like to be touched, that’s it. There are no other tearjerker explanations for it or anything of the sort.

Sometimes, however, he makes some exceptions; it depends on how he feels - yes, even he sometimes needs something more… Just something softer.

This is the mood in which he wakes up.

He grumbles, fussing and tuning in his cot, and it’s then that he notices that he’s alone; Tech must’ve already gotten up.

Huh. Maybe that’s why he feels like this today, since he’s woken up without Tech curled up beside him - it’s always a sight for the sore eyes, that one.

Oh well, it’s not like he has any more reason to stay there, now that he’s awake. He’ll go find him.

It doesn’t take him long to discern where Tech has gone, not when the sound of machinery can be heard throughout the entire ship. He must be working on something in his lab.

That’s where Crosshair walks to, steps echoing through the hall.

If Tech had been less busy, he would’ve noticed his arrival, but with as deep in his project as he is, he does it only when Crosshair closes his arms around him, leaning against him with his entire body weight - which, to be fair, isn’t that much.

Even though he can’t see Tech’s face, he can hear his smile as he talks: “You’re in a cuddly mood, aren’t you?”

Crosshair doesn’t even respond with words, he just nods, only to then begin to pull Tech up from his chair, much to the other’s confusion.

“Um… What?” he asks in fact, wondering what Crosshair has in mind.

“It’s too early,” the other manages to say eventually. “Come back to bed.”

“But I…” Tech begins, but well, he wouldn’t mind another five minutes of sleep, especially if it means cuddling with Crosshair, such a rare event. He huffs, even though he’s smiling. “Alright, bed it is.”

They get back in record time, and once Tech lays down, Crosshair is immediately beside him, circling his body with his arms and legs, like he needs to hold onto him to keep himself afloat, something that doesn’t make sense at all since they’re on a cot, but oh well, it’s not like Tech would complain about it.

He can’t help but to smile, reaching with one hand to scratch the top of Crosshair’s hair. He mutters something that Tech doesn’t catch, then he tightens his grip around him, but he doesn’t push him away, not this time, not when he’s in this mood.

The smile on his face grows even larger as Crosshair slowly falls asleep. Eventually, he’ll fall too, but for now he tries to stay awake, enjoying this rare moment of cuddles that he’s been granted, like it’s a precious thing–

No, scratch that, it’s not like it’s a precious thing, it is a precious thing.

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Sephy and Clara take the final step, and one that will bring everything full circle…

Read it on AO3 here.

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Vader sense Luke’s bright presence as soon as the boy lands on the Alliance base. But it doesn’t stop him from smiling behind the mask when the cell door slides open to reveal his son. His flight suit is still on, albeit pulled down with the arms tied around his waist, but it’s clear he came directly from landing in the hangar, his blond hair a mess from the piloting helmet. But Vader would be lying–something he’s currently incapable of–if he said he didn’t know what had made Luke rush to his cell.

And sure enough, as soon as the door is half-open, Luke is striding through, anger painted on his face. “I can’t believe them!” He says loudly, running his prosthetic hand through his hair, and Vader smiles as the motion messes the strands up even more. But now the boy’s pacing and throwing his hands up, not even fully looking at Vader. “As soon as I leave the base for one day. I swear-” He groans and runs a hand over his face, “They promised they wouldn’t interrogate you if I wasn’t here, and then the moment I turn around, they’re here giving you a kriffing truth serum ! I-”

And something warms in Vader’s chest at Luke’s clear protectiveness, even though he knows he does not deserve it, and it shouldn’t be Luke’s job anyway. So he quickly interjects before Luke gets going on a real tangent, “It’s alright, my son. I agreed to it.”

That stops Luke in his tracks as he slowly pivots on his heel to stare incredulously at his father. Vader has to stifle a chuckle at the expression. “You what?”

Vader sighs, a sound only interpreted as static by the vocoder, “I am happy to answer all their questions about the remaining dregs of the Empire, and they do not trust me, so this was the easiest way. And you need not worry–I had the ability to remain silent if I did not wish to answer certain questions.” For Vader is also from Tatooine, and he knows what his son was worried about–the importance of choice is learned quickly in a society where it is so often taken away. But Vader assurance seems to do its job.

Luke runs a hand over his face again, and he seems to deflate, his expression dropping from anger to exhaustion in a millisecond, and Vader is once again reminded that Luke has just returned from a mission and has disregarded his own needs to check on his father. He sends a wave of warmth over their bond, and Luke smiles weakly. “I still need to talk to them about the importance of keeping promises, though.”

Vader smiles softly from where he’s sitting on the cot, and he knows Luke can sense it even if he cannot see it, “But that can wait. You need rest,” he says gently, tilting his head as he studies his son’s slumped shoulders.

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It’s still Wednesday where I am, so I totally didn’t forget, okay?

Anyway, the premise of this series is that Foltest decides to torch the forest the Scoia’tael are hiding in, and ignores advisors who speak out against it. Including Roche. Roche and the Blue Stripes and Triss and Keira go to help fight the fire in the settlements - Ellander, Flotsam, but also the Scoia’tael’s settlement. Roche and Fenn venture into the forest (where a fire is ACTIVELY burning, mind you) to warn Iorveth and his men - and find them already dousing trees and doing controlled burns of underbrush and whatever else you do to try to survive a forest fire. There are several very tense moments, for a variety of reasons, but the end of it is: Iorveth and his Scoia’tael escort Roche back to Ellander, because they want nonhuman representation at the bargaining table. Notice how I didn’t mention Fenn? Yeah, that’s one of those tense moments.

This specific scene takes place after that, when they hear that Natalis is holding a strategy meeting at the town hall, so Roche and Iorveth join them.

“My children, Natalis,” Louisa said, gesturing towards the door as a young man with dark hair opened it and guided two small children with lighter hair inside. All of them were Louisa’s children, but considering the old Baron (may he rest in peace) had had black hair, and Louisa herself had dark hair, it was clear to anyone who looked that the young twins had a different father than the older boy.

Roche knew that people often did not look, but even so, there had been more than a few rumors about Louisa’s affair with Foltest. They were discreet – Roche knew this because often times he would be the one providing the discretion – but they were both nobles to their core. Nobles never noticed the servants, never thought about the fact that servants could gossip just as readily as other courtiers did. 

Natalis had obviously heard said rumors, because he stared for a long moment at Ari, the oldest child, then assessed the twins in silence for another long minute. Then he cleared his throat. “My lady, what precisely are you proposing?”

“I am proposing that Foltest’s children be his heirs to the throne,” Louisa was calm as she delivered the news, and in any other circumstance, her declaration would be cause for Roche to panic. A dispute over the line of succession could destroy a reign if rulers weren’t careful. But Foltest had been planning at claim the children as his own, once the right politically expedient moment had arrived. They were bastards, so there would still have been some dispute over the rightfulness of their claim to the throne – but Foltest had only one other child, and if their claim was viewed more strongly than hers…

And shit, Roche really should’ve invited her. He hadn’t even thought of it, and–

The door opened again and this time, Triss Merigold entered with a white-robed priestess of Melitele who was technically the Crown Princess of Temeria. Technically, because while the reality was that Foltest was her father, no one knew that. To the world, Princess Adda the White was Foltest’s niece, daughter of the late Princess Adda of Temeria. 

To a noble, a sister’s daughter was less respected than the primary family line – aka Boussy and Anais, Foltest’s direct children – but she was at least considered legitimate. Sort of. The cover story Roche had concocted when Adda had appeared – and he did mean appeared, as in, out of thin air in many ways – was that the late Princess had secretly married a nobleman, who had then hidden their child from the King after the Princess died. He’d had to specify that the nobleman had hidden Adda from Foltest, because none of them had known about Adda’s existence until a witcher lifted the curse from a striga. Eight years after the late Princess’s death. 

The public had accepted the story, fortunately, but the fact was that until the curse had been lifted, Adda hadn’t known anything but the life of a monster that hungered for human flesh. She was cured of that, but its affects remained even as the Sisters of Melitele taught her how to be a person. Roche was proud to say that he’d played some small part in that, in raising the young woman standing in the doorway.

He also had a recurring nightmare where Foltest decided that his former-striga daughter was too nonhuman to be tolerated. She wasn’t, of course. Adda was human. The witcher had cured her. 

Sure, maybe Roche had noticed little ways in which she was still a little… affected, shall we say? Like the way that her growl made all the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up. Or the way that she could hear people moving two rooms over when Roche certainly couldn’t. Or the way that she preferred her meat rare enough to still be bleeding. 

Little things. Not enough to make her not a human, though. It wasn’t as if she was an elf or a dwarf or a halfling or something. She was human. And just a little superhuman as well.

Triss Merigold cleared her throat and addressed everyone assembled in the room. “May I present Priestess Adda the White, Crown Princess of Temeria.”

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