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starryrain · 4 months

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a long night

a cute little fic i wrote today! it is set like a year after s2 of good omens and you can read it just under the cut !! both of them are male presenting in this, but i might write a fem one because i am a sucker for sapphic stuff.

let me know if you want a part 2 !!

description: aziraphale and crowley aren't talking, but they decide to meet one final time.

Crowley looked out of the window of the Bentley, their glasses slung low. He turned his head, the phone in his palm buzzing absurdly. With a clench of his jaw, he flung it into the backseat, where it undoubtedly hit one of his new plants.

“Sorry, darlings,” he said, patting a leaf. “But that’s what happens when leaves go the slightest tinge of yellow.” He sighed, slamming his foot down on the accelerator. He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t care.

A chirpy, familiar voice rang through the speakers of the phone. “I don’t have leaves, Crowley. And I’m a singular being!”

A skid of tyres against asphalt. A chain of hastily muttered curses. And the scramble into the backseat to retrieve his phone.

“I wasn’t talking to you!” He yelled into the phone. “I don’t talk to…to-”

“What? Your friends?” Aziraphale’s voice was soft, and Crowley hated himself for having missed it.

No. No. You did not miss a thing. You do not miss that cowardly bastard.

“You are not my friend. I don’t have friends. I despise you.”

A soft laugh and a twinge struck the heart that Crowley didn’t have. “So you’ll talk to your plants, but not me?”

He hung up the phone with no words, only a sigh, resting his hands on his temples. Flipping off the cars that were honking behind him through the window, he set his foot onto the pedal, heading for his flat, where he would put his new plant, and then drink copious amounts of alcohol. Whisky, preferably. Crowley likes whisky. Aziraphale hated whisky and had always complained about the sharp-

NO! No thinking of that useless slop! He bit down on his tongue, driving faster and skidding as he parked the Bentley in front of his flat.

The door flew open with a flick of his hand, and Crowley walked through the hallway, his new plant in hand. Setting them down, Crowley flung himself onto his chair, taking his glasses off before leaning his head back and closing his eyes, before opening them again to find one of his bottles of Talisker.

The Talisker was smooth and everything that Crowley needed. Before he knew it, night had begun to drape its’ sleepy embrace over London. And if he could see the stars, Crowley would’ve laid back on the roof of his flat, watching his creations dull out with the light pollution of the city. It was a punishment of the highest cruelty, but he had accepted it long ago. Running a hand through his crimson hair, Crowley cradled the half-empty bottle, his peace undisturbed.

Well, his peace was undisturbed until the answering machine rang. He frowned, letting the caller talk.

“Crowley! You answered!” Crowley shot up in his chair at the sound of hearing the angel’s voice for the second time that day.

“No! I am not talking to you!” He went to hang up, but he tripped on the chair, hitting his head on the edge of his desk. “Fuck!”

“Are you alright, dear?”

“Shut up!”

Crowley could practically hear Aziraphale’s eyebrows raising. “Very well.” He sighed and gritted his teeth.

“Why are you calling, Angel?”

A pause. Silence that Crowley hated. “It’s been a while since one of our dinners. I thought we could go somewhere and eat. The Ritz-”

“Things have changed,” choked Crowley. “It’s like you said, nothing lasts forever.”

A sigh came from the answering machine. “Just one last time? Then I’ll never talk to you again.”

What was once a threat, now an offer. How the tables turned. Though it still felt like a threat.

Crowley sighed. “Just this one time. And then we’ll never see each other again.”

“Done.”

Aziraphale paced around the bookshop, ignoring the concerned look that Muriel was giving him.

“You haven’t actually sold any books, have you?” He asked, frowning.

Muriel shook their head with a smile. “Of course not! Crowley comes in every week to check in, too! We’ve decided to keep it open one day a week and close the rest! And nobody even cares!” They let out a laugh. “Humans are so interesting!

Aziraphale continued pacing, adjusting his bowtie. The last time. It’s the last time. And then we’ll never talk again. That’s good, right?

The door swung open, and a bell rang. “We’re closed-!”

“I know, Angel,” remarked Crowley dryly, and Aziraphale spun on his heel, finding Crowley at the door, leaning against the frame, in an all black double-breasted suit that looked oddly similar to the one that he wore on their 1941 escapade.

And Aziraphale was back in the same spot as a year ago, and the ghost of Crowley’s pressed his lips on his. It ran a shudder down his spine. Shaking himself out of the memory, Aziraphale smiled at Crowley, locking the shop up and sitting in the Bentley for a second before Crowley flashed a grim smile at him and slammed his foot down on the pedal.

The Ritz twinkled with many lights, and as they passed through the building, Crowley settled into the familiar feeling of being with Aziraphale. They sat themselves at a miraculously empty table, ordering quietly and waiting for their food to arrive. In the meantime, Crowley popped open a bottle of champagne that he had swiped from someone else’s table, gave himself a generous serving of the drink, and then poured the same into Aziraphale’s glass, ignoring his bright smile.

Bless him and his smiles, scorned Crowley. Stupid, pretty angel.

“For the record, this doesn’t mean I like you,” he said, sipping on his champagne.

Aziraphale shrugged. “Nor do I. The feeling is mutual.”

“Very mutual. But I don’t like you more than you don’t like me.”

Aziraphale frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.” He sipped his own drink, eyeing Crowley carefully.

FUCK.

“So, what’s new?” He asked, setting down his glass and slouching further in his chair. “Y’know, in Heaven. Because you went there. And left me.” He smirked, drinking some more champagne and saying nothing, only making a bemused expression at Aziraphale’s face.

“Well, doesn’t the food look lovely?” grinned Aziraphale as his plate was set on the table. Crowley rolled his eyes. It was going to be a long night.

Aziraphale and Crowley were both terribly, horribly full. And awkward. The drive back to the bookshop was quiet between the two of them; the air was heavy with tension. Crowley had played on Aziraphale’s feelings, and he seemed actually regretful about his actions. Aziraphale couldn’t do much; he could only eat his food and drink the alcohol. So he settled for looking at Crowley the entire night.

Crowley noticed, of course. He noticed anything Aziraphale did.

It wasn’t hard; he looked fantastic. Of course, Aziraphale wouldn’t admit that out loud. Well, he would, with the right amount of alcohol and coercion. But Crowley didn’t really feel like coercing his… whatever Aziraphale and he were into admitting that he looked fantastic.

He parked a block away from the bookshop, a habit that he had clearly not forgotten. In comfortable silence, they walked inside and settled on chairs. Crowley’s chair crinkled with a sound of paper, and he realised that it was because he was sitting on a note. Standing up and tossing his glasses aside, he read the note aloud:

Mr. Sir Aziraphale,

I am out for a walk to go communicate with the funny humans down the road. They said I can stay ‘for the night’, so I am going to do that, whatever it is. Mr. ‘I’m Not Nice’ Crowley knows what I mean. I think. Thank you!!!

-Muriel :)

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Mr. Sir Aziraphale?” He laughed, putting the note away.

Aziraphale shook his head. “Mr. ‘I’m Not Nice’?”

“Oh, shut up.”

Aziraphale smiled that fucking smile. That. Fucking. Smile. And the fact that, from the angle he was at, it looked like he was kneeling-

Crowley looked away, giving himself a moment to regain composure. “Why did you leave, Angel?”

Aziraphale’s smile dropped. “Why didn’t you stay, Angel? I…I needed you!” He choked out, blinking hard.

Crowley shook his head, clearing his throat. “And yet, you still have nothing to say.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

Crowley scoffed. “Yes, you bloody did!”

Aziraphale stood up, his hands trembling. “No. Look at me, Crowley.” Crowley, against his will, looked at Aziraphale. “I. Didn’t. Have. A. Choice.”

“You still left,” sulked Crowley. Aziraphale threw his hands up, scoffing.

“What are you scoffing for? I have a genuine issue, and you’re all, ‘Oh, it’s not my fault’, like that’s going to help!”

Crowley was frowning now, his hands on his hips as he ranted. Aziraphale had turned around, pressing his hands to his temples.

“And you’re all wishy-washy and nice, and-”

Crowley stopped talking. Because Aziraphale was holding his head in his hands. And he was kissing him. And Crowley was kissing him back.

“Oh, shut up, will you?” Aziraphale whispered, his breath tickling Crowley, before kissing him again.

Crowley pulled back, his chest heaving with heavy and rapid breaths. Clenching his jaw, he pushed a confused-looking Aziraphale back onto his chair, cradling the angel’s jaw.

“I still don’t like you,” he whispered. "But... there are some things I need to do,” he said, before clambering on top of Aziraphale.

Oh, it was going to be a long night.

#anthony j crowley #aziraphale #crowley #good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziraphale x crowley #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic rec #good omens fic #good omens angst #good omens possible smut

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darthbreezy · 9 months

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To Absinthe Friends

Notes: Yes it's another Good Omens Fan Fic, Of course it has no beta, so it's here warts and all. It's primarily from Aziraphale's point of view (In other words, he would not shut up) Copious amounts of alcohol, hallucinogenics and Implied Celestial 'relations'. I ultimately blame @thesherrinfordfacility for this with no regrets.

When Aziraphale awoke, he suddenly became aware of many things. Firstly, that he'd been asleep at all. Sleep was not usually one of his indulgences. That was more of a Crowley thing.

Secondly, under the sheet, he was decidedly sure he was in a state of undress. Complete undress.

And Crowley was next to him. effectively dead to the world. Well, metaphorically anyway. He was a demon after all, and while neither of them technically needed to breathe, snoring seemed optional. As was his clothing. Right, Finally, he was aware that not only was he supremely uncomfortable, (there was something jammed up into his back - a book? ) it was excessively dark, and just plain noisy. A cacophony of caterwauling that hadn't echoed through London since the Blitz itself. It rang through his aching head, all encompassing. He couldn't even begin to think... ''ENOUGH!'' Aziraphale, Angel and Principality of the Eastern Gate cried out with a snap of his fingers and the outrage of someone who's just about had enough. ''JUST STOP!'' Blessed silence. but for the ticking if the grandfather clock downstairs and a sleep muddy vulgarity that Crowley had uttered as he rolled over. By the Grace of of the All Mighty, Crowley had slept through the whole thing, Bastard. Right. He didn't need a light, per say, to see the chaos that surrounded the room about them, but a small light would give him focus. A small electric candle would serve the purpose.

Cloths, everywhere.

Books.

Feathers...

Feathers...? It hit him like a thunderbolt, and he pushed his palms into his eyes hard enough to see stars.

He and Crowley had...

Had...

Engaged in Amorous Congress.

Joined Convivial Society.

Blown the Grounsils.

He needed a cup of tea. Before descending the narrow staircase, a quick miracle to grant Crowley some dignity for when he woke (did demons even care? No matter - Aziraphale did) and left him mostly dressed but for his boots and jacket, both left on the chair beside the bed. Right, Sorted. Tea. He turned on the kettle. No power.

Shit.

Another snap. Another miracle. All at once, the lights came back on in a ten block radius. He absently wiped a piece of black down from the corner of his mouth and waited for the kettle to boil.

''Three frivolous miracles in ten minutes. Stuff your memos, Gabriel!'' He thought waspishly. Heaven had left them alone after their punishment and supposed demotion, and right now he just didn't care.

Images, memories of the night's exploits came flooding back and vanishing just as quickly, like sugar cubes in hot water.

Flesh cleaving to flesh, unbearable light, Physical love being a tangible thing.

Sweetness finer than honey. more than cones of sugar. Explosions of stars like creation. Calling out his own name in the language of angels, impossible to utter with the human tongue. Giving it to Crowley and receiving his in return...

Pure sweetness of being.

Like Sugar cubes.

Sugar cubes...

Absinth.

Fuck.

It had started out as normal evening, Well, as normal as it could be mere weeks after thwarting the Apocalypse, deceiving the head offices of both Heaven and Hell, and finding their new footing with each other.

Funny, after nearly six millennia, you think you'd know a person.

Days after an easy lunch at the Ritz, Aziraphale felt as if Crowley had been pulling back. He claimed that neither head office bothered him, that actually he didn't even think about them, but Aziraphale knew better.

For a start, Crowley was more wary when it came to even the idea of Heaven, and the mere mention of Gabriel set him to bristling, Granted, bristling was a state of being for Crowley, but there was a newfound venom in his eyes that said ''if you value what we have, Angel, we won't discuss it. Ever,''

So they hadn't.

But it weighed heavily on Aziraphale's heart. They had come so far, and he culd feel it slipping away, whatever it was. He needed a 'Grand Gesture' - nothing so grand or over the that it would cause Crowley to question his sanity or sincerity, but something that spoke of,,, trust... So, the Absinthe. **

''Absinthe, Angel?'' At least Crowley was intrigued. ''Surely you don't mean that watered down tourist drink they sell in the airport in Amsterdam...'' He wrinkled his nose. ''Such a waste on the name of alcohol...''

''No, this is the genuine article,'' Aziraphale said sweetly, baiting the hook. ''Nineteenth Century. Infused with Wormwood...''

Crowley eyed him suspiciously. Aziraphale played out the line a little.

'''Highly illegal, I'd wager...''

Silence. He could almost see the wheels turning in Crowley's mind.

Time to reel him in or let him go. ''I was hoping you'd partake with me,'' Aziraphale sighed, placing the bottle on the table. ''I picked it up in around 1840... After -''

''Edinburgh...'' Crowley finished for him. ''Mister Dalrimple...''

Elsbeth and wee Morag Aziraphale almost added, but on a deeper level he knew that would only result in Crowley storming out of the bookshop, and possibly his existence, so he let it go. He reached for the bottle again, deciding to pour it down the sink and tell Crowley to forget he'd even mention it when all at once, Crowley took hold of the bottle himself and laughed. ''Laudanum!'' the demon cackled suddenly. 'So far out of my head that night, it took Dagon years to realise I was too numb to notice...''

He trailed off darkly, as if remembering what had happened after the high had worn off. Aziraphale held a breath. Either he would stay or he would run.

One count.

Two counts.

The smile returned, and with it a twinkle of mischief Aziraphale hadn't known how much he had missed. ''So, Angel... Are you going to educate me on the proper... etiquette for Absinthe? Or are we just going to drink it like bawdy American tourists?''

Momentarily scandalised, (or at least pretending to be) Aziraphale flapped his hands as if shaking away something dirty. ''Really, Crowley! You are just impossible sometimes! But I'll forgive you, this time!'' As he rose from the little table, he cast a glance over his shoulder, part withering glare and part please understand I'm joking.

To his relief, Crowley just chuckled.

Carefully, as if setting up a High Tea, Aziraphale put out the set. A pair of glasses. A pair of absinthe spoons. A plate of sugar cubes. A lit candle.

''Now there are two schools of thought, when it comes to consuming this drink,'' placing a cube of sugar on each of their spoons. ''The French way, or the Bohemian way...''

The kettle boiled and the little area that had served as their drinking area had filled with clouds of steam. but like the specifics from later in the evening, it was quickly dissipating.

In the end, it had been Crowley who had taken to the absinthe with aplomb, easily outpacing Aziraphale two drinks to his one, especially when it came to the Bohemian Method, often - almost entirely after the first - not waiting for the flame to extinguish before downing the drink.

Aziraphale allowed a smile as he set his tea to steep. Before things had... progressed to the physical, Crowley had shown himself to be much more well read than he had ever let on...

''Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art— Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night...''

That had probably been the turning point, he thought wistfully. The moment he would have followed Crowley to Alpha Centauri and beyond instead of a dingy bedroom in SoHo, chasing the words of a long dead human poet... Suddenly, he threw the cup across the room in a wordless burst of anger. Why should love be denied to any of Her creations, least of all the first of them? Even the Word said to give love to the least of her children! Where had it all gone wrong? He was gearing up to rage some more against Heaven and Hell and all creation, when a gentle hand rested on his shoulder.

Angel...

Aziraphale wanted to throw himself into Crowley's arms, beg him to relive the previous night again and again, so the memories would be burned into his skull, instead of fading like snow puddles in sunlight.

Or sugar cubes under water drips.

Instead, he offered a wry half smile. ''Feeling a bit rough this morning, I guess...'' He offered. ''Spilled my tea...'' ''I just wanted to tell you that I was going back to my flat. Water the plants.'' His face unreadable, especially with the shades on. ''Sleep off this Second Circle of Hell level hangover, Set my alarm for next Tuesday....'' ''But it's already Friday...''

Now a smile. ''Fine. This Tuesday then. Happy Angel?''

''As can be,'' he sighed. ''Crowley...'' he began, but the demon just shook his head.

''Tuesday, Lunch,'' He said firmly. The conversation was over. He headed to the door but paused at the thresh hold.

''Angel,'' he called over his shoulder, knowing Aziraphale could not see him, but could hear him.

''Yes?'' ''Really? it had to be Tartan socks?'' *Fin

** ''Bright Star - is Keats

The Second Level of Hell is 'Lust'...

No Betas, I die like a Celt...

#aziraphale #crowley #good omens #fanfic #ineffable husbands

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dhwty-writes · 3 years

Note

hi! I have a prompt, if you like: what if Geralt hangs up mistletoe to get Jaskier to kiss him? :)

ELLIE, what a galaxy brained concept! It’s so silly and the gay panic is rampant in this one, my friends. The Kaer Morons being a bumbling pack of idiots and Geralt ridiculously pining after Jaskier? Coming right up!

Summary: Geralt is in love with Jaskier. In order to finally get him to admit his feelings, he devises a ten step plan with Lambert, Eskel and Vesemir.

Warnings: NONE, this is tooth-rotting fluff

Read on AO3

There was a conspiracy of the highest order brewing in the Continent involving no less than four witchers, their horses, a goat, and an unsuspecting bard. It is known under many names, including, but not limited to, Operation Home Sweet Home, Gods Save us from your Fucking Pining, and Get Vesemir's Blessing (and Mission Let's Get Geralt Laid, but that was from Lambert and therefore stupid).

They had laid out the Conspiracy in a set of carefully calculated steps last winter with the help of Vesemir's Wise Words and truly copious amounts of alcohol. Once he saw the whole list sober, Geralt had nearly chucked it into the fireplace out of mortification. Good thing Eskel and Lambert had been nearby to wrestle the slip of paper out of his hands.

Only after the creation of at least half a dozen copies was he trusted with it again. He frowned down at the sheet. It was simple, really. A simple ten-step-plan. He could do that.

Step One: Stop fucking staring out of windows and sighing longingly. (Shut up, Lambert.) Get back on the Path and find Jaskier.

Now, at least that was easy enough. Not for the first time since their acquaintance they had agreed upon a meeting place to come find each other as soon as the snows would allow it. Most of the years Geralt would arrive a little late; because even if they chose a spot closer to Kaer Morhen than Oxenfurt, the Killer was usually impassable for a long time.

A few years they had been lucky and could set out relatively early in spring. Geralt hadn't felt lucky at all, sitting in a lonely tavern corner day in, day out, waiting for a familiar bright-coloured bard to fill his life with light again. He had felt terrified, most of all.

So, this year when he set out to the Path, an already crumpled list clutched tightly in his hand, he was even more on edge than normally. He didn't think he could take Step One failing already, and the mortifying possibility of Jaskier lying dead in a ditch. He might just climb up that mountain again and never come back down.

Luckily, Geralt — and Vesemir — were saved from that miserable fate. When Geralt threw open the tavern door in some backwater Kaedwen town, Jaskier was there already. He was peacocking around in his usual manner, enticing his sparse audience with his captivating presence. When his eyes fell on Geralt, though, his three half-drunk spectators were soon forgotten.

The bard gasped and slung his lute onto his back, vaulting off the stage to come rushing over to him. "You're here!" Geralt stood ready, his arms spread wide to catch Jaskier when he flung himself at him in an overenthusiastic hug. "I missed you." Jaskier slung his legs around Geralt's hips and buried his face against his shoulder, clinging to him as if for dear life.

Geralt held him tight, deeply inhaling the familiar scent, a mix of honey, grapes, and cinnamon. He was used to this by now. He didn't mind. Truth be told, he craved it.

"Hmm," he answered, acutely aware of the stares they were attracting. Geralt decided he didn't care. "I... missed you, too."

"You did?" Jaskier pulled back and beamed at him. Just a week ago he had thought he would kill to see that smile again as soon as possible.

"Hmm," he agreed. Now he knew he knew he would die for it.

Jaskier wriggled in his grasp as a sign he wanted to be put down again. "You certainly know how to sweep a man off his feet, darling," he announced with a cheerful wink. "I don't think you've ever told me you so much as enjoyed my company before, let alone miss it."

"Hmm." Hadn't he? He could've sworn he had.

"None of that, now, let me just grab my bag and we can be on our merry way." Without another word, Jaskier rushed up the stairs in the back of the tavern.

Geralt stood uncomfortably in the door, waiting for him to return and doing his best not to attract too much attention. 'Hurry up, Jaskier,' he thought impatiently.

"Oi!" the bartender shouted. "Yer the witcher? The one of the songs?"

"I am."

The man nodded and threw something at him, humming a very distinct tune. It was a ducat. Geralt pocketed it with a sigh. He hadn't missed that.

He didn't have to wait long before Jaskier came barrelling back down the stairs, a much too large bag Roach would have to carry again in tow. "Well," the bard straightened his crumpled doublet, which, for some reason, now gaped open and showed off the pristine shirt underneath. Geralt tried not to stare, "where are we off to?"

"Toussaint," he answered, holding the tavern door open for him.

"Toussaint!" Jaskier exclaimed excitedly. "I love Toussaint."

"Hmm," Geralt said. 'I know,' Geralt thought, 'that's why we're going.'

With their reunion out of the way, it was time to proceed with the plan:

Step Two: Travel with Jaskier. Be nice to him (no fillingless pies!)! Compliment him! Laugh at his jokes!

That part was significantly more difficult than the first. Not that he lacked compliments for Jaskier, quite on the contrary. They, however, posed not one, but two difficulties.

The first was one of his own making: voicing his thoughts with actual words. In the privacy of his mind he had a myriad of compliments. 'You're beautiful,' passed through his head when he saw Jaskier bathed in the golden light of sunset. 'You smell nice,' after a day at the coast, salt encrusting Jaskier's hair. 'You make me smile', 'You make the loneliness go away', 'You're the best bard I could wish for.' None of them were quite eager to leave his mouth.

When they finally did, it was awkward. They didn't sound at all how he imagined them. "What are you looking at?" Jaskier asked.

"Something on your face," he answered. 'Yeah,' he thought dumbly, 'sunlight.'

Or: "Geralt, are you sniffing me?"

"You smell." He still cursed himself months later for omitting the simple word 'nice'.

After a while he got better at it. He could manage an "I like your voice" without stumbling over it, or a "Your outfit looks nice and smooth." It wasn't an "I love listening to you sing and say my name; you make it sound like something that is worthy of affection" or an "I love that you wear silk as soft as your skin and could spend days caressing it without growing tired of it" yet, but he was getting there.

What came then, once he was able to say a simple nice sentence to his bard, was somehow even worse. Jaskier was clumsy, that was nothing new, but this season it was on a whole different level. Whenever Geralt so much asked him about the song he was working on, the bard stumbled over his own feet; with every smile or laugh he nearly dropped his precious lute.

But nothing beat that time they happened upon a particularly clear and blue lake and Geralt had leaned over to tell Jaskier: "I like it. It reminds me of your eyes. Just as pretty." The poet had nearly plummeted right into it, which would have been very unfortunate indeed, since he hadn't convinced the nymph living in it to migrate yet.

In the end, Jaskier's utter lack of equilibrium sense led to Geralt offering him to ride on Roach. That was much better. Sometimes they rode double, too. He liked those days especially, when he had an excuse to hold his bard close. The days when Jaskier would sigh and lean back into his touch he liked most of them all.

Slowly, they settled into a familiar rhythm. It was awkward at first, but soon they became used to the change of their relationship. And it wasn't as if everything changed. They still bickered and insulted each other, and laughed and told stories. It was just right; Geralt almost didn't notice how summer came to an end.

But it did, and when the first leaves started coasting to the ground it was time for the next step.

Step Three: Ask him where he will spend the next winter.

It was probably the most mortifying thing he had to say to Jaskier yet. They were sat at a campfire one early autumn evening, Geralt trying to look busy cleaning his sword and Jaskier preoccupied with his lute. Once he finally worked up the courage to ask, he stumbled over his words like a school boy; he even blushed, for fuck's sake! It was embarrassing.

Luckily, Jaskier didn't seem to notice, too busy tuning his lute. "Why, in Oxenfurt, of course. Why do you ask, Geralt?" he answered nonchalantly as if Geralt wasn't just leading the most daunting conversation of his entire life.

'Fucking great,' he thought. Now it was time for Step Three.5: Ask Jaskier to come home with you, you fucking idiot.

"Hm," he said.

Jaskier laughed. "Talkative as always I see." He smiled at him brightly and turned back to his lute. "Alright then. Keep your secrets."

"Hmm." This wasn't getting any easier. "Jaskier."

"Yes, dear?"

His heart fluttered with the pet name, so much that Geralt nearly bit his tongue off in the process of trying to voice his question: "Would you like to stay with me?"

The lute gave a dissonant twang that made both of them wince. "Excuse me, what?" Jaskier stammered, his voice much higher than normally.

"Hmm. I just thought..." He frowned. 'Shit.' He couldn't do it. He just couldn't. This had been doomed from the beginning. "Forget it, it's stupid."

"No, no, not at all!" Jaskier scrambled to his feet and hurried over to Geralt's side. "Where would we be staying? I suppose you could come to Oxenfurt with me, but it could get a bit crammed and-"

"Kaer Morhen," Geralt stated simply.

"Kaer Mo- oh!" His eyes lit up. "Why, yes, Geralt, I would love to stay with you."

And that was the end of that. They didn't talk about it anymore the whole evening as Geralt did his damnedest to forget the conversation had ever happened. But when he laid awake in the night, Jaskier huddled close to him — it was getting rather cold, after all — he couldn't stop his mind from whirling, excitement mixing with immobilising terror. Jaskier would come to Kaer Morhen with him. They would stay together the whole winter. And Jaskier would meet his family.

With a sigh he turned over, cautiously throwing an arm over Jaskier's waist and holding him like the precious thing he was. The smile that spread on Geralt's face when his bard snuggled even closer, outshone the morning sun creeping over the horizon.

The following days and weeks, Jaskier was buzzing with the same excited energy that Geralt held within. It cost him every ounce of self-control not to turn Roach around and head for Kaer Morhen right away. But it was still early in the autumn, at least a moon's turn before it was time to go home, so they busied themselves with taking contracts and performing for sub-par audiences.

It was alright. He needed the money, after all, if he wanted to cross off Step Four: Bring Jaskier back to Kaer Morhen in its entirety, including the note: Buy him some nice and warm clothes on the way - Vesemir

It was good advice, Geralt knew, as most of Vesemir's advice was. Jaskier might have travelled with a witcher for the better part of his life, but he was still only human. And winters were very cold in the northern Kaedwen mountains.

So, on Geralt's annual stop in Ard Carraigh, he took Jaskier to get him equipped with soft woollen sweaters and stockings, as well as a pair of sturdy boots, ignoring the bard's protests of how 'ugly' they were.

"You'll thank me when you've still got all your toes after this winter," he grumbled as he strapped Jaskier's bag to Roach's saddle.

After that, nothing much exciting followed. There were still a few villages and hamlets along the way to Kaer Morhen but the least of them had so much as a tavern. The ones with a real audience of Jaskier were fewer still.

Geralt couldn't say he didn't enjoy it. Quite the opposite, he loved listening to Jaskier in the privacy of their camp or — if they were lucky — the barn where they could stay the night. He loved knowing that Jaskier sang only for him. And most of all he loved the vibrant smiles he got along the way, and the tiny ones, too, etched on his face even when he curled up against the witcher at night.

During the days, Jaskier finally had to stop riding on Roach; the path was simply getting too dangerous. The way up to Kaer Morhen had never been easy, not even when there had been two dozen witchers and twice as many students living there, but since the attack they hadn't tended to it anymore. The Witcher's Trail was no easy one for humans — and it wasn't meant to be.

Jaskier, to his credit, didn't comment much on it, most of the time too exhausted or admiring to run his mouth about the difficulty of getting to Geralt's home. He was almost a bit worried, anxious even, if Jaskier's reaction to seeing the ancient ruin would just be the same kind of silent admiration.

Evidently, there had been no need. They rounded the last corner and, finally, Kaer Morhen was looming up above them. As soon as his eyes fell on it, Jaskier gasped and ran ahead. He had, apparently, forgotten about his aching limbs he had complained about just that morning. "Is that it?" he asked excitedly. "Geralt, is this it?"

"No, it's another crumbling fortress in the Kaedwen mountains," he deadpanned.

"You're mean," Jaskier accused him and turned back around to the keep. "For months I've dreamt of this moment and what do you do? You mock me, truly a horrible habit, that- oh, gods, Geralt, it's so beautiful!"

"Hmm," he answered, watching Jaskier intently. The childish glee on his face, the snowflakes dancing around him and melting in his hair. "I guess so."

"Can we go inside?"

Another barbed comment was already on the tip of his tongue, but Geralt guessed that he shouldn't ruin the moment. Not if Jaskier was so happy. "We can. Come on."

They were still a good distance away when the gates creaked open and three bulking figures stepped outside. "You're early," he accused Eskel and Lambert once they caught up to them. They weren't supposed to be there. They were messing up Step Five: Meet the family. (Lambert Eskel Lambert Vesemir first.)

"And you're impolite," Vesemir grumbled. "I taught you better, Geralt."

"Hmm," he answered and the silence that followed might've been awkward if not for Jaskier.

Thanks to him there was no silence at all, to be precise. "You must be Vesemir; Geralt told me so much about you. Dare I say, Master Witcher, I am honoured and humbled by the invitation, and am looking forward to my stay. The name's Jaskier and I am at your service," he concluded and bowed with a flourish.

The three witchers gaped at him in surprise and Geralt couldn't help but grin. No overly detailed stories by him could've possibly prepared them for... well, Jaskier. "What," Lambert muttered quietly, "the fuck?"

"Now, that's just rude," Jaskier said as he straightened himself, "don't you think? Geralt, your brother is being rude to me."

It was all he could do not to laugh freely. Instead he shrugged and said: "Told you he's the rude one."

"Oh, you're Lambert!" The bard grinned widely and stretched out his hand. "Nice to finally meet you."

Lambert huffed in surprise and shook the offered hand. "Tell you what, bard, I'm not sure if I should be flattered or offended."

"Offended," Geralt mumbled just as Eskel said: "Flattered."

Jaskier smiled widely and wickedly. "Both."

Lambert opened his mouth, presumably to return a rude comment, but Jaskier's attention was diverted by Eskel, who gave him a thorough once-over and then nodded. "Welcome to Kaer Morhen, bard."

"Thank you, uh, Eskel?" he hazarded a guess.

A smile tugged on the unscarred corner of his mouth. "That's right."

"Dinner's in an hour," Vesemir cut in. "Maybe you could show our guest to his room, Geralt?"

Right. With the meeting out of the way it was time for Step Six: Show him to his room (Make sure it has some nice fur rugs - Vesemir) (Shag him on the rug - Lambert) (Offer to stay with him if he's cold - Eskel). Both of those additions seemed equally daunting to him.

But before he could even think of an excuse as to why he couldn't do that right now, Roach's reins were ripped from his hands and they were being pushed towards the keep.

"Well, they're certainly eager to get rid of you, considering they haven't seen you for a year," Jaskier quipped once they were inside the keep proper.

"That's not- hmm." 'Fuck.' He had almost betrayed himself. "They'll be different after dinner," he promised. "Besides, you know they can hear you."

"So?" He huffed a laugh. "I know they're just like you; all bark and no bite."

He was about to deny that claim but Lambert's offended howl that reached him from the courtyard quickly changed his mind. That definitely was worth the jab at his own ego. "Come on," he urged, smiling, "no need to continue playing the jester for them any further."

"Why, is there any issue with providing entertainment for a living?" Jaskier teased.

"Only if it's at the expense of me."

He sighed dramatically. "That I know, my dear. That I know."

"Jaskier?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up, I'm trying to give you a tour of the keep."

"You are? Oh, I wouldn't have noticed." Geralt shot him a dirty look. Jaskier snickered maliciously, the bastard. "Oh, yeah, yep. Shutting up. Go ahead, Sir Witcher, show me your magnificent home."

From anyone else it might've been mockery. It might've been mockery from Jaskier, too, if not for the sound of absolute awe in his voice as he took in their surroundings.

Geralt could hardly blame him. It might've been a long time since he had arrived at Kaer Morhen, but he still remembered how dumbstruck he had been at the sheer immensity of the place that should become since home.

It had lost its mysticism since then, but seeing Jaskier's childlike wonder as he led him through the kitchens and great hall made him remember. He showed him the library, too, as well as the stairs down to the hot springs that he must never, ever confuse with those that led to the laboratories.

He closed with the rooms the various witchers claimed as their own: "That's Lambert's room down the hall, don't go there, he's a prick; Vesemir is a few floors below us, claims he's too old for our squabbles; that's mine, and that one's Eskel's, ask him if you need something and I'm not there, not Lambert, he's an arsehole-"

"Geralt," Jaskier said soothingly and put a hand on his arm, "you're rambling."

"Am I?" he asked confused. "Don't think so."

"There's no need to be nervous, dear. I won't abandon you; you're stuck with me for the winter."

"I'm not nervous," Geralt insisted, his fingers twitching nervously.

"Right," Jaskier took his hand away, evidently not very convinced. "I'm sorry for interrupting you, then."

"Don't be," he mumbled, not quite able to tear his gaze from Jaskier's gentle smile.

"Geralt?"

"Hm?"

"Do I-" He started fidgeting with his lute strap. "Do I have a room, too? I mean, not that I mind sharing with you, that's not the issue at all- gods, I sound stupid-"

His eyes still trained on Jaskier, he reached behind him and opened the door. "There."

"That's my room?" he asked without turning around to look inside.

"That's yours," Geralt confirmed. He had prepared it last winter already. Just in case.

As soon as the words had left his mouth, the poet whirled around and rushed into the sparsely furnished room. He looked very much... out of place. The realisation hit him like a slap in the face; but apparently the visual of Jaskier and his bright purple doublet in the grey empty walls of Kaer Morhen was what it took for him to realise how little they were reconcilable.

For the first time in his life he felt self-conscious for his home. "'S not much," Geralt mumbled.

"It's wonderful." Jaskier beamed, carefully inspecting the bed and the rug, peering out the window and into the chest. "Might get a bit cold, though."

He grumbled something he knew to be unintelligible to humans into his beard.

"What was that, love?"

"You could always stay with me," he spoke up. "Y'know. We've shared before."

"That we have! You might find that before long you will be forced to let me take you up on your generous offer."

"Hmm," Geralt answered and left him to it, in order to complete Step Six.5: No, let him arrive first, you idiot! There would be no 'being forced' of any kind, but he wasn't quite ready to admit that to Jaskier, yet.

Despite their apparent incompatibility Jaskier settled into the routine of Kaer Morhen disturbingly quickly. Though 'settle into' wasn't quite the right choice of words. More like 'tear it down and build it anew, but with lyrics, laughter, and luminosity'.

The evening of their arrival was truly mortifying, the worst mix of embarrassing stories of Geralt's childhood and very inappropriate questions directed at Jaskier. Geralt had spent the whole dinner frozen in shock and awe at the masterful display of the bard's craftsmanship.

After an hour of vicious cross-examination, the three witchers had finally backed off. And as Vesemir had retreated to his rooms, Lambert had brought up the alcohol. It hall had spiralled out of Geralt's control after that.

Within the hour Lambert and Jaskier were japing and jabbing at each other as if they were lifelong friends and not acquaintances since a few hours. It took his bard three days to have Vesemir completely wrapped around his finger, intently listening to his droning lectures about basically everything. And not even a fortnight into their stay, he found Jaskier and Eskel in the library, talking with hushed voices. He quickly retreated but not before he heard Jaskier telling his brother how beautiful he was, scars or no scars, and Eskel sniveled quietly.

A month since their arrival saw them trapped into the castle by the heavy snowfalls. Unfortunately, that didn't stop Vesemir from drilling them mercilessly.

They were an hour into their morning routine when they all perked at the sound of soft footsteps passing through the hall. "Jaskier," Geralt said softly.

The bard was bundled up in several quilts, his face barely visible beneath the mess of his hair and the blankets. Still his face lit up with the brightest smile when he saw them. "Mornin', lads," he croaked, "lookin' good, keep it up." He gave them a tired thumbs-up and shuffled off to the kitchen, where Vesemir would provide him with a hot breakfast with a side of 'most-boring-information-on-this-earth'. It was their own morning routine of sorts, and the three of them knew it wouldn't be long before they were discussing the 'merits of the iambic pentameter in 10th century love poetry' or some shit.

"Fuck," Lambert cursed once they knew Jaskier to be out of earshot, "I really can't blame you, Geralt. Too much time with him and I start gawking like a love-sick idiot, too."

"Hmm," Geralt agreed. Jaskier definitely had that effect.

"Jealous, wolf?" Eskel inquired with a knowing smile.

"No," he answered earnestly. If anything, he loved Jaskier more for it. His family wasn't easy to deal with, he knew. But his bard didn't care. He had so much affection to give, even for witchers. 'Especially for witchers.' He closed his eyes with a happy smile.

"Y'know, there's still a couple of steps left on our list," Eskel informed him casually.

Geralt's eyes snapped open as his heart sped up. 'Fuck.' The plan. "Hmm."

"Just fucking get it over with," Lambert yearned. "Your pining isn't any less obnoxious just because he's here."

"If anything, it's gotten worse," Eskel agreed.

"So?" he snapped. He had put it off, that was true. Had waited for the snow, he told himself, but now the snow was here and-

"So, we'll distract him this afternoon," Eskel interrupted his spiralling thoughts.

"And you pull your head outta your arse and fucking follow through," Lambert added.

"Fine," he ground out. "We do that." Not before he kicked both their arses during their training, though, for being such utter dicks.

Before long, however, the inevitable happened. Morning passed over to noon, and, true to their words, Lambert and Eskel whisked Jaskier away after lunch. They left Geralt behind in the hall with a branch in his hands and nothing left to do but complete Step Seven: Hang up a mistletoe.

"Fuck," he muttered. Nearly one year had passed since they had come up with their conspiracy. One year to gather his courage, one year to come up with a plan, one year to at least think about where to fucking put it. "Fuck," he said again, for good measure.

He looked around. Looked to the rafters. Looked at the mistletoe. "Fuck it," he declared and tucked it away to scale up to the rafters.

He was already up there, dangling from one of the beams when he remembered that he had nothing to secure it with besides the silky ribbon that would never fit around it. He scowled darkly. He sure as hell wouldn't climb down and up again. Without further ado he pulled his dagger from his belt and drove it deep into the wood, pinning the mistletoe by the ribbon.

He climbed down again, making sure that it was visible from the ground. 'Perfect,' he decreed. With the mistletoe in place, it was now time for Step Eight: Have Lambert and Eskel inform Jaskier of the mistletoe and a strategically placed Geralt.

He spun around to go and alert his brothers, when he heard a cheerful voice behind him: "Geralt! There you are, you mean witcher, I was wondering where you were hiding. You know, it is not nice to leave your, uh- bedmate all alone and freezing in the morning, and- oh." There was a thoughtful pause. "Now would you look at that."

Geralt heaved a long sigh. He dreaded turning around, for he had a very distinct feeling he knew already what he would see. And fuck, he was not ready for that step. For some stupid reason, he still did turned around.

Jaskier stood in the middle of the hall, squinting up at the ceiling. "Are my eyes deceiving me — and they might be, mind you, my eyes are not as good as a witcher's — or is that a mistletoe I spy up there."

He cursed internally. He knew he should've hung it lower. "Hmm," he answered, his heart beating in his throat. Why was his heart beating in his throat? It wasn't supposed to do that. His voice was surprisingly calm when he said: "Seems like it."

"Oh no!" he moaned woefully. "Quick, Geralt, come here and lift the curse!"

"Curse?" he inquired bemusedly as his feet moved without his volition. "What curse, Jaskier?"

The bard gasped. "Don't you know? When someone passes beneath a mistletoe, they are frozen to the spot until the curse is broken."

"Hmm," he stepped under the mistletoe, too. He should've known Jaskier would make up a story around this. It was just a tradition, for fuck's sake, no curse. Although a curse was certainly more romantic, even he had to admit that. "Must be a rare curse if a witcher's never heard of it."

"The rarest," Jaskier insisted and pointed at his cheek. "It may only be broken with a true love's kiss."

In light of what happened next, let it be known that, in Geralt's defence, he was panicking. Quite thoroughly so. Since the Trials his legs hadn't shaken like that anymore.

He had been promised a pep talk by his brothers before having to confront the situation at hand. And yet they were nowhere to be found and Jaskier was here, evidently expecting him to kiss him.

'Shit. Fuck. Shit fuck.' He was not ready; he was not ready; he was not-

"Geralt?" Jaskier ripped him from his thoughts. "Are you waiting till my nose grows icicles, or what?"

Still, he leaned forward, placing one hand on Jaskier's hip and the other on his shoulder, and pecked him on the cheek.

The cheek. That had not been the plan. That had not been the plan at all. And then, of all things, he heard himself ask: "Can you move again?"

Jaskier blinked, looking just as dumbstruck as Geralt felt. "I- I think so?" he stammered and moved to pull away, blushing furiously.

'Fuck, no,' he remembered thinking. And while he wasn't quite in control of his limbs again, what he did next was probably the single most clever thing he had done in his entire life. Gingerly almost, he tightened his grip on Jaskier. His head tilted to the side, an invitation, an escape.

His bard didn't move. Instead, he said: "Doesn't seem like it."

"Hmm," Geralt answered and leaned in closer. "Difficult curse, seems like. Let me try again."

Before he could even think of changing his mind, Jaskier had his arms looped around Geralt's neck and crushed their lips together. He did his best to reciprocate the kiss, which wasn't easy with fear still gripping his heart tightly, but then Jaskier crowded closer, moulding his body against Geralt's and that was all it took for the tension to seep from his bones and go limb.

It was a weird sensation; being wrapped in Jaskier's arms was so familiar, but he was also kissing Jaskier, which was new- 'Great gods, I am kissing Jaskier, I am kissing Jaskier, I am-'

He pulled back with a triumphant grin, evidently startling his bard. "What?" he asked, very confused.

"I am kissing you," he announced, his grin widening even more.

Jaskier frowned. "That you are, but-"

"I am kissing you," he said again and pecked him on the lips. "And I can keep doing it."

"Oh!" The frown eased away, giving way to the softest of smiles. "That you can, my dear."

So, Geralt did. Again. And again. And again, and again, and again. He didn't know how many times he had kissed Jaskier, how many times Jaskier had kissed him, before he pulled back and blurted: "I love you."

Jaskier stared at him in silent awe, before blushing and cupping his cheeks gently. "That you do, my love," he whispered. "And I love you, too." Softly, he pressed their lips together again.

"You do?" Geralt asked disbelievingly.

Jaskier smirked. "I do. For years and years, I have. I thought you knew."

"Fuck," he muttered. Did that mean... 'I didn't have to do any of this.' He could've just- "I'm an idiot."

"Only sometimes," he allowed, giggling sillily. Geralt was compelled to join in. "Besides, you’re my idiot, and I love you for it." He shifted a little, so he could lean his head comfortably onto Geralt's shoulder despite them being nearly the same height.

"So," Jaskier drawled, curling a strand of Geralt's hair around his finger, "are we just going to keep standing here, or...?"

He scoffed. Of course, they wouldn't. He had a plan, after all. "Fuck." The plan.

Jaskier raised his head. "Is that a curse or an answer?"

"Yes," he answered warily.

It earned him the most beautiful snorting laugh he had ever heard. "What are you cursing at, love?"

"We skipped Step Eight," he admitted, "got right to Step Nine."

"Excuse me, what?"

"Step Nine: Kiss Jaskier." The poet just gawked at him. "I had a list," he explained.

"You had?" Jaskier's eyes lit up and he made grabby hands. "Show me, show me!"

Reluctantly, Geralt handed it over, studying Jaskier's face carefully as he read through it.

"I knew it," Jaskier concluded finally.

"Huh?"

"Oh, come on!" He threw up his hands. "You were acting weird all year round, Geralt! Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but still, weird. It took me about ten minutes to figure out there was some ploy at play." He laughed quietly and waved the paper around. "Though I never would've guessed what was amiss."

"You don't like it."

"On the contrary! It's a wonderful plan," the poet said and pecked him on the lips. "I've got to admit, though, Lambert was right: you should've just fucked me on that rug once we got here."

"Hmmm." Geralt nuzzled against Jaskier's neck, holding him closer when he tried to squirm away from the tickling sensation. "That still an option?"

"Very much so. I believe it has to be one more step before completing your list." He pulled him close and whispered against his lips: "Take me to bed, my love"

And how could Geralt refuse such a request? Especially if it coincided so luckily with Step Ten.

#my writing #the witcher #geraskier #elliestormfound #look i've got an ask #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #eskel #Lambert #vesemir #kaer morhen #kaer morons

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rasmot-corner · 7 years

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Kohart Universe Drinks: Draccicanai Kreto’Noto Shine

So i’ve been on a bit of a kick lately. And well. I have decided to make some more drinks from my personal universe. Because of a mood i have had recently called the “Cheeki Breeki” where i have wanted to consume massive . . . stupidly copious amounts of alcohol, i present to you the absolute final word on what the Dracicannan people view as PURE alcohol. If you have not seen the earlier creation i have made, check [ Here ] for my recipe for making the Dracicannai Gor’Kitan Cider. As a warning, this drink contains STUPID amounts of Alcohol. Do not drink it all in one go. Do not drink more than one. Moderation is absolutely advised. And now let’s get to a description of it, and the recipe ^ ^

“Kreto’Noto Shine: If there was ever to be a drink that could get as close to the “Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster” in the history of any race across the galaxies, this is absolutely it. Kret’Noto Shine, sometimes known as Kreto’Noto Glimmer or just simply Kreto’Noto, is a very strong alcohol. The distillation process begins with the gathering of native Dracicannai herbs and mushrooms into a blend known as Korcha. Instead of drying the mixture it is instead mashed into a pulp and stuck in a carved stone bowl, in a cave, in the mountains next to open sources of Elem-Stone or E-365. The bowl is first placed in the middle of a ring of Elem-Stones and under a slow trickling stream of water. After several months, the bowl is removed and the contents are then put through a distillation process similar to Rum or Whiskey.

While Korcha tastes similar to Matcha or Green Tea from earth, Kreto’Noto tastes nowhere similar to it. It instead has a slightly sweet taste to it but also with a hint of what seems to be licorice to the concoction. However it is the strong alcohol content to the drink that gives it the name of “The Green Bonfire”. It is comparable to Moonshine but far more pleasurable and alluring than the Human made rotgut. This drink is very rare and is often viewed as a precious commodity to several races. A single bottle of this substance could even buy your way into at least one, if not several royal parties on distant planets. As such it has become a popular and highly sought after export. And like many highly alcoholic exports it is considered heavily illegal in certain regions of space. If you ever get your hands on this substance it is advised to drink it slowly and with caution.

This drink could likely set your soul ablaze.”

-How to make your own Kreto’Noto Shine-

Ingredients:

A bottle or can of Normal Mountain Dew

Some Absinthe

Some clear Moonshine

Some Aged Rum (Must not be Black Rum)

Some Melon Liquor

Directions:

Use a glass about the size i have shown above in the picture. It is not recommended that you use a bigger glass. Trust me on this. Your glass should be close to half the size of a normal drinking glass. Do not attempt with anything larger.

Fill the glass half full with crushed ice.

Add in about half a shot full of Moonshine into the glass.

Add in almost 75% or half a shot and a quarter of Absinthe into the glass

Add an almost full shot of Aged Rum into the glass

Add a full shot and a quarter of a shot of Melon Liquor into the glass. The rum and Melon Liquor will dampen the blow from the rest of the ingredients, and bring out the flavor/color of the drink.

Add in Mountain Dew to the rest of the glass, or until practically full. Try not to add too much. You can use the rest later to add to the drink (highly recommended)

Stir your glass with the back end of a spoon and enjoy once mixed!

This is probably the most alcohol you may ever consume in your lifetime. However i am also highly excited at how well this drink came out! I was halfway afraid that none of this would mix well and that there would be “waves” to everything when making this drink. To my absolute shock and joy everything blended together smoothly. There will be a “kick” to it on the first go. However it will be a smooth kick, not at all like Moonshine or Absinthe. It will be a very pleasant and surprising motion that will make you have a small jig in delight of how well it came together. Sometimes it’s stuff like this that make me the most happy with how well it all comes together. If you’re not fond of anything remotely tasting like Licorice, give this a hard pass. There is that taste to the drink, and that mostly comes from the Absinthe. However everything else levels the flavor out and it is a surprisingly good mixture. Do note that you should not drink more than one. After having the one drink i was completely intoxicated. And that was pretty much after half the drink was done. So drink with moderation and caution!

Also, Yes, it will be a cloudy green colored drink, and probably the greenest thing you will ever consume. But that’s what makes it good~

#Rasmot #Kohart #Kohart Universe #Kreto'Noto #Kreto'Noto Shine #Writing #Recipe #Alcohol #Mixed Drinks #Sci-Fi #Sci-Fi Mixed Drinks #Absinthe #Moonshine #Rum #Melon Liquor #Mountain Dew #Dracicanna #Dracicannai Kreto'Noto Shine

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kuriquinn · 7 years

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Why Sasuke Uchiha Will Never Drink Again [One-Shot]

Masterlist & Disclaimer

Summary: One of Konoha’s best kept secrets is no longer a secret.

Disclaimer: This story utilises characters, situations and premises that are copyright Masashi Kishimoto, Shueisha, Shonen Jump and Viz media. No infringement on their respective copyrights pertaining to episodes, novelisations, comics or short stories is intended by KuriQuinn in any way, shape or form. This fan-oriented story is written solely for the author's own amusement and the entertainment of the readers. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All plot and Original Characters except for those introduced in the canon books, manga, video games, novelizations and anime, are the sole creation of KuriQuinn. (© KuriQuinn 2016- )

Rating: T

Warning: Mild OOC? They’re characters that grew up differently than the canon, so a little bit of change in personality. Mentions of OCs (Manako Inuzuka)

Canon/Fanon Compliance: AU ‘verse. Sasuke left Konoha, but he came back right away or right after training or something. Team 7 went on to become ANBU

"This," Sasuke says, "is ridiculous."

"No, this is genius," Naruto retorts. "And long overdue. You're back for the first time in two years—with a secret baby you didn't tell anyone about—"

"Because you wouldn't have overreacted about it at all," Sai interjects.

"—and I finally have a night off from learning all the most boring Hokage crap—"

"Ahem," Kakashi cough as he carefully pours several shot glasses full of the strongest nihonshu that Tsunade ever hid in the Hokage's office. He still keeps it around for days when his choices are between getting blind drunk or committing homicide.

Usually because of the three other men in the room with him and their female teammate.

"—and our lovely wives are catching Sakura up on two years of gossip—"

Sasuke rolls his eyes. "It wasn't two years, idiot."

"—so we are going to spend the night doing manly bonding stuff," Naruto concludes.

"Which apparently involves copious amounts of alcohol."

"Damn straight."

"Why am I here?" Sai asks. "I'm secure enough in my masculinity that I don't need 'manly bonding stuff'."

Kakashi raises an eyebrow at him. "Did you just use air quotes?"

"Did I not do it properly?"

"No, you did. It's just…weird."

"Noted."

"I'm going home," Sasuke sighs and heads toward the door. "Kakashi, I'll be back to give you my report tomorrow, when you're not surrounded by morons."

"Hm, it appears what Sakura told Ino was true," Sai remarks innocently.

"Huh. Looks like," Naruto agrees, also affecting a casual tone of voice.

"I never would have believed it," Kakashi concludes, and Sasuke can practically hear him shaking his head.

He stops, mid-step, and his eyes drift closed in resignation. Every brain cell he was ever given tells him to ignore it. People have goaded him with worse in the past and he has learned not to rise to the bait.

However—

It's Naruto. And an insinuation by Naruto does not go unanswered, for any reason.

"What has my wife been saying?" Sasuke asks, not turning around and trying to keep his tone carefully measured.

"Only that your alcohol tolerance is worse than Lee's," his oldest friend concludes happily. "And here I was going to give you a chance to prove that was just a lie…"

Sasuke's jaw clenches, hearing the challenge in Naruto's voice, and he really should just keep going.

Of course, that's not what he does.

Whirling around he marches towards the filled shot glasses and reaches for one, intending to throw it down his throat just to prove he isn't worried about it.

Naruto stops him.

"Hey-hey, hold on, you're not just gonna chug them!" he protests. "Where's the fun in that?"

"Ah, is this where the 'manly bonding stuff' comes in?" Sai inquires. "I assume you have some kind of drinking game in mind, then?"

"Not happening," Sasuke declares, although he doesn't return on his path to the door.

"Kiba showed it to me," Naruto says cheerfully. "It's called ‘Never Have I Ever’."

"Oh, this is going to go well," Kakashi gives a resigned sigh.

"The rules are easy! Someone confesses something they have never done, and the other people who have done that thing all have to take a shot," Naruto explains.

"And the point of this is…?" Sasuke asks.

"To see who passes out drunk first," Sai says.

"And manly bonding," Naruto adds.

"I'm going home," Sasuke says.

"I can assign you cat retrieval missions from now until Sarada enters the Academy," Kakashi points out innocently.

Sasuke glares and takes a seat in front of the desk where several shot glasses are just waiting to be consumed.

"Very well, I will go first," Sai declares, considering for a moment. Then he beams. "I have never sung karaoke."

Naruto throws back a shot, and Kakashi sighs before doing the same.

"Really?" Sai asks.

"It was one of Gai's tamer challenges," Kakashi says, which explains it all. He side-eyes his former students. "Never have I ever snuck into a movie."

Naruto and Sasuke exchange glances and down their drinks.

"Why would you bother doing that?" Sai wants to know.

"We were thirteen," Naruto explains. "And technically we paid. But sitting on the ceiling wasn't exactly allowed, so we had to sneak in."

"But…why?"

"Training," Sasuke answers shortly, and then smirks at Naruto. He nods at one of the shots in front of him. "I have never accidentally set myself on fire."

Naruto glares, but reaches for the drink nonetheless. "That was once."

"It still happened."

"Yeah, well I never set someone on fire on purpose."

Sasuke snorts but reaches for his drink without outward complaint. Kakashi takes a drink as well.

Through that damned mask, as usual. I guess it's a good thing you're not supposed to taste the alcohol anyhow…

Sasuke's eye twitches as the liquor burns its way down his throat, and he wonders if it's possible to learn to speed up one's metabolism in a matter of minutes. He knows kunoichi are taught that trick in the Academy and makes a mental note to ask Sakura about it later.

As for now, he is going to have to play this ridiculous game in a manner that gets his friends inebriated before he hits his limit.

Sakura is going to pay for mentioning this…

"Never have I ever…" Sai begins, and then says brightly, "urinated in the shower."

Kakashi groans in disgust and Sasuke casually tells him, "There is something deeply wrong with you." When Naruto turns red and takes a shot, he adds, "And in your case, that goes without saying."

"I blame dealing with your bullshit," Naruto shoots back.

"Now, now, let's think of happier things," Kakashi lectures in a mocking tone. "For example, the fact that I have never been beaten up by an ostrich."

Sai sniggers as Naruto and Sasuke adopt identical beleaguered expressions and throw back their respective shots.

"Why are you guys picking on me?" Naruto complains, wiping his mouth.

"It's not our fault you've done pretty much every idiotic thing under the sun," Sasuke retorts, having to concentrate on enunciating his words. His cheeks feel a little warmer than usual, too. "Unlike you, I've never graffitied public property."

Naruto reaches for the next shot and sneers at Sasuke, "Yeah, but at least I've never been to prison. That's pretty idiotic."

Sasuke chooses not to reply to that, mostly because he still retains enough of his (ever-lessening) judgement to know that picking a fight while under the influence of alcohol would be a bad idea.

Also, he's pretty sure that Sakura would kill him. And Hinata would give him that disappointed look, the one that always makes him feel like he's kicked a puppy.

In deference of a wife with super-strength and not facing any kicked-puppy expressions from the mouse of a woman that could conceivably kill him with two fingers if she felt the inclination, Sasuke lets it go.

This time.

"My turn," Sai pipes up. "I have never streaked naked through the village."

Sasuke glances at Naruto, half-expecting him to take a drink, but the blond man simply looks amused at the idea. To everyone's surprise, Kakashi takes a drink.

Naruto guffaws and Sasuke raises an eyebrow at him. "Another of Gai's contests?"

"Yes."

"Clearly Naruto isn't the only one with tendencies toward poor judgement," Sai determines.

"Oh, I wouldn't call it poor," Kakashi muses, "it was actually quite liberating. You'd be surprised how good it feels to have a breeze between your—"

"Nope! Uh-uh, don’t want to know! Stop talking!" Naruto yells, while Sasuke's eye begins to twitch again. "It's your turn anyhow, Kakashi-sensei."

The white-haired man sighs. "Are you guys ever going to stop calling me sensei? I haven't been your squad leader since you were kids."

"If it helps, I never called you sensei," Sasuke points out. Then he frowns, because that was a little more candid than usual. His head is beginning to feel like it's being buoyed up by cotton. Why did he think this was a good idea again?

Kakashi regards him with an amused look in his eyes, and shakes his head. Then he juts his neck toward Sai, "Never have I have crossed-dressed.

Sai blinks. "How did you know about that?"

"Manako saw you. She says you're surprisingly adept at walking in high heels."

"Ino makes me practice," Sai shrugs, throwing his drink down his throat.

"Why?" Naruto demands, looking scandalised.

Sai smirks. "Now, that would be telling, wouldn't it?"

"At least he's finally had something to drink," Sasuke mutters.

"Why, are you worried you'll be the only one inebriated here, Coward?"

Sasuke narrows his eyes. "Never have I ever been part of a secret black ops organization."

Sai frowns and takes a shot; Kakashi does as well.

"Can we perhaps stay away from the darker topics?" he suggests.

"Good idea," Naruto says. He pauses to think, and frowns as if he can't think up anything good. In the end he settles on, "I have never sung in the shower."

Kakashi and Sai both drink.

"Did you even know what a shower was before marrying Hinata?" Sasuke challenges.

"At least I knew what a naked woman looked like before I got married."

"Oh, have we moved on to nudity then?" Sai speaks up, interrupting Sasuke's inner argument about whether to throw a fireball at his friend or electrocute him. "I have never engaged in naked pursuits with a woman that is not my wife."

"'Naked pursuits'?" Naruto asks.

"Sex, you moron," Sasuke rolls his eyes.

"Oh. Oh."

Kakashi reaches for a shot. When he notices Naruto and Sasuke's somewhat judgemental expressions he snorts.

"I wasn't a monk before I met you guys, you know. Not all of us can have some great, epic love story that spans years and continents, or ruins lives and sheds blood. Sometimes a good relationship starts out just as sex," he takes a drink, and then looks around as if he hasn't just imparted some oddly deep philosophy. "My turn, right? Alright—my first kiss wasn't with a man."

Naruto and Sasuke make identical noises of choked outrage and grudgingly down their shots.

"I heard about that," Sai sniggers. "Ino says it nearly caused a riot and that Naruto is lucky to have lived through puberty."

"Damn right he is," Sasuke mutters.

"Your turn, my adorable student," Kakashi points out.

"I'm thinking…"

"Oh, wow, only five shots and you already have to think?" Naruto jeers.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't counting drinks invalidate things somehow?" Sai wonders. "Or does that just mean you haven't had enough?"

"Shut up. I have one," Sasuke interrupts, an idea coming to him before he can think too clearly about what his former teacher just said. "I have never read porn."

"There's a difference between porn and erotica," Kakashi grumbles, although he takes a shot; Naruto and Sai do as well.

"Semantics. It's still something closet perverts like you three do."

"That was research—and it paid off!" Naruto points out. "Remember the time my Reverse Harem Jutsu almost saved the world?"

"And how many naked men did you have to look at to get that one right?" Sai wonders. "At least when I've watched porn, it's been women."

"Your wife lets you watch porn?" Sasuke asks, squinting at the other man. For some reason that doesn't jive with what he knows of Ino.

"Hey! I've got the next one!" Naruto shouts as he refills their shot glasses. "Never have I ever watched porn with someone else!"

Sasuke shudders at the idea of that brand of awkwardness, and to his utter lack of surprise, both Kakashi and Sai drink.

"It was for educational purposes," Sai says unabashedly, while Kakashi shrugs, "It's really not a big deal."

"Please tell me this was with your wives and not some random dude you decided to watch porn with," Naruto groans.

"No," Sasuke interrupts. "Don't. Don't tell us anything. Ever. Just…take your damn turn and move on."

I'm going home. As soon as my feet don't feel like bubbles, I am leaving…

"I have never had sex with more than one person at a time," Sai declares.

Sasuke groans inwardly; he should have known they weren't going to leave the topic of sex alone once it had been broached.

This is about to take a turn for the awkward.

Again, Kakashi takes a drink.

"Really?" Naruto looks scandalised and fascinated. "Was it with two girls, or a guy and a girl?"

"Gentlemen don't kiss and tell," Kakashi says mysteriously.

"Gentlemen don't play stupid drinking games," Sasuke points out.

Kakashi raises an eyebrow at this, and then says innocently, "I've never had sex outdoors.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes.

The other two watch him in expectation, as if waiting for him to outright lie. It occurs to Sasuke that playing this game with a bunch of shinobi wasn't a good idea. Even if he wanted to lie about something, they'd be able to tell.

Aware of the warmth in his cheeks, he reaches for his drink, pointing out as he does, "That's common knowledge."

"It still counts."

"Fine. I've never had my child walk in during."

Mostly because Sarada is a long time away from walking, but it's something he figures must have happened to his sensei at some point. He's got three kids past the toddling age.

As expected, Kakashi has to take a drink, and Sasuke basks in a momentary sense of victory.

Until Naruto laughingly shouts, "Oh, hey, I got one! I got one! Never have I ever…done butt stuff during sex!"

And Sasuke promptly chokes on his own spit.

Because no, no, no, that is not something he ever expected to be brought up here.

Naruto is smirking a challenge at Kakashi, like he figures learning one or two perverted things about his former teacher have given him total insight into how to get his sensei drunk.

Kakashi takes a drink, and then crosses his arms (his attempt to look unbothered is tempered by his pink cheeks). "I'm not ashamed. My sex life is amazing."

Naruto gapes. "No way! That was totally a joke, I didn't think—" He is interrupted as Sai cheerfully takes a shot as well. "Ehhhh?! You too?"

"Don't knock it until you try it," Sai says. "It's actually an interesting sensation when experienced in conjunction with—"

And that's my cue—

Sasuke wobbles to his feet. "I don't need to know any of this. I'm leaving."

"After all that ridiculousness, this is your limit?" Kakashi challenges, a knowing tone in his voice. Sasuke continues making a dogged beeline to the door. "Huh. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to avoid another shot, Sasuke."

"Hahaha!" Naruto sniggers. "No way."

Just a few more steps…

"Sasuke would never be into that sort of thing, he's way too boring," Naruto continues. "Remember, we had to practically tell him what sex was before he got married…"

Almost there…

"As I recall, he had a very interesting reaction to certain topics that night," Sai points out. "Particularly when we asked him the sort of things he had done with Sakura already. His neck used to get very red. A bit like what's happening right now."

Just reach out and grab the door –

"No way," Naruto murmurs blandly. "No fucking way."

"I did not see that coming," Kakashi says, sounding too surprised to be teasing.

"You mean Sasuke Uchiha took it up the ass?!" Naruto shouts.

Sasuke turns around, glaring daggers at this friend. "Shout it a little louder, you utter moron!"

There is silence.

Naruto's jaw drops, and the other two are blinking in surprise. The tableau would be funny if it weren't for the fact that Sasuke has realised his usual perfect control over his emotions have just caused him to confirm the one thing he did not want to confirm.

Shit.

"But wait…if you've never been with anyone you weren't married to, that would mean…" Sai begins.

"Don't finish that sentence," Sasuke warns.

"Sakura," Sai concludes.

"So she used a…?" Kakashi makes a lewd gesture.

"I did not need to know that about Sakura," Naruto murmurs, shuddering. "Oh, gods, I just got a mental image—oh my god, somebody scramble my brains, please!"

"That can be arranged," Sasuke growls, feeling electricity beginning to crackle in his palm.

"Aaaaand I'm calling an executive order to end tonight," Kakashi says, staggering to his feet. "By order of the Hokage, blah blah blah, you are all to go home and sober up. And no murders while in the Konoha environs."

"Seriously?!" Naruto squeaks at Sasuke, still apparently struggling with the concept.

"If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I'm taking off an arm," Sasuke hisses, taking a menacing step forward. "Or a leg. Probably a leg. Think how ridiculous you'll look, hopping around on one leg. Then you'll never be Hokage."

"And that's how we know Sasuke is drunk, gentlemen," Kakashi says. "Rambling death threats. I think we can call tonight a success, don't you?"

"We should do it again some time," Sai agrees.

"I'm leaving," Sasuke grumbles. "I'm taking a mission to the middle of fucking nowhere and never coming back. And I'm telling my wife it's your fault, and she's going to kill you all for me. I won't even have to get my hands dirty."

Kakashi chuckles. "I suppose I should make sure you get home alright and don't end up walking into a tree."

"Tch."

He stalks off, wobbling and angry and wondering if it's worth the headache to use a portal to get home.

"So, is this butt-sex thing something I'm missing out on?" he hears Naruto asks Sai, and then he sees red.

With a snarl of rage, Sasuke whirls around and makes a dive for Naruto's neck.

終わり

Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome, but if you feel like keeping me caffeinated out of the goodness of your heart, it certainly would be appreciated! I’m also starting to post original works to my patreon.

I’m only able to keep writing as I do thanks to the support of readers like you, so every bit helps!

栗

#i don't even know #crack fic #naruto fanfiction #guy's night in #sasuke uchiha #naruto uzumaki #sai yamanaka #kakashi hatake #sorry i'm missing the IOG update

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sparkesink · 4 years

Text

Chapter 5:

Under The Round-Top

Jade Erika Newth Had Fallen Madly In Love At A Terribly Young Age.

Peter Was The Sweet 'Boy Next Door' Type.

His Family,

(Literally,)

The 'Perfect American Family'.

Two Children:

One Boy,

One Girl.

Attended Church Every Sunday,

(Bed Before 10 PM.)

Sophomore In High School,

(Sixteen At The Time,)

Peter Neither Drank,

(Nor Smoked.)

He Was A Member Of His High School Golf Team,

Straight-A Student,

(Never Been Kissed.)

On The Other Hand,

Jade Was What You Would Call A Wild Child.

Her Family...

Not The Type You Can Simply “Ease” Into,

You,

(More Or Less,)

Have To Be Thrown Into The Fire,

(Hope To Come Out Alive.)

Her Father Was An 80'S,

(Big Hair,)

Rocker:

(Living That Reality Since Adolescence.)

Her Mother…

Well,

She's The Girl That Fell For The Rocker.

Being A Freshman In High School,

(Fourteen At The Time,)

She Had,

(Pre-Pubescent,)

Jumped Head First Into A Modded Lifestyle;

Dying Her Hair Black And White,

Attempting To Pierce Herself A Multitude Of Unique Occasions,

(Fluently Intoxicating Herself.)

Boy Crazy.

Though,

(Similar To Her Newest Obsession,)

Never Been Kissed.

The First Time Jade Became “Stoned” In Her Young Adolescent Life,

She Hadn't Actually Intended To Intoxicate Herself,

Though,

(As In Life,)

Nothing Ever Seems To Be Intended,

(Anyway.)

She Had Met Up With Some Boy At The Local Mall,

(Thirteen At The Time.)

They Had Been Hanging Out,

(Conversing,)

Whatsoever Young Children Of That Age Do.

As They Made Their Way Toward The Entrance,

(Sending Multiple Phone Calls,

In Search Of A Ride Home:)

This Very Night,

She Just So Happened To Run Into Her Aunts Fiancée.

He Had Been Working The Restaurant,

(He Was Currently Employed Under,)

That Particular Night;

(Kiddy-Corner The Mall Exit.)

He,

(Of Course,)

Got Off Shift Just As Jade Had Been Making Her Exit,

(With Her Male Friend,)

In Hopes This Companion Would Become Her “Prince Charming.”

Jade Had Been Dreaming About Love Since Before,

She Could Simply Concept The Idea Of It In The First Place.

Always:

Day Dreaming About “That One Boy”,

The One That Would Rescue Her From Herself.

Daydreaming Was A Talent Of Hers;

She Had An Ability To Create Entire Separate Realities Around Her,

Believing Her Creation With Such Fierce Velocity,

Allowing It To Mature Into A Multidimensional Paradox:

Only She Had The Ability To Project Herself In And Hijack As Her Own.

(A Perfect Reality.)

Sadly,

This Beautiful Talent Was But One Traumatic Weakness,

(Within Guidance To Her Ultimate Demise.)

The Reason She No Longer Grows In Age,

The Last Beat Of Her Golden Heart,

The Pill Bottle At The Bottom Of The Bath Tub,

The Deep Sleep That Landed Her…

Here.

Jade’s Soon To Be Uncle Glided Towards Her And Her,

(Hopeful,)

Boy Friend,

A Simple Introduction To Match.

(An Exceptionally “Normal”/Classy Type Gesture,)

He Proceeded To Shake This Young Boy's Hand,

(Bullshitting With Him,)

Commanding Two Awkward Teens To Wait For Him,

(As He Could Give Them Safe Passage Home.)

Independence From Parental Dependence:

(Exponentially More Appealing,)

A Thirteen Year Old Adolescent,

(Attempting To Flaunt Maturity.)

There Were Few,

(Rather Important,)

Facts Reliant To Understanding The Predicament Jade Had Found Herself In That Very Night:

First: Her Aunt’s Fiancée Worked As A Chef As His Main Employment.

Second: He Had Been Consistently Baking Pastries,

(Random Delicious Foods;)

Delicately Presented Amongst Their Kitchen Counters,

(At All Times.)

Third: He Thoroughly Enjoyed Himself Copious Levels Of Intoxication Through Cannabis.

In Turn,

(A Relatively Naïve,)

Plump Child In Her 13th Year,

Had Made The Executive Decision To Eat Four Of Her “Uncle’s” Eclair's:

(Prepared And Presented Ever So Delicately Upon Her Aunt's Countertop,)

Within A 10 Minute Span Of Existence.

(Only To Be Informed The Nature Of These Pastries,

After Allowed To Consume The Copious Amounts Of THC Residing Within Them.)

(Miniature Panic Attack:)

The Effects Began To Take Over.

Jade Came To A Conclusion At This Moment:

“Smoke A Bowl…

Shouldn’t Be A Big Deal,”

Since She Had Already Destined Herself Into The World Of Stoner-Ville,

Which,

She Had Only But Heard About,

(And Had Yet To Experience.)

My Dear,

(Naïve,)

Friend Had Not Been Educated On The Effects Of Edibles…

The Simplest Motor Skills,

(For Example:)

Walking To The Car,

Formulating Sentences,

(Without Interrupting Bursts Of Laughter,)

Became A Strenuous Task.

(Uninformed:)

Blazed Beyond Comprehension...

Probably Not In Best Interest To Attempt A Conversation With Your Parents,

(In Accordance To Arriving Home Safely.)

She Walked In The Front Door,

(Confident In The Fact That She Could Behave Accordingly,)

As If Nothing Had Been Impairing Her Judgment At This Moment In Time.

She Thought To Herself,

"I Am A Bit Late Coming Home…

They Are Probably Worried About Me,

I Shall Go Tell Them I Am Here,

Build Some Brownie Points"....

(I Advise NO ONE To Have These Thoughts And Follow Through With Them For Any Authority Figure.)

Realizing The Faults In Her Logic,

She Decided Against Informing Her Parents Of Her Arrival.

Stumbling,

(Half Coherent,)

She Independently Made Her Way To Her Bedroom,

(After Raiding The Kitchen For An Estimated 45 Minutes.)

Continued Eating,

(Until Movement Was Something Created Through Imagination,)

Passed Out,

Woke Up The Next Morning…

(Her Beautiful Mother Making Breakfast...)

Feeling More Accomplished Than A Horny Fraternity Boy In His 20th Year,

(Getting Laid Without The Help Of Alcohol At A Party.)

- That Is What Should Have Happened…

This Is What Actually Happened. -

Tumbling Through The Door,

(Hyperventilating From Strenuous Laughter,

About Absolutely Nothing,)

She Pondered To Herself,

"I Am A Bit Late Arriving Home…

They Are Probably Worried About Me,

I Shall Go Inform Them Of My Arrival So I Can Build Brownie Points With Them".

Preceded By This Young Girl,

Galloping Across An Eloquently Decorated,

(Formal,)

Living Room;

Anxiously Attempting To Recreate The Elegance Of A Gazelle,

(Trotting Delicately,)

Though A Field Some Pleasant Summer Afternoon.

Followed By An Attempt Of Rein-Acting The Newest 007;

(Spinning,)

Rolling Down The Stairs,

(Into Her Parents Bedroom.)

Jade's Mother Had Succumb To Her Insanity Roughly Ten Months Before This Incident,

(Decided To Bring A Fourth Life Into This World At Age Thirty-Eight.)

Her Parents Had Gone On A Cruise To The Bahamas,

Faulty Planning Landed Them Amongst The Sandy Beaches Of Florida,

(Same Duration Hurricane Wilma Thrashed And Tumbled The Beach Front.)

Her Mother Had Described As:

~ "One Of The Most Terrifying And Exhilarating Three Days, Of Their Lives. ~

They Had Been Assigned To Stay In A Hotel,

(Walking Distance From The Beach,)

Residing In A Room On The Tenth Floor.

Her Mother Had Always Been Terrified Of Elevators,

(Claimed She Had Died In An Elevator In A Past Life,)

Yet Never Let It Keep Her From Enjoying A Great View...

"Whatcha Got There?"

Jade,

Prying My Fingers Away From The Notebook They So Sweetly Caressed Previously,

"...Yet Never Let It Keep Her From Enjoying A Great View...

Oh,

Honey…

If You Are Planning On Talking About Me In Your Journal,

You Might As Well Make It Sound Fuckin’ Halfway Decent.

All These Big Words,

(Garbage....)

How Do You Expect To Keep A Fraction Of The Truth?

How Do You Expect To Give Your Audience The Whole Picture,

(When You CAN’T Know All Of The Facts?)

You've Got To Have Passion,

Make 'Um Laugh,

Cry,

Swoooooon Over Me...

That's How Your Going To Get Um!"

The Actress Herself,

(Yelling,)

Over Dramatizing My Personal Writings...

It Was Only Time Before The Rest Tuned Out Their Present Conversation,

(Once Again,)

Realizing My Inattentive Focus,

(Their Presence.)

"You Have Got To Be Fucking Kidding Me,

Jesus Fucking Christ..."

Victoria Grumbled Under Her Breath,

(Wrapping Her Fists Around The Raw Leather Handle Of Her Whip.)

I Stumble,

Attempting To Retrieve My Writing Book From Jade's Clutches.

(She Hugged It Ever So Secure Against Her Chest.)

Laughing,

Mocking My Interpretation Of What She Remembers As Her Life.

The Pads Of My Fingers Grazed The Wooden Cover Of My Novel:

I Had Come To Realization,

The Converse Mumbling From The Crowd Had Seized To Exist,

(Unrecognized Amongst Jade's Boisterous Screeching.)

I Turn My Head,

A Slight Glimpse Of Two Bright Emerald Eyes,

(Gazing Upon Me,)

Between The Flaps Of The Circus Tent Door;

(Mid Stretch Over Jade's Shoulder.)

Something So Strange,

(Dangerous,)

I Could Not Seem To Release Them From My Thoughts.

A Look.

(The Look.)

Amongst The Dark Sky Beyond This Reality,

(They Captured Me.)

That All To Familiar Crack Broke The Sound Barrier Beneath The Round Top;

(A Lengthy Interstice Develops;)

Extending From My Lower Back,

Through The Near Exterior Of My Cranium.

I Wreath In Agony From The Immense Twinge:

Spreading Like A Virus Through The Entirety Of My Body;

A Thousand Nails Punching Through My Dermis,

(Throughout The Fresh Laceration.)

I Painted As Jackson Pollock Across The Soil.

Meager Claret Beads Toppled;

(Rounding My Feet,)

Coated With Dirt Particles,

Rolling In Such Soft Rain-Droplets Beneath Me.

My Eyes Fade To A Lifeless Sallow;

(The Split Second Previous To Collapsing Amongst The Ground Before My Feet.)

I Broke Into Panic:

(My Last Vivid Sight,)

Jade,

Staring Down Upon My Wounded Corpse,

Cuddling The One Thing,

(Up Until This Moment,)

Serving As My Only Savior.

The Only Thing To Bring Truth,

(Defining My Individuality,)

In This Place Since My First Arrival Here:

Jade Had My Book.

My Site Dimmed While I Scrutinized Her For Staring Back At Me,

Blonde Pigtails,

Drooping In Guilt Amongst The Consequences Of Her Actions.

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