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#also boy do i love the way butcher circles him

luffysscraps · 3 months

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Thinking about dog! Hybrid Luffy🔞

Cw; Fem reader. Pet play. Non-con/Dub-con. Breeding kink. Established relationship.

-He leaves holes everywhere in your yard. Literally the moment you step out into your back yard you almost create a sinkhole due to his digging habits. And he’ll just stare at you with a smile and lick you all over.

-He’s very energetic, running up and down through the house, dashing around every chance he gets and begging you to play with him. “Y/N! Play with me! Throw ball! Throw the ball! Please! Play! Play! Play!” Luffy begs his black tail wagging as he runs in a circle around you.

-He can speak a little, but nothing complex. He says stuff like “let’s go outside!” “I’m hungry!” “Can I sleep on the bed?” “Pets please!” “Walk! Walk!” Despite his simple way of speaking he understands everything you say, but takes a while for it all to process. But he doesn’t get the concept of math at all, numbers don’t make sense to him so don’t even try to teach him it.

-“Luffy!” “ Hi Hi! Y/n!! Good morning! Wanna play? Wanna eat?! I’m hungry! Let’s play! No let’s eat! Can we do both?! Hi hi!” He appears the second you call him babbling on and once you call his attention. You mutter the syllable ‘L’ And all you hear is the jingling of his collar. He’s just so happy you called him! He thought he’d just be squeezing his chew toy all day without you. (Which he squeaks on all day regardless)

-Eats all the meat in the house. You literally can’t stock pile meat and have to buy meat literally two portions at a time. The butchers stare at you funny when you only buy three chicken legs at a time. Or one small tiny portion of beef to feed three. And you come here like every day? Little do they know you have a menace in your home who will eat every scrap of meat you have with no shame. You usually only eat one serving while Luffy eats two plus snacks and extra meals when he begs. And he’s in healthy shape due to his energetic nature.

-"LUFFY NO!" is one of your most used phrases whenever you bring him outside with you. He’s very protective of you and any other male hybrid in around you. He’s quick to jump into fights without any warning signs. He’s happy and docile one minute and then he just pounces on whatever male hybrids come close to you. A crocodile, a bear, a flamingo, he was even crazy enough to fight a dragon?!?

- As aggressive as he is, he’s also super friendly?! Like once hybrids clarify they’re not after you he’s trying to play with them after just giving them a black eye??? And somehow it always ends up working???

-He loves to explore and adventure. He’ll just get up, give you a kiss goodbye and run off for days at a time. He has so many friends with other people and hybrids that you’ve never met or heard before. Like you’re sure half of the people he’s mentioned don’t even live in this area. Where the hell did he go? Well he always returns home safe so there’s nothing to worry about. Plus he’s always so excited to see you when he gets back. “Y/N!! I missed you! I had so much fun! But I missed you a lot! “

-Call him a good boy and he’ll melt. His ears stand up and his tail starts wagging. “Really?! I’m your good boy!” He really likes that nickname.

-Oh and if you don’t like being active I’m sorry but Luffy is not the hybrid for you. He’ll literally drag you out with him, and force you to play with him. Trying to do homework? Mf eats it. Trying to play a video game or watch tv? He unplugs it. Trying to simply rest? No you’re not because he wants to play and he’s a selfish bastard. “Let’s play now Y/N!” He says with those puppy dog eyes as he unplugged the TV for the one hundredth time.

-Brings and makes you gifts all the time! They’re not the usual expensive gifts you expect from a partner. He gifts you, your sock he stole from you like a month ago, Old bones from meat he already ate and gnawed on, Dead rats he killed. And then he also likes to draw and write, he draws pictures of you and him with hearts everywhere. Your fridge is filled with them. And he writes you love letters, they’re simple and short but very sweet.

‘Y/N I love you. You pet me on my head. You play with me. You’re pretty and kind. My heart goes fast when I’m with you. -Love Luffy’

-Now when he’s in heat he turns into a horny demon. “Sex! Sex! Sex! Sex!” He chants bouncing around ripping his clothes to shreds and tackling you to the ground, dry humping your body as you just got home from your nine hour shift.

-You’ll know he’s in heat because now he’s walking around the house butt ass naked, balls out with a sweet and devious smile on his face. Don’t try to make him wear his clothes because he’s not going to AT ALL. He’ll rip them to pieces right in front of you and simply say. “Too hot!”

-Steals ALL of your panties. Literally keeps a heap of them in his bed. And has no shame in it, licking them while you’re watching him. His bed sheets have to be washed daily when he ruts because he cums gallons and will jerk off all day long.

-He just stared at you with lidded eyes. “Please Y/N… sex…” He whines out licking your earlobe. He tries his best to hold back, he really does but his urges take over after holding out for so long. He needs to be inside of you and now.

- And when you bend over it’s practically over. That’s you basically inviting him to mount you and stick his hard on inside! One minute you’re bending down to pick up a book you dropped, the next you’re on the ground, face first with Luffy’s large meaty hard cock inside of your cunt.

-He never really asks but he can smell your hormones. You want it too. Plus your moans are enough to tell him you do! Or are those his moans? He can’t tell at this point, he’s so horny and he needs to release.

-You honestly don’t mind his heat, he’s surprisingly gentle and will stop if you ask him too. But the only thing you have to do is always be on the pill- Luffy has no idea what condoms are and when you tried to put one on him he ripped it off in seconds. “Feels weird. No way!” He says with a smile before pounding into your pussy raw. And because he’s in heat, his number one goal is to get you pregnant.

-So every time you guys fuck and the next day your stomach isn’t big and round with his kids he gets mad. Just staring at you and your stomach. “What’s wrong?! Get pregnant already!” He whines with frustration. Oh well if you didn’t get pregnant the last time, he’ll make sure you do now, every last bit of his cum is going in your pussy. He doesn’t let a drop escape it when he finally releases into you.

-Yeah your hybrid boyfriend is pretty hard to handle, but would you settle for anyone else? Not a chance. <3

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nimmee · 1 year

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Here's part 4 of Nanamin Kento headcanons, because I can't stop writing and having so many ideas right now (I know my writer's block is gonna hit me soon so I'm trying to get as much as I can written out)

Enjoy 💙

32. Kento likes doing crosswords and Sudoku. (it makes sense)

33. Contrary to popular belief he actually has a lot of friends from different walks of life. And not the shallow friends but he has a close circle of friends he can rely on professionally and personally. ( I personally think that he spent most of his early school years in Japan but for a year or two he actually went to other countries as an international exchange student that would explain how he is fluent in French and English apart from Japanese, also Dutch because he has a Danish lineage. It would also explain why he has friends at powerful positions all around the world ). One of his international friends who is quite a respected designer in Italy actually tailors all his suits. Also, (bear with me on this) his maternal grandmother could have had the tiniest amount of usable cursed energy that she completely used up when she made little Kento those leopard print ties. She did it to bless him and protect him from curses. Which also explains why he uses his tie as a binder to his "overtime" vow and the left out fabric to wrap his blade. (As they say blessings are more stable and long lasting than curses)

34. Nanamin still visits Yu's sister and her family. He regularly visited her after Yu died and hence formed a brotherly bond. She is married and has a little boy. Her husband and Nanamin are really good friends too.

35. Kento had a pretty wholesome childhood being an only child from both the family lineage. He was dearly loved by all his grandparents. He was pretty close with all of them. (I'm listing off all of their professions and talents here:

Paternal grandmother - she is a calm and very gentle woman doesn't speak much. She has been a housewife all her life. Her talents include cooking comfort food, calligraphy and book binding, handicrafts and origami, flower arranging.

Paternal grandfather - he is a quiet man talks less but is the warmest man you could find. A tad bit Conservative but loves and accepts Nanamin's mom as his own daughter. He is a professional knife and sword maker. His talents include sword forging, sword wielding, knows a lot about fencing and swordsmanship, bonsai, gardening, fruit picking.

Maternal grandmother - she is calm but one fiesty and strong woman. She has always been a housewife. She and Nanamin's paternal grandmother are best friends. She is quick witted and knows her way out of any situation. She is very logical and a genius at finances. Her talents include sewing and knitting, all kinds of clothing making, managing finances, playing traditional musical instruments (she is a quick learner and masters any traditional musical instrument in few months) . Turns out she has very small amounts of cursed energy which she reverses to use as blessings and use to make good luck charms, headstrong, quick - wit.

Maternal grandfather - as we All know he is Danish. He is a warm happy man, talks a lot and loves to cook, very gentle and Kind . He was born in Denmark but his family moved to Japan due to his father's employment when he was 2. He is fluent in Japanese, Dutch and English. He has two professional culinary degrees one from Japan and another from France. He has received culinary training in Japan and then went to France for his internship. He is a professional chef and owns a Michelin star restaurant. His talents include cooking, baking, growing his own vegetables, miniature making in his leisure time, also loves puzzles. He is also a skilled butcher - he could easily cut open almost All kind of meat to properly portion the pieces.

Nanamin's Dad - is an Architect hence his interest in Architecture when he was younger. He Talks a lot even though his parents are quiet people. Headstrong and very responsible person. Absolutely loves his wife and her cooking. His talents include puzzle solving like Sudoku, he is a trained sowrds man because his father is, he has his own Katana. He makes hilarious comic strips, is a gifted painter and loves going through all kind of comics international or local.

Nanamin's mom - is a pastry chef and owns her own bakery. She is generally quiet can be very talkative with right people. She is soft and gentle but she is fiesty and headstrong when she needs to be. She takes to her father and is one of the warmest person you could find. She has the ultimate say when she and Nanamin's dad are arguing. Nanamin's dad complies most of time because she has the most logical and reasonable arguments. She did train to be a chef but chose baking because she likes deserts (reminds of the Baker lady from Kiki's Delivery service). Her talents include baking and cooking, making different kinds of healing tea (most probably she unconsciously uses tiniest amount of reversed cursed energy she inherited from her mother). She is genius at knitting and quilting, managing finances has always been a good forte for her, growing flowers and decorating has always been something she was naturally good at.

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abbysanders2000 · 2 years

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What's worse than a zombie? A vampire!! . (Poly lost boys x female reader. The walking dead crossover)

Soo this was a request for @genocide31 so sorry it took me this long. If anything is wrong I apologize in advance because I am not apart of the walking dead Fandom. It is also short because I do not want to butcher it. Enjoy lovely

Y/n was breathing heavily as she watched Negan circle her with his bat. "How was I supposed to know he was your guy?! He came out of no where!" She yelled.

One of Negan's crew had stumbled upon Y/n in her camp. Thought he could have run of her stuff until he had an unfortunate run in with her mates that is. She of course thought it was done and over until one of Negan's other guys found her camp and dragged her all the way back to their base.

"Don't matter now princess. You cost me a good man. Now you don't look like you could do much around here so I'm afraid I'm just gonna have to kill ya. That's how business works." He said with a sadistic smirk.

Y/n sank down to the ground with hot tears running down her face. She called out each of the boys names begging for their forgiveness. She knew that death was coming for her quicker than any of them had expected. In the back of her mind she had wished she had David turn her.

But it was too little too late for any of that now. She knew somehow some way she'd see them in the afterlife. She felt the awful poking feeling of the wire on the wooden bat as Negan put it on the base of her skull.

"Don't know who David Marko Paul and Dwayne are doll but you'll never see them again." He raised up his bat about to deliver the first blow when suddenly all of the lights went off leaving them surrounded in darkness.

Loud hissing and growls could be heard. "The hell is going on?!" Negan yelled. His yells were followed by the screaming of several of his goons. The snapping of bones and tearing of flesh also followed. Y/n was still shaking as she laid down on the ground blinded by the darkness

She felt someone wrap their arms around her. She struggled for a minute before she realized who exactly had picked her up. "Shh Shh baby it's me." Dwayne said softly.

"Oh God Dwayne!" She cried into his neck as she held onto him for dear life. The vamp rubbed her back gently. "It's OK love its OK. We're here." He cooed softly as he pressed kisses on her face.

Suddenly the lights were flipped back on. The bodies of the fallen were scattered across the field soaked in blood and guts. Marko and Paul held each of Negan's arms behind his back. David stood in front of him with his bat in his hands.

"Quite the piece of equipment man. It'll do some damage on a human. Too bad none of us are humans. But you've already figured that out huh?" David asked as he began to laugh evily.

Negan looked him right into the eyes. "Look. Just take the girl and leave. I didn't kill her so you've got no issue with me. I'll make sure to stay clear of you guys from now on. You've got my word." He said with all the confidence that he would be off the hook.

All 4 boys chuckled darkly. "You think we are just gonna ignore the fact that you kidnapped our mate and were seconds away from beating her brains in?" Marko asked.

"We were always going to end you. But since our baby girl is safe and unharmed we'll make it quick. Or whatever the boss wants." Paul said as he looked over to David.

Negan just shook his head. "There's not much more you can do to me. You guys are monsters but you can't be any worse than the walkers." He said.

David inches ever so closely to him. He placed a hand onto the man's cheek. The same sadistic smile that was once on Negan's face was now plastered all across David's.

"See that's where your wrong." He said as he leans closer to his ear. "We are much worse." Two pearly whites dug into his soft flesh as the screams of the once terrifying Negan filled the night air.

Sorry it's so short love! I hope you enjoyed it anyway 🥰🥰

#the lost boys 1987 #x reader insert #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys #request

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thenightlymirror · 6 months

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Now that I am middle aged, it’s fair to talk about destiny. Though no destiny is necessarily final. There are, however, natural resting points.

At this moment, I am the unofficial favorite unmarried gay uncle to several children.

Yesterday, my buddy invited me over for a campfire in his backyard. He’s a union butcher who runs the shop at a big grocery store, and I used to play with him in a surf band. He’s one of my favorite people. He didn’t really talk to me for a few years because I quit the surf band, but now that I work for Carlene, his official best friend, he sees me now and then.

He’s married to an amazing woman, a school teacher. They have two children, with amazing names. Names that make you reflexively go, “I love this family.”

His children have absolutely no chill about me. They begin screaming as soon as I enter the house. They began calling me “Tony Danza” just…spontaneously, the first moment they met me. How do they even know who that is?

To be fair, I also begin screaming as soon as I enter the house, and will jump into the kiddie pool in my dress clothes kicking water at the children.

Yesterday, I came by, and could tell they were soooooo sick. The poor little girl had circles around her eyes like a zombie, and they were both coughing, sneezing, and retching all over the house. No way was I leaving that house without the sniffles. They climbed on me immediately. I had to sit on the dinner bench with them so they would eat, and they both just sat on my lap and covered me in food.

Amor fati.

I was pretty sure I’d be dying today, but I was congested for maybe an hour last night and it went away.

Favorite parts were when the girl called me Mr. Clumpy, and I was like… accurate. Then the little boy asked if I was a Mommy or a Daddy?

I’m a son.

Oh. Haha. The little boy ripped two huge loud farts on my leg. Hahahaha it was an attack well above his weight class. He’s like 3.

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cafeleningrad · 1 year

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ah yes, the character who called Sansa a stupid little bird is hated for his looks

am I going to take the bait of bad faith reading? Well, why not.

I already sat through an entire discord server who demonized Tyrion and Sandor but shipped Sansa only with handsome men, so yes, albeism and lookism may not be an apparent factor in the Stansa circle but yes, at some point it is noticable how wilfully misread Sansa's POV chapters are in her relationship to Sandor (and Tyrion to that extend). I also ask myself if you can't handle the ambiguity in general, ambiguity of a character's personality informed by trauma but still living on and by default having to interact anyway with people, and to some extend beauty and the beast motives, if ASOIAF is the right reading material for you.

Is Sandor a nice man who gives Sansa the comfort she needs? Heck no. But he does object Jeoffrey's commands to abuse Sansa further by Boros, he saves her from the KL riots whereas everyone who acts courtly left her on her own devices. Sandor' so deeply caught up in and can't physically escape from trauma (Gregor is still alive, under Tywin's generous protection for Sandor to get away), he is an unpleasant, rough person but Sansa's compassion leads him to be, in spite of demeaning words, more knightly to an actually unprotected person than anyone else in Jeoffrey's court. And may I add, that Sandor was unsympathetically ready to slaughter a defenseless butcher boy yet for the one person who showed campassion to him he's ready to refute royal orders - by the same king who ordered him to kill the butcher boy when the king was the status of a petulant prince. Also weird tend how people are ready to let the Lannister's who pushed Sansa into social isolation and towards Sandor (in this case literally by Jeoffrey), and Tyrion get away in a lukewarm manner. Tywin moving Sansa like a pawn to shut up his hated son and the Northern calls for revenge for the Starks? Gets barely mentioned how he sees Sansa as an unperson. Maybe people oversee it because this is how he sees mostly everyone else, especially women. Cersei? Yeah, I know, we love evil women apparently on tumblr. But for Cersei's very complicated way to deal with her own sexual trauma and womanhood, she has no qualms to do to Sansa exactly what was done to her by Tywin and Robert. Not to mention she finds amusement is seeing how humiliating the wedding looks for Tyrion. But not treated by the standom as big Sansa antagonist, ok. Jeoffrey? We all dislike Jeoffrey. But let's be real here: One one hand, Sandor is rude to Sansa, talks her down for using the only defense she has left: diplomacy and courtly politeness. On the other hand you have a power tripping teenage boy who makes forces her to watch the decapited heads of the everyone from the Stark household she liked and even loved, orders repeated physical and sexual abuse to the extend which is executed by apathetic knights. Even Arys who was internally sorry for Sansa did participate in her beatings ordered by a king who isn't of legal age, even in Westerosi standard. (And because I will be pesky about it, yes, Tyrion did put an end to Sansa's public humilitation, Jaime later greatly criticized his fellow White Cloacks for executing Jeoffrey's orders because refute was an option.) Read what I read how you like but in my book, what Jeoffrey did, how Cersei and Tywin thought then treated her is far more abusive than a guy who is unfriendly but in the end protective. (Not to mention how Sandor is a plot device in Sansa's journey of disenchantment but I digress.)

Look, Martin even said so himself, he inteded to write characters not everyone could like. There're also characters I prefer over others or don't get why people like them so much. Sandor is in a category of sympathy over actual liking category for me. Yet reading Sandor as the one who uniquely traumatized Sansa is not disproportionating harm, it's greatly misunderstanding plot.

#asoiaf #Lewis' ask boy management

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what-do-1000-swords-look-like · 7 months

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One of the things I love about this last battle scene from season 3 is all of the connections being displayed. Between Homelander and Soldier Boy. Between Butcher and Soldier Boy. Between Hughie and Annie. Even between Maeve and Soldier Boy.

Here is where Butcher tells Ben that Ryan is his wife's son. I love that they waited until after Ben proves he's willing to kill Homelander, that they reveal this information through this scene between the two characters.

And then of course we get:

And to me, this is so important. Not only is it a truly heroic exit for Maeve, not only does it bring her story full circle (because when we meet her, we see she's anything but a hero though she hates that), but we also get the one LGBTQIA+ figure aka progress taking out/removing the toxic/sexist/racist original Supe aka the old. And that's important because we saw:

"Show Our True Colors" plus multi-color stripes shown reminds me of "These Colors Don't Run" with American-color stripes. Very purposeful imagery showing Maeve to be the antithesis to Soldier Boy in every way. Even wrapping these contrasts in subtle parallels like both of them picking on Hughie. Granted, Maeve hasn't liked Hughie since she met him and Ben has his own reasons for not caring for Hughie, but it also plays into the whole Starlight connection as well. Maeve saves Starlight (and company) from Ben, while he went head to head with Starlight. Maeve even thanks Starlight for saving her later on. Contrast and connection.

Maeve represents progress for Vought (more appropriately, they use her for it thanks to Homelander outing her) and the world so it absolutely made sense for Ben to not only see her picture, to see the poster of the movie Dawn of the Seven, but also to see this gay couple walk past him.

Because in Dawn of the Seven, Maeve's character is in love with a woman and this film is then used by Vought to promote their open embracing of modern times (while also used to to give a story on what happened with Stormfront).

And you can even see this type of connection in this scene:

You have two women, one a WOC, and a Black man being the ones to hold Soldier Boy at first.

And then you have:

Maeve making the choice to protect the next generation, which is also compiled with her coming full circle in her own journey because she wasn't able to save that little girl on the plane. Here is where she's redeemed while also being the one to oust Homelander (to an extent) who is basically the modern Soldier Boy and Soldier Boy all in one. For her to have Starlight looking at her in that moment and then for her to see Butcher and then Ryan, she makes her choice.

Which is also why it's so interesting to see the contrast in her decision regarding Ryan compared to Soldier Boy's decision when his grandson reacts to him about to hurt his dad.

Out of everyone, they both share wounds on the same sides of their faces, both from Homelander and Butcher respectively, who both have heat vision. Because not only do Homelander and Butcher have their own connections and parallels as well as contrasts, but all of that stuff for the characters are present during this sequence.

And even going back to Butcher's reveal to Soldier Boy about Ryan being Homelander's and Becca's son, to me, that line of "Wait, Homelander fucked your wife? And you want to save the brat?" is very indicative of old vs modern/progress. Butcher isn't Ryan's biological dad but he's protecting him because of a promise to Becca (and it's strongly implied that he's come to care for him in his own way). Granted, Soldier Boy doesn't know the circumstances of Ryan's conception but he most likely thinks Homelander and Becca had a good old fashioned sexcapade so to him this is a big no-no and why he can't understand why Butcher wants to protect Ryan. You touching another guy's wife isn't cool but a child conceived from that, the husband wasn't expected to raise that kid.

So it all makes sense why they chose Maeve to be the one to save everyone from Soldier Boy and sacrifice herself, not only for her exit and so her story could become full circle. She also represented progress and the modern day for Vought Supes compared to the first and oldest Supe and the outdated past.

So many connections throughout this scene, this season, even when it comes to the contrasts between certain characters. Love it.

#the boys #theboysposts #the boys 3x08 #this was in my drafts #i'm kicking it out #this show just rocks

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ofplanetsloved · 2 years

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mandatory lil 3.8 thoughts

whewwwww. we made it.

i went into the episode thinking. someone. someone is gonna die. one of the big ones. and about. two minutes before he did. i went, “i don’t think black noir is making it” and. fuck. is it good storytelling? i think maybe. Maybe. was i sad? absolutely i cried. bc while he was team homelander, he wanted revenge against the racist fuck who broke his face. and i wanted him to get that. the fight would have gone entirely differently if he had been there (and that’s definitely something i’m interesting in writing/plotting).

i was not expecting maeve to live. but ashley deleting the file was... really nice, actually. i did not expect any empathy from her, who left her assistant to die. to see empathy from her was shocking in a way that i’m really compelled.

as of right now, i don’t give a fuck about victoria neumann. i think it’s funny that jim beaver is playing robert singer again. and sure, i guess this sets up next season, but i care more about ryan.

ryan. hoooo. at first i thought him being there was really fucking dumb. and him being the reason that homelander walks away was kind of... anticlimactic? but this is only season three so . i didn’t think that butcher or homelander would die. i mean, fuck, they didn’t even kill soldier boy.

however. ryan at the end. that shit was compelling. that little smile. seeing how power can corrupt at such a young age.

the todd arc was really well done— like, it wasn’t subtle. he was clearly becoming a neonazi. they didn’t try to hide that. but that moment with his cheer... whoa.

maeve and hughie’s friendship is so much to me.

kimiko my fucking wife. listen to your 80s music and kick ass for comrade frenchie.

a-train and deep... i’m curious to see what’s next for them. cassandra clearly has her moment in the spotlight, but also... her name’s cassandra. i don’t imagine people are going to believe her, you know? or maybe i’m just a mythic bitch. and a-train... i’ve always liked a-train as a character. he does do what he thinks is the right thing. it just. it just doesn’t work.

okay. so. starlight is my wife. she’s perfect. she’s everything to me. we know this. i’m so happy she got her ‘i FUCKING told you so’ and her moment with maeve at the end made me cry but. to me, she’s the protagonist. her and hughie. the very first episode sets them up at the protagonists, to me, with butcher as thee antihero and homelander as the antagonist (and a-train and deep as secondary antagonists, one against hughie and one against starlight). and it felt full circle when she got to hit soldier boy. i wish it was more effective, but i was so stunned. she could FLY!!!

and, the hughie arc’s full circle moment!!! he could have taken the V and run in and tried to protect her, and save her, and he would have died and she would have been PISSED.

instead, he’s able to help her by being human. by being safe. by working with fucking electronics (AND HE WORKED AT THE ELECTRONICS STORE!!! IM INSANE!!) . he doesn’t save her. he helps her save herself.

i don’t think this is the end of soldier boy. they can easily bring him back if they want. here’s how gay sex jackles can still win.

oh. i will say. the maeve and sb falling moment looked like a shitty marvel moment.

who will be the new members of the seven. btw. cause they got three bitches to replace!!!

if there’s one thing kripke loves doing, its giving his characters daddy issues, baby brothers to protect, an insane need for revenge, and a year to live.

TLDR: I enjoyed the episode, i really think all these characters are so fleshed out, but i wish they didn’t simply set up black noir’s character with the intention of killing him. they only started exploring and revealing his character to us this season so we’d feel something at his death (like how we didn’t feel that much for translucent bc we didn’t know him, if that makes sense?). which is kind of bullshit. but i love starlight so fucking much i could cry.

#the boys s3 spoilers #i don't want your pity // o o c

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peachycoreroo · 3 years

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hii love i just read the morning wood thingy and i loved it especially tori's part, could you please do kageyama and lev/hinata

characters: kageyama tobio, haiba lev, hinata shoyo

genre: fluff? crack? i don’t even know tbh

word count: 0.9k

warnings: talk about morning woods, fem! reader but can be read as gn!reader, oblivious!reader?, all three being dumbasses bc i can’t help myself<3, established relationships

authors note: who would've thought i'd become the morning wood girl JEFHKHWE pretty proud that someone would request i do this with other characters, thank you sm love!!<3 here's a link to my masterlist

pt. 1: kuroo tetsurou, sugawara koushi, oikawa tooru, tendou satori

kageyama tobio:

you were currently sitting at dinner with your boyfriend, keeping your gaze on him while he inhaled his food like it was nothing. you guessed it was a habit that formed way back when him and hinata would make a competition out of everything, but it was still quite strange to see the habit stick so many years later.

when kageyama turned his attention to you, while simultaneously eating his meal, he couldn’t help but wonder why you were staring at him so intensely. without swallowing, he asked: “wha’?”, with his mouth still filled to the brim.

“why do you get morning woods, tobio?”, you absentmindedly wondered, just to snap out of it as your boyfriend started to choke.

immediately jumping to your feet, you walked around your dinner table and gave him a few slaps on his back, as he started coughing. without a word, the setter quickly got up and ran to the bathroom as his coughing fit continued.

feeling guilty about being the cause for your black-haired partner almost chocking to death, you started pacing around your kitchen, hoping to calm yourself down.

a whole five minutes later, the 6’2’’ man slowly made his way back, almost bumping into the door because he was staring at his phone.

“tobi’! i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to- “

“’morning wood’ is a slang term that refers to a person having an erect… penis when they wake up in the morning. the medical term is nocturnal penile tumescence”, he read out loud, completely butchering the scientific name. “some call it having a nocturnal erection. NPT is not- “

looking at him as if he lost his mind, you tried to interrupt him. “tobio, wha- “

“a result of sexual- “

“did you just spend five minutes in the bathroom googling what a morning wood is?” at that, he finally stopped reading, avoiding eye-contact with a bright blush on his face.

“…maybe.”

haiba lev:

“truth or dare?”

it was kuroo’s turn to ask, so of course he directed his question at yaku. the 5’5’’ man knew exactly the question would suck, no matter if he picked truth or dare, so with a sigh, he uttered: “truth.”

the nekoma reunion party the guys would throw once every year, had a tradition of playing ‘truth or dare’ and, of course, it got suggestive at times, especially when kuroo was the one asking questions. seeing as you were also invited, as their former manager, you knew a lot more personal stuff about the boys then you sometimes would like.

you sat beside your boyfriend lev; your hands intertwined in his lap as you watched kuroo’s signature cheshire grin spread on his face.

“did you have a morning wood today?”, the former captain provocatively inquired, knowing it would annoy yaku to no end.

“no”, morisuke shot back while glaring at kuroo, completely done with his bullshit. and as the two started bickering back and forth for the nth time that day, you turned your gaze towards your oversized boyfriend, before wondering: “why do guys get morning woods, lev?”

if the room was quiet enough, you might have heard how the gears started to turn in lev’s head, as he tried to come up with an answer. “uh… biology?”, he retorted a few seemingly endless moments later, even though it most definitely sounded like a question.

“so, you don’t know”, you deadpanned.

“…no”, he confessed, making you turn your attention to kuroo, knowing that the rooster head would have the answer unlike your handsome and cute dumbass of a boyfriend.

hinata shoyo:

this was the first time you actually stayed over at your boyfriends, or at any man’s house for that matter. when you usually had one night stands before getting together with him, you always dipped right after the main event, not wanting to deal with the awkward morning after.

as you laid there beside him at 8a.m., you realized that you never felt more relaxed. the sun shining through the curtains, the peace and quiet of a sunday morning and you, in the arms of a certain ginger man.

smiling softly, you slowly turned around to face him, only to freeze as you felt something poke your thigh. of course, you knew morning woods existed, you weren’t living under a rock. but you did always wonder why guys had that problem.

as your thoughts circled around whether it had something to do with him being unsatisfied from the night before, hinata finally woke up.

“hey there beautiful”, he rasped in his morning voice, tightening his arms around you, resulting in his erection to press against your thigh even more.

“morning sho’”, you softly responded, only to seize up at the added contact.

frowning, hinata turned to lay on his back, asking: “why are you so stiff? did you not sleep well?”

“why are you hard, shoyo? i mean, why do you get erections in the morning?” hinata looked down at his erect dick pressing against his sheets, before focusing back on your face.

“uh… good question? it kind of just happens.”

intrigued, you pressed: “so, you’re not horny right now?”

“not really, i kinda need to pee though”.

“so, you get an erection when you need to pee?”, you wondered, now only more confused than before. “yeah, guess so. you want me to google real quick?”

damn, you thought. you completely forgot google existed. not the way you thought your boyfriend would help you with your curiosity, but this’ll do.

what’s more romantic than searching ‘why do guys get morning woods’ with your significant other on your first morning together?

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moralesispunk · 3 years

Text

Standing up for their daughter

For Frankie Morales, Din Djarin, Marcus Moreno, Pero Tovar and Marcus Pike

x Female Reader (established relationship with child)

based on this post I made the other day (it was quite long so I did it with fewer characters but if you want me to do another with others then I can do a part II!)

Frankie

You were at work when Frankie got the call into school because your daughter had been “violent” with another pupil. Frankie’s head was racing the whole drive there, wondering what had happened and hoping his baby girl was okay but ready to give her into trouble if need be. When he walked into the principals office, she were sitting on one of the chairs in front of the desk, an empty one next to her for him. She started to talk but he silently told her to wait, looking to the principal and asking what had happened.

“Your daughter pushed Alexander over in the playground today. The poor boy has cut all down his leg.”

Frankie looked at his little girl, waiting for an explanation to this from his usually quiet and peaceful daughter.

“He was pulling my hair dad! He chased me around the playground and didn’t stop pulling my hair even though I asked him to stop!”

Frankie was angry but managed to keep it inside as he turned back around to the principal.

“And what is happening to Alexander?”

“Well, he is fine the nurse had a look at-”

“No. What punishment is he receiving for tormenting my daughter?”

“You know what boys are like, he was just teasing her. Probably means he likes her. There was no need for your daughter to get that violent with him.”

“I am going to take my daughter out of school for the rest of the day and my wife can come back and talk to you tomorrow because I don’t trust my temper right now,” Frankie said calmly, “that boy needs punished for the way he treated my daughter and she should not be punished for defending herself. I suggest you have a think about that before you talk to the boys parents and before you try and give my daughter into trouble again. Let’s go, honey.”

Frankie took your daughter’s hand, walking with her out of the office. On the way the by the boy and his parents Frankie hands his daughter the keys to his truck and tells her he’ll be there soon. When she is out of sight he turns to the parents, telling them teach your boy some manners, my daughter expects a full apology before walking off again. He takes her out for ice cream, telling her that while he doesn’t condone violence she was right not to let him continue to act like that. That night the boy and his parents arrive at the door, a full apology given from him to your wee girl.

Din

Your youngest daughter came and found Din, saying the oldest had been in a fight with one of the boys in the covert. Din took her hand, letting her lead the way to the circle of children that had formed. A boy he had recognised from around the covert was lying on the ground, his daughter standing over him with her arms crossed.

"Alright, enough,” Din walked through the sea of tiny bodies that started to run off in different directions when he arrived, “what happened?”

Just as Din placed his hands on his hips, waiting for an explanation, the boys father arrived.

“He kept pinching me, he wouldn’t stop and so I made him stop,” your oldest daughter shrugged.

“Ah, he was just teasing,” the other Mando helped his son up.

“He wasn’t teasing!” you daughter sighed, exasperated.

Din turned his helmet to his daughter, warning her to stay quiet as he dealt with the situation.

“He must have a liking for your girl, Mando! You remember what it was like,” the other man reached over and placed a hand on Din’s shoulder.

“No. Teach your son some manners or I’ll teach my daughter to hit him back harder next time,” Din said simply, his hand still holding onto the hand of your youngest and the other reaching our for your oldest.

The man and his son stared silently as Din walked off with his two girls, waiting until they were round the corner to ruffle your oldest hair.

“I think I hurt my hand when I punched him,” your daughter shook the pain out.

“Well I guess we better take tomorrow to perfect your punch,” he said, the smile in his voice clear.

Marcus M

When he gets a phone call at work from Missy’s school his mind is in instant panic mode and that panic doesn’t settle by much when he is told by Missy’s teacher that she punched a boy. Marcus excuses himself from work and heads straight to the school, walking straight to the principals office. Missy is sitting in the corner on a chair, obviously upset and next to a boy holding an ice pack to his face, with the parent’s mother and the principal watching him as he walks in.

“Thank you for coming Mr Moreno. I’m sure you are as surprised as we are with this, Missy is usually a very quiet but polite girl,” the principal began.

Marcus nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“Missy will be suspended of course, for this unprovoked attack on another student, and will be expected to write an essay on her actions.”

“Is this true Missy?” Marcus turned and looked at his daughter.

“I did punch him yes,” Missy began and Marcus sighed, “but only because he kept pulling my hair in class and pinching my arm. I told him to stop and he didn’t. I told my teacher and she said to ignore him but he kept doing it. I told him if he did it again I would punch him. He did and so I punched him.”

Marcus kept his face straight and stern, something he had learned from Heroic training and turned back to the principal.

“Well, from what I see, Missy gave him fair warning,” Marcus kept his tone neutral.

“Mr Moreno,” the principal sighed.

“She hit my son!” the woman next to him screeched.

“And your son pulled my daughter’s hair and pinched her,” Marcus raised his eyebrow, “I am not happy with my daughter raising her hands in a classroom and we will have a talk, but unless this boy is also being suspended and writing an essay on his actions and his mother is prepared to talk with him about his disgusting manners then Missy will be in school, 9am sharp tomorrow.”

The principal and mother stared at Marcus mouth agape for a moment before nodding.

“They can both be in school tomorrow,” the principal sighed.

“And I am prepared to come in and teach the young boys of this school a lesson on what no means, as it seems the school and parents are not teaching them an important lesson. Let’s go Missy,” Marcus stood and waited for Missy to follow him out.

And that is exactly what Marcus did. Missy was at school the next day, head held high after the both of you made her feel better about the situation, and two days later Marcus gave a lesson to the whole school on no means no.

Pero

Pero took your and his baby girl with him to the market to give you some much needed alone time. As he wandered around the stalls he had his large hand wrapped around her small one to keep her close, ruffling her hair and sending funny faces her way whenever they had to queue for meat or vegetables. When he turned to face the butcher to pay him with coins, he heard a fuss behind him but ignored it until his baby girl yelped and there was a thud on the ground.

His head whizzed around and he seen his little girl holding onto the back of his tunic and a boy a little bigger than her on the ground.

“She pushed me!” the little boy whined.

“He pulled my hair first!” your baby girl explained.

“Sounds like you learned your lesson, don’t annoy little girls or they’ll hit back,” Pero chuckled at the boy, lifting the meat he had just bought from the counter and walking with his little girl in his hand away from the stall, “very good, my love.”

Marcus P

Marcus was always a favourite with the mums at birthday parties and you always joked you shouldn’t send him alone. This week there was a birthday party of another girl in your daughters class and since you had a day out with your friends planned, Marcus would take her. When he showed up, the back-garden was full of children screaming and bouncing on the bouncy castle, all the mums and one other dad standing about the kitchen.

He was talking to the other dad when all the parents attentions were grabbed by a yelp coming from the bouncy castle. One of the wee boys was sitting in the middle, looking up at your daughter as everyone else jumped up and down.

Marcus and the other man left the kitchen, walking over to see what was going on.

“She pushed me down!” the boy shouted to his dad.

“He kept pulling on my hair!”

The man next to Marcus chuckled and Marcus shot him a glare as he lifted his daughter from the bouncy castle.

“Looks like someone has a crush.”

“Looks like someone needs to be taught some manners,” Marcus shot back, carrying his daughter into the kitchen for a drink leaving the other man and his son staring as they walked away.

If the rest of the mums didn’t find your husband attractive before then they sure did now, all of them saying a chorus of someone had to tell him, and he lets his son get away with that with all our daughters but we never knew what to say. After this catch Marcus having a strong one-on-one chat with the man later telling him to teach his son not to bother little girls like that or he will become a dangerous young man.

Permanent tag list // @phoenixhalliwell @asta-lily @hb8301 @princess76179 @sarahjkl82-blog @spideysimpossiblegirl @blackmarketmummy @bison-writes @dihra-vesa @evyiione

#frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #marcus moreno x you #din djarin x you #marcus moreno x reader #din djarin x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #frankie catfish morales x reader #frankie catfish morales x you #headcannon #oneshot

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nctsjiho · 3 years

Text

How Haechan And JiHo’s Friendship Evolved Over The Years [Part 1]

[2015 | First Meeting | SM Artist Lounge, 2nd floor]

“Is this really necessary?” Jiho groaned whilst getting pushed out of the elevator by Doyoung. “Didn’t you say you don’t have many friends?” “I said in school! I don’t have many friends in school!” Jiho explained agitated. “It doesn’t matter, it’s too late to turn around.”

Doyoung then pushed open the door to SM’s private lounge where 4 boys sat talking to each other on the big couch. “Kids! This is Jiho, she’s also a 00 liner.” The four boys looked up to see Doyoung holding a girl in front of him by her shoulders. They quickly greeted the pair and then expectantly looked at Jiho for her to talk.

“My Korean... uhm, not so good.” She held her hands up in a cross while butchering her Korean pronunciation. The four boys - Mark, Donghyuck, Jeno and Jaemin - smiled awkwardly at her nodding their heads.

Before Mark could say: “It’s okay. Don’t worry.” Doyoung pushed the girl by her shoulder causing her to laugh. “Yah! Why are you like this?” Jiho looked up once more and bowed towards the four confused boys. “I was just kidding. Hi, I’m Jiho. Nice to meet you guys.” She waved and showed the boys a genuine smile which they quickly returned. The boys were relieved and laughing at the girl’s little joke.

“I thought it would be nice for you guys to get to know each other. Jiho’s pretty new and she has a hard time befriending the other girl trainees.” Jiho raised her brow listening to Doyoung’s explanation. “I don’t think that’s necessarily true but-” “If you see her around, don’t be afraid to say hi to her. She’s really nice. Most of the time.” Doyoung mumbled the last sentence this time earning a judging look from the younger girl.

Mark then stood up, motioning for the others to do so as well. “We actually have to go to practise right now, but we’d love to hang out in the future.” Mark said and Jiho nodded with a smile. “That’s fine, I’ll see you around.” She waved while the boys walked off.

Doyoung then quickly nudged the girl, urging her to tell the boys the thing she told Doyoung earlier. “Uh- Wait!” The four boys turned around to see Jiho push Doyoung’s elbow away from her side. “I actually saw you guys practise and you’re all really good dancers...” She mumbled, her fingers curling into her palms. Doyoung one again poked the girl’s side. “Also Donghyuck-ssi, I really like your voice. You’re a great singer.” She smiled and looked up to meet the boy’s gaze. His cheeks slightly flared up and he bowed his head, muttering a small thanks before they all left the room.

Jiho glared at the older boy who seemed very proud of himself. “Thanks. Now things are going to be very awkward thanks to you.” “Ah~ No problem, loved to help you.”

[2016 | Snack Shuttle | SM Practise Room ]

“When you said you’d find a way to hang out more during your busy schedule, I didn’t know I’d become your personal snack shuttle.” Doyoung walked into the practise room with a complaining Jiho by his side, holding a few white plastic bags. “I thought you wanted to hang out more?” “If this is what ‘hanging out’ is than I don’t think I’m that interested anymore.”

Johnny’s chuckles filled the room and everyone looked at him. “You start to sound like actual siblings more each time I see you together.” Doyoung and Jiho then shared a look of disgust before turning back to sorting the snacks.

“Oppa told me what all of you guys liked so I brought something for everyone.” The boy’s eyes lit up as they thanked Jiho and ran towards her and Doyoung who were still holding on to the bags.

After giving everyone what they wanted Jiho held up one more item in her hand. “Did someone ask for this snack?” Jiho asked the room holding the bag of chips up high. Doyoung took a closer look, inspecting the bag but shook his head just like the rest of the room. “I didn’t, but I know Haechan likes these.” Jiho’s eyes locked with Haechan and she held the bag out for him to take. “Jiho I thought you liked those too.” Doyoung added quickly, earning a shrug from the girl.

“Want these?” She asked the same aged boy who’s eyes had widened a bit. “You don’t have anything for yourself though, you can keep them.” Haechan carefully said but the girl just shook her head and pushed the snack into Haechan’s hands. “I have a weigh-in in 2 days. So I’ll pass this time.” A fake smile found its place on her lips and Yuta stood up to wrap an arm around her shoulders. “You’re literally tiny, why should you worry about that?” “The world is a cruel place oppa.” She sighed to which he chuckled.

Mark quickly slid his way over to Haechan and nudged the boy a few times. “How are you still this awkward around Jiho?” The older of the two stifled a laugh. “Hyung~” Haechan whined. “It’s not like that.” He added with a grumble. “Okay buddy, whatever you say.”

[2017 | Dinner Buddies | SM cafeteria]

On his way to the table where his hyungs were already eating, Haechan stopped to watch a scene unfold in front of him.

The doors to the elevator had just opened revealing a dishevelled Jiho, still wearing her school uniform, stumble into the hallway of the cafeteria. Just as she entered she spotted the other trainees walk past her. “Hey!” She held up her hand smiling towards the girls, they all stopped hesitantly and Haechan couldn’t help but catch the way some of them rolled their eyes.

“Are you already leaving? I thought we’d eat together?” Jiho smile was still plastered on her lips, seeming oblivious to the cold looks she was getting. “We already finished, you can go eat alone. See ya~” One of the older girls smirked waving at Jiho and the other girls quickly followed before they all walked away.

A deep sigh left the Jiho’s lips and her head and shoulders dropped significantly. However when two feet walked into her vision she perked up and found Haechan looking at her with a sad smile. “You saw that right?” She chuckled, trying to hide her embarrassment and he only nodded. “I guess I’ll just head out now and don’t worry, I’m used to it. That one girl really doesn’t like me.” She tried to laugh off and then turned to leave the cafeteria.

Haechan stopped her. “You haven’t eaten yet though. Come sit with us. Me and the hyungs just got here.” Jiho smiled at the offer and quickly accepted. With how hungry she was feeling she didn’t feel like taking the bus back home for 15 minutes before she could actually eat.

Not even a few moments later Haechan arrived back at the table his members were sitting, but to their surprise he was joined by the young trainee. “Jiho? What are you doing here?” Taeyong asked. “I got ditched by the other girls.” She explained and the group quickly invited her to sit down with them.

The youngest boy sat down in his original spot next to Mark and in front of Johnny and Jaehyun who all sent him teasing looks. “What?” He raised an eyebrow at the boys. “Seems like you and Jiho are getting closer.” Jaehyun hummed. “Yeah, you seemed to be having a fun conversation before you got here.” Mark mentioned, thinking of how Haechan and Jiho were laughing at something when they walked up to the table. “You guys are so annoying.” Haechan mumbled, shoving a spoonful of rice into his mouth.

[2018 | Better Girl | SM library]

Haechan dragged his feet down the hallway of the almost empty floor. It was the beginning of January so not a lot of people were working, and definitely not a lot of artist. This resulted in the, mainly artist floor to be as good as abandoned.

The poor boy was “tasked” by Mark to get him one of his notebooks which he had forgotten during his writing session with Jeno. Haechan really didn’t have to go right now, but he insisted since it meant Mark would have to buy him dinner. Yet here Haechan was, slouching and dragging his body to the right room as if he was forced against his will.

Upon opening the door he heard a soft giggle. “Oh, I’m sorry- Jiho?” He peeked his head inside finding Jiho sat at one of the tables with her phone in hand. She had her jacket tightly wrapped around her shoulders and her nose and cheeks seemed to glow the slightest tint of red. The heater in the room wasn’t on so it was freezing cold. “What are you doing here?”

Jiho looked up at the boy but the second she locked eyes with his she almost burst out laughing. “You make a better girl than I do.” She said, forcing herself to stop laughing. “What are you talking about?”

Curious about what Jiho meant he circled around the other tables so he could look over to what she was watching on her phone. “Ten oppa sent this to me.” She tilted her phone towards Haechan only for him to get hit by memories. He didn’t expect to get confronted by that red polka dot dress and long brown wig again. “OH MY GOD! Please stop watching that!” He reached for her phone and quickly turned the video off while Jiho was freely laughing.

Once the boy was calmed down he let himself fall onto the chair next to Jiho. “This is so embarrassing” He muttered into his arms, in which he was hiding his face. Jiho reached out her hand to pat the boy’s back.

“Don’t worry about it. People say I dress more like a boy, so there’s nothing wrong with wearing a dress when you’re not a girl.” She smiled. Haechan looked up, hoping that Jiho was being serious, but when he saw her trying to hide a smirk he groaned. “For real, you didn’t look too bad, if I do say so myself.”

This caused Haechan to look up and smile as well. “Yeah, I looked pretty good right?” He said in a cocky way prompting Jiho to chuckle. “You looked fabulous.” She complimented in an exaggerated tone. The two then shared a big wordless smile before they went on to do their own things again.

---

PART 2

Side Note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY HAECHAN 🌻☀🐻

idk if you guys mind long posts, I just decided to cut it here and do 2018-2021 (post JiHo’s debut) in a second post to keep the length of all my posts on my blog similar. It’s possible though that part 2 is going to be a bit long, since I don’t know how much I’ll be writing for it

fun fact: I save my little collages (btw those photo’s of Haechan are soooo pretty i’m getting bias wrecked SO hard) on my laptop with the member x JiHo’s shipnames, I suck at choosing shipnames tho. So Haechan and JiHo’s shipname is HyuckHo atm, which I both hate and think is kinda cute/funny at the same time. I also thought about JiChan, JiHae or HaeJi but idk

that was just a little unnecessary insider information

I hope you have a good day/evening/night!! <3

#jiho.guide #nct 24th member #nct addition #nct female member #nct imagines #nct extra member #nct additional member #nct female addition #nct haechan fluff #nct haechan imagines #kpop!addition #kpop!oc

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samstree · 3 years

Text

splash of the waves, and the sand castle crumbles (1/?)

Geraskier, Prince!Jaskier, fairy tale elements but with a twist, fluff and angst, 6.9k, rated T

Read on AO3

Geralt finds himself drawn to the prince despite himself. As he and Jaskier grow closer, war also looms on the horizon. It's the stuff of fairy tales, but can a witcher find his happily ever after in the time of heartbreaks and deaths?

“Ma?”

“Hmm?”

“What happened next?”

“The farm girl became a princess and married the prince. They lived happily ever after,” she smiled, her eyes so warm in the candlelight.

“But what next?”

“Happily ever after, sweetie. It means there will only be happiness for the rest of their lives.”

She places a kiss on the top of his head and blows out the candle. Her hands are soft and gentle when she tucks him in.

“Ma?”

“Yes?”

“Will we live happily ever after?”

She pauses in the darkness.

“Of course, my darling. Now you need to close your eyes—”

“Like the prince and the girl?”

“Even better.”

“But she married the prince. How can it be better?”

She sighs. The warmth of her palm brushes across his forehead, making his eyelids droop heavily.

“Your future holds much more, my sweet boy. You will find out tomorrow when you wake up.”

Sleep overcomes him. Indeed, he dreams of fairy tales and royal balls, magic spells and grand weddings.

The next morning, he wakes up believing in those happy ever afters.

Sometimes, when stones are thrown and pitchforks raised, Geralt regrets ever doing so.

The crown prince of Aedirn is a beautiful thing.

His pale blue doublet shines under the bright morning sun, the silvery embroidery sparkling in the light. A big smile —that ever-so-friendly smile that Prince Julian is known for— spreads across his face as a man with blond hair riding next to him speaks. Windswept brown hair brushes over his eyes, obscuring his youthful features.

Everything about him screams royalty. Privilege.

Even his horse is the most nicely-groomed white stallion Geralt has ever laid eyes on.

Prince Charming needs the whole get-up. The witcher snorts behind the bush, observing the royal convoy. It’s too small and moving way too slowly. They must have let down their guard because of the proximity to the castle. If Geralt were to assassinate a royal, he would choose to do it here as well.

It doesn’t take long for the first one to approach from the side of the road, hiding behind the shrub just like Geralt. The man in black works silently and quickly, but not as quickly as a witcher.

Geralt strangles him from behind, gripping tightly until the man passes out. A crossbow falls to the ground. The convoy travels ahead, unaware of the witcher disposing of a deadly threat to their prince’s life.

The swoosh of an arrow pierces the air.

“Protect the prince!”

Two dozen assassins in the same black suit appear out of thin air, charging into the royal guards’ formation. In an instant, the heap of pale-blue is tackled to the ground. Swords clash as more men start yelling.

“Fuck.”

Dodging a stray arrow, the witcher rushes into the chaos. The small convoy being overwhelmed by the incoming force, they hardly notice one of the assassins circling around the battle and moving directly to the prince. With a few long strides, Geralt stops the man with a clean strike.

“What—” the prince scrambles back at the sight of blood, looking at the witcher’s towering form with disbelief.

“You need to come with me,” Geralt says, before hauling him up by the collar of his doublet.

He half drags the prince to the hide-out. It’s only a cave where he left Roach earlier, but it should be enough. The young man slumps down against the wall, breathing heavily.

“Why are you—”

“Shh.” The witcher quickly crouches on the ground and presses his palm over the prince’s mouth. Distant footsteps disappear in another direction, before he slowly lets go. “We should be safe for now.”

In the quiet of the cave, he can hear the prince’s pounding heart, his eyes blown wide like a startled deer. Specks of blood smear across his cheeks, making him appear even younger.

“My men?”

“These are hired assassins. They will disperse once you are gone.” Geralt is surprised at how gentle his voice comes out. “Are you all right?”

“I—” the prince swallows, and looks down to his bicep where the flesh is grazed by an arrow. The wound is shallow and slowly seeping blood into the torn fabric. Geralt reckons that it should be fine left alone. “I’m fine. I—I’m…fine, yes. I’m alive.”

He lets out a shuddering breath, both in shock and relief. The prince tries to appear unaffected but the overwhelming panic in his scent betrays his seemingly neutral expression.

“You are lucky it didn’t go through your heart.” The witcher leaves him to check on Roach. Sensing the danger in the air, the mare has stayed quiet this whole time. He pats her mane in thanks. “Didn’t think the prince of Aedirn was this careless.”

“I didn’t think witchers got themselves involved in political squabbles either.” Cornflower blues meet Geralt piercingly, despite his shakiness. “I know who you are,” he chuckles tightly. “The witcher, Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt grunts.

“I didn’t get involved.”

The prince only gestures to himself, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ve saved your ass. Now you can return to your castle and pretend we’ve never met, your highness.”

“Please, call me Jaskier.” The prince stands, patting the blue silk to get off the dirt and wincing when the movement tugs at his arm. “Aren’t you curious as to how I learned about you? Your fame precedes you, witcher.”

The young man meets his gaze assuredly. There’s no trace of fear in his scent.

People usually learn about Geralt one way—his moniker is not something to be escaped. But the prince doesn’t act like everyone else who meets the Butcher. Or at least, he hides it well.

“Are you not scared for your life, prince?”

“It’s Jaskier. And no, I’m not scared by the Butcher, if that’s what you mean.” There’s a knowing glint in his eyes. “I know you from a… mutual acquaintance, let’s say.”

“Oh?”

“Filavandrel mentioned you.”

“The elf king who hides in the mountains?” Geralt frowns. “I never really knew him. Not for more than a day.”

“No? He spoke of a white-haired witcher who was paid to hunt his people. Only that witcher left his own coin purse to them upon finding out about their circumstances. It showed compassion that no human had ever shown them, witcher. From his description, I thought the elven king and you shared a moment that day, or rather, an understanding.”

“Only of men.” He pauses. “Haven’t you come to the same understanding? Or why else would the prince of Aedirn make a target of himself by providing shelter to elven refugees?”

Geralt remembers his encounter with the elf king vividly, his anger and despair. The path took him back to Lower Posada years after that day. His curiosity drove him back to Dol Blathanna, only to find a much larger settlement and an exploding population of elves and other non-humans. Not only that, everyone there spoke of the kindness of the prince, who gave equal status to all sentient creatures on Aedirn soil.

“I see someone did homework on me.”

“People here sing your praises on the street day and night. It seems half the country has fallen in love with you,” Great admits begrudgingly.

“And the other half dislikes that I’m giving land away. Land that could have been providing for humans. The other half of my country believes I’m crazy just like all the other kings and queens in the north.”

The prince steps into Geralt’s space.

“You see, Geralt of Rivia, I cannot change the war that others deem just. I cannot stop the Lioness of Cintra from slaughtering elves and non-humans alike on the other side of the Yaruga. All I have is a piece of land in the Blue Mountains and, perhaps, I can provide them the means to rebuild. Those settlements are only a start.”

“It sounds like a noble cause, prince, but I’m not sure how much you can achieve.”

“Sometimes,” the prince’s attention shifts to Roach. “I wonder the same thing. The continent won’t change overnight just because one kingdom decides to show them a little bit of decency. The same decency that we humans are treated with all along.”

The young prince falls silent, his hand reaching out to touch Roach’s mane but retreats when she snorts anxiously. Geralt shushes the mare with a carrot from the pack.

“And I think, my friend,” the young prince continues. “Despite your claim of neutrality, you are on my side.”

“I’m not your friend.”

“No? But I wish to become yours. After all, you just saved my life so selflessly and gallantly,” he proclaims dramatically. “You should have seen yourself, Geralt. So brave with a sword, like a knight from the stories! If we were in a fairy tale, this is where I offer myself to you in eternal gratitude.”

“Are all princes this cheeky?”

“I don’t know. Are all witchers this heroic and beautiful?” Blue eyes roam up and down the witcher’s body, before meeting his gaze with clear interest.

Geralt grunts, ducking away from direct eye contact with the prince. Suddenly the air in the cave feels too warm. He clears his throat uncomfortably.

“Are you being shy, Geralt the witcher?”

The teasing comes so naturally for the prince. Gods, is that why all the maidens out there are so enamored with him? With those easy smiles and dreamy blue eyes, as soon as he throws in some flirtatious words, any inexperienced country girl would swoon upon meeting with him.

What fools they all are.

“We are not in a fairy tale,” Geralt says, palming his face. “Don’t expect a happy ending from this, my prince.”

“Jaskier,” the prince repeats insistently. “Although I do like the way you call me ‘my prince’. I’d certainly like it more if we were in a… different situation.”

He raises an eyebrow suggestively, and Geralt wonders if he can un-save this ridiculous man’s life.

“Fine then. Jaskier.”

The prince, who insists his name is a flower, smiles smugly for having gotten his way.

“But why?” he then faces Geralt head-on, his voice steady. “Why help me? If you don’t seek the favor of a prince, and the conflict never concerns you?”

Geralt blinks.

He’s not sure what drove him to the decision. The only emotion he had upon hearing about a price on the head of the crown prince was unease. The witcher has seen the war and how all the non-humans were killed with little reason, their corpses a feast for ghouls. The prince of Aedirn made himself an enemy to many realms by taking in all the refugees.

It wouldn’t sit right to let him die.

“I was in Cintra a month ago,” Geralt answers.

Jaskier tilts his head.

“So was I. I went to negotiate the relocation of the defeated elves with Queen Calanthe.” Something dawns on him. “You heard something, didn’t you? Was this assassination ordered by her? The negotiation ended up a complete waste of time, but never have I thought she could resort to such a dishonorable way of killing. No matter how much she must want to get rid of me permanently… Oh, I—I never thought…”

The prince—Jaskier trails off, his face drained of blood.

“I only learned about the bounty on your head,” Geralt explains, confused by the prince’s sudden show of weakness. “Hired swords get quite loose-lipped after a few drinks. As to where the order came from—"

“Wait, I…"

A pained grunt escapes the prince’s throat. He sways on his feet ever so slightly, but steadies himself with a hand on Geralt’s shoulder. They both look down to where the wound is still trickling slowly, soaking his sleeve with a patch of dark crimson.

“Wait, I thought…” Geralt reaches out to hold Jaskier’s arm. His palm comes away covered in blood. “Shit, it shouldn’t be bleeding this much.”

“You followed all the way from Cintra, just to stop them from killing m—" Jaskier breaks off for air as Geralt rummages through his pack for bandages. The prince clenches the fabric over his chest, as if something is hurting him from within. “So much for… n—not getting involved.”

“Shut up, prince.” Geralt’s fingers reach the bandage. “Or Jaskier, or whatever flower you prefer.”

A strained smile contorts into a grimace on the prince’s face, his knees buckling.

“Shit.” The witcher barely manages to catch his limp body before his head hits the ground. Blue eyes become unfocused as his head sags against Geralt’s shoulder. “Jaskier? Prince? Can you hear me?”

Geralt inspects the wound on his arm closely for the first time, and that’s when his witcher senses pick up on the faint trail of bitterness.

“It’s poison,” he mutters and curses under his breath.

Jaskier whimpers weakly upon hearing the words, his eyes filled with full-blown panic. For the first time that day, the witcher senses potent fear in the prince’s scent.

Or is it his own?

Geralt can’t tell.

Roach is almost at her limits. The weight of two grown men puts a lot of tires her way too quickly, but Geralt doesn’t dare to slow down, not until he can see the castle walls.

“Don’t die now,” the witcher murmurs into the prince’s ear, who is slumped against his chest, half-delirious and slurring nonsense. The make-shift tourniquet on his arm is soaked through with specks of blood.

The poison is attacking his heart, Geralt notices. It’s also speeding it up, disrupting its rhythm. It’s the vicious kind, one that is designed to make the victim suffer before they die.

Jaskier’s face is white as a sheet, and his lips are turning a sickening purple. The trembling comes and goes, making it harder to keep him in place. His blue eyes roll back, and for a moment, Geralt thinks he’s lost him.

“We are here, prince. Do you hear me?” The gate opens when the guards realize that their prince is brought back injured. A lot of people are shouting but it’s all a blur when Geralt carries the prince down from the mare’s back. “Just hang on, Jaskier.”

Jaskier clings, his heartbeat fluttering dangerously.

They take Jaskier away with force, his limp hand slipping from Geralt’s grip. Someone kicks the witcher behind the knees, sending him to the ground. Weapons suddenly appear at his throat, stopping him from going any further.

“G’ralt…” Jaskier protests, his hands grabbing blindly.

“He needs a healer!” he shouts at those guards who only seem to be interested in restraining him.

Cornflower blues are fixed on golden yellow. The prince’s skin is covered in sweat, his lips quivering, struggling to form words. It takes a second for the witcher to realize that he’s talking to the guards.

“He saved my life. Don’t… He saved…me,” Jaskier chokes out a breath, and Geralt feels those guards release him.

The witcher is left kneeling as more men surround the prince and rush him inside. They’re either fussing over Jaskier or calling for help. His faint heartbeat gets lost in the commotion.

“Wait, is he going to—"

The gate shuts in his face. The last thing he sees is Jaskier collapsing in someone’s arms.

No word about the prince comes out for months. Not about the assassination. Not about his poisoning.

Rumor says that he was gravely injured during the attack, and that he has been bed-ridden since returning from Cintra. Some even suspect that he’s already dead.

“…I opened the envelope and it was an invitation from the prince!”

“It was magical, wasn’t it? He doesn’t show up for ages and suddenly we are all invited to a ball! In his castle! A royal ball where anyone can attend, no less! I heard he will choose one to marry tonight.”

“Although I heard he’s sick for quite some time…”

Geralt ducks his head while listening in on the two women’s conversation. They are each dressed in a luxurious ball gown, their faces powered and lips painted. Like everyone else in the room, they are trying to impress the prince at his first outing in months.

But that is not why he is here.

Geralt has been lingering in Aedirn since that day, when he sent Jaskier back to the castle with poison coursing through his veins, not knowing what would become of him. Months of dead silence only make his stomach sink further.

A chance presented itself when news came out that the prince will hold a ball to the public.

It only makes sense that he should go and check, just to make sure Jaskier is all right. After all, he doesn’t want to put in all the effort to save someone only to never know if he will end up fine.

He will see for himself that Jaskier is well, and then he will leave.

He will not get involved.

Of course not.

Geralt takes another sip of the wine, surprised at the buzz it gives to his temporarily human body. When the mage sold him the potion that could hide all visible witcher traits, she did not mention it would also slow his metabolism to an ordinary human’s.

“The disguise will expire at midnight, when the bell strikes twelve.” Luckily she didn’t forget about this.

What a cliché.

It seems that no mage can resist a touch of dramatics.

For now, he looks like another random lord with dark hair and brown eyes. She also threw in a spell to turn his clothes into a silky ensemble in a muted black color.

“His royal highness, Prince Julian!” someone announces.

The crowd turns their eyes to the top of the stairs, where the heavy wooden doors open in everyone’s anticipation. One of the two women lets out an audible gasp as the prince steps out.

And there he is, Jaskier.

Those blue eyes are bright as the sky, those cheeks rosy-pink. He’s a picture of health compared to the last time Geralt held him in his arms. The witcher lets out a relieved sigh he never knew he was holding.

A smile spreads across the prince’s face. Suddenly the wine isn’t the only thing making Geralt all warm and fuzzy inside.

The prince descends the stairs with such elegance, his doublet a pristine ivory color under the chandelier’s sparkling light. The clothes sit perfectly on his frame, but with a heavy heart, Geralt realizes that he’s also lost weight.

It’s minuscule, and the puffy sleeves hide it well, but it’s there. Bed-ridden for a long time, they say. The witcher swallows the lump in his throat.

The crowd parts for the prince, retreating to the edge of the dance floor. No one dares to breathe as they await his invitation to the first dance. Once the dancing starts, the music will be too loud and the people too busy, giving the witcher a window to easily disappear into the night. But Jaskier continues to search through the crowd as if he has a specific someone to look for.

Before Geralt can even react, blue eyes have locked with his. The piercing blue makes him instinctively want to hide, but the witcher is frozen to the spot. The prince walks directly towards him, the grin spreading even wider if that is possible.

“May I have the first dance?” Jaskier reaches out, his palm facing up.

Countless eyes fall on Geralt, making his skin prickle, but he pays no mind. All he can focus on is the prince’s expectant look. Even now, without his witcher hearing to know Jaskier’s heartbeat, he can see the tentative hope in the way Jaskier seems to hold his breath.

Geralt takes his hand.

The royal garden is quiet under the night sky. The cool breeze is nice on Geralt’s skin, the faint hum of cicadas a soothing balm to his ear after hours of music and dance.

“Apologies. I was getting a little… uncomfortable in there.” The prince leads the witcher to a bench. His hand rubs at his heart like it’s bothering him.

“Are you well, my prince?” Geralt helps him sit down.

“Please, call me Jaskier.”

Geralt pauses. Does Jaskier tell his preferred name to anyone? Even a stranger he just met at a ball?

“Why Jaskier?”

“It’s the person I dream to be,” he answers wistfully but adds nothing to explain. Geralt wonders why a prince could possibly dream to be another person.

“I see.” He nods. “Are you feeling alright, Jaskier?”

The prince’s eyes soften as he reaches out to tuck a lock of curly brown hair out of Geralt’s face. The movement is so gentle that the witcher can’t help but catch his hand, holding those slender fingers in his palm.

They are way too slender, he thinks. Repressed worry bubbles up in his throat again.

“I’m fine now.” Jaskier squeezes his hand reassuringly. “Although I haven’t been for a few months, as you already know.”

“Uh…yes.” Geralt splutters. This closeness, combined with the touch of skin, seems to be slowing his brain. “There are rumors, from outside the castle. It was an attack, wasn’t it? At least that’s what I heard.”

“It was. They used poison, no less. The healers told me that it weakened my heart, even stopped it for a few seconds.” He chuckles sadly, threading their fingers together and pressing both their hands over his chest. “The pain still comes and goes these days, but I cope.”

The thumping underneath Geralt’s hand is rhythmic. Calming. It feels so fragile, especially now that he knows how little it takes to stop it. To snuff out the light in those cornflower-blue eyes along with it. And yet, this heart keeps beating.

“I’m glad you survived, Jaskier.”

The name comes out reverent, like a prayer.

“So am I, my friend.”

“Is that what we are? Friends?”

Moonlight frames Jaskier’s fond expression, giving it a soft glow. Long lashes cast a shadow on his faint blush. A grin spreads across the prince’s face when he answers.

“I hope? Or maybe I can hope for more. After all, this ball is held so I can find my future intended in the crowd.”

The implication makes Geralt’s breath hitch. He blinks.

“You don’t even know my name.”

Jaskier’s eyes darken as he leans in. His hand comes up to cradle Geralt’s chin. “Somehow, I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

The crisp night air is mixed with the fresh smell of grass, but on top of it is a floral scent that reminds him of spring and hope. Geralt lets his senses be overwhelmed by the prince, by his soft breaths ghosting over his skin and those enchanting lips well within reach.

Not getting involved, the back of his mind screams.

Despite himself, Geralt meets Jaskier halfway, their lips a hair’s breadth away when—

The bell strikes. Once, twice…

The noise is the loudest wake-up call, turning Geralt’s blood to ice. What is he doing? Is it midnight already? Fuck… he needs to get out of here before the magic expires.

“I need to go,” Geralt blurts out. “I have to leave right now. Ah… I’m so sorry.”

Jaskier’s brows knit together in confusion. “What is wrong? I thought you—”

“I came here to make sure you are all right, Prince Julian. Nothing more. It was never my intention to let you believe there could be anything else.”

The prince’s face dims at his apology. The dejection on his face tugs at something in Geralt’s chest. It leaves him wanting, but there’s no time. The bell counts down his sentence.

He takes Jaskier’s hand and places a simple kiss there, and turns to leave, only to be halted by the prince’s tightening hold.

“Wait, you don’t have to go."

“You don’t understand,” Geralt’s voice quivers with urgency. “It’s important that I leave.”

Those gentle fingers wrap around Geralt’s steadily, Jaskier’s skin cool against his. The prince continues to ignore his plea. If anything, he steps closer.

“Stay. Please.” Jaskier whispers, and it’s all it takes.

The witcher can break free easily, but for some reason he is unable. For some reason, he feels the weakest he has ever been under the intensity of Jaskier’s pleading gaze.

To his horror, the magic fades. Geralt can feel his hair change and grow longer, his teeth sharpening. The flow of chaos stings his eyes that are certainly turning back to yellow. His face crumbles.

And yet, Jaskier never wavers.

If anything, the adoration in those stormy blues only grows, ever so beautifully, as the swirl of magic circles around Geralt, revealing plain clothes instead of silk.

The bell strikes twelve.

The sound still echoes in the air. Slowly, with the utmost determination, Jaskier’s fingers thread through what is now silver-white hair. Tears glisten in his eyes.

“You told me we were not in a fairy tale, and yet, you try to leave me at midnight. You tried to leave me here under the stars. Alone and heartbroken.” The prince lets out a wet chuckle. “Because you think I wouldn’t recognize the man who saved my life. You think I wouldn’t know the witcher who’s risking everything right now just to see that I am well. I’d know you anywhere, Geralt of Rivia.”

Jaskier’s feather-light touch continues to trace the shell of Geralt’s ear, the tiny scar under his eye, and then finally, the corner of his mouth. It’s not often, in his long life, that Geralt gets his breath taken away, least of all by a prince.

“How?”

“I suspected,” Jaskier whispers. “Or rather I hoped when I saw you in the ballroom. I prayed. That it’s you.”

“You danced with me because—”

“Because I wanted to thank you properly. We were kind of in a hurry last time.” The prince teases, his palm tilting Geralt’s chin. “May I?”

He nods.

As if in a dream, soft lips press against his, tasting of salt and moonlight. Geralt lets out a tiny gasp as Jaskier opens him up patiently and draws it out like they have all the time in the world. Like he’s something to be treated with gentleness. Something to be treasured.

He pulls away panting, only to realize that tears are rolling down Jaskier’s cheeks freely, so he catches them with the pad of his thumb.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Geralt shushes him, but Jaskier sniffles with a smile.

“I’m not upset. Trust me when I say these are tears of joy.” Red-rimmed eyes sparkle like the stars. “But Geralt…”

“Yes?”

“Will I see you again?”

Geralt blinks. He only sneaked into a royal court with one goal. Now that he has achieved it and more, there’s nothing that should bring him back to Jaskier again. His heart twists painfully at the idea, and words tumble out of his mouth. The last of his sanity screams against it, and yet his heart has made the decision.

“I hope, Jaskier. I can only hope to see you again.”

Jaskier beams as he presses another kiss to Geralt’s wrist.

“That is enough for me.”

“Your longing eyes grieve what is lost

But naught can change this parting harsh…”

Jaskier’s voice echoes hauntingly. In front of him, the elven family sits huddled together, listening intently. The two children are concentrating so hard that they are almost falling off their parents’ laps. Finally, as the soft strumming of the lute comes to an end, they start clapping with passion.

From a distance, Geralt can only see the prince from behind, but somehow he can sense the big smile Jaskier returns to those excited children. The wind in the Blue Mountains ruffles his brown hair. Jaskier continues to take off the strap and carefully hands the lute to the elven woman.

The witcher approaches quietly.

“…thank you so much! It is such a beautiful instrument.” Jaskier’s voice is warm and welcoming. She’s certainly charmed when they keep talking about music and folk songs.

Geralt stands there and lets Jaskier’s presence wash over him. In the end, it’s the other woman who notices him and gestures in his direction.

Jaskier turns his head and beams.

“Geralt! What brings you here?”

With a few long strides, the prince rushes over and slams their bodies into a bear hug. Anyone who’s not a witcher might have been knocked over by the force, but Geralt catches Jaskier steadily.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you!” Jaskier exclaims as he presses a chaste pack to the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “I haven’t seen you since the manticore hunt.”

“It was still weird that you would want to come with me on hunts.”

“What is life if not to see your favorite witcher in action?” Jaskier waves it off as if a prince getting monster gut all over himself is a common occurrence. He checks Geralt all over. “Anyway, how’s the path treating you, my dear? Any injuries? Exciting stories?”

“The path is fine.” His excitement is too contagious that Geralt feels his lips tug upwards. “And it hasn’t been long. Two months at most.”

“Nonsense. Any amount of time not seeing you feels like ages.”

The parents lead their children away, the girl still humming the song from Jaskier’s private performance.

“I didn’t know the prince could play the lute. Or sing,” he teases.

“Ha! I’m full of surprises, you shall see! Besides, I always thought—” Jaskier cuts himself off, ducks his head before continuing. “I always thought that in another life, I would have been a bard.”

“Would you?”

“Mm-hmm. I would travel the continent, write songs about heroes and adventures. With a lute on my back, I could go to the edge of the world and beyond. Maybe even meet some interesting people, find my muse, or… fall in love.”

He winks at Geralt cheekily when the witcher realizes something.

“So is Jaskier the stage name you picked? For this bard life?”

“Why yes.” Jaskier sounds so surprised. “How do you know? Oh, my dear witcher, you do understand me like no one else! Not even Valdo is a match to you, no matter how well he claims to know me.”

The mention of Valdo Marx’s name sends a pang of bitterness through Geralt, though he has learned long ago that it’s irrational. The prince’s life-long friend, now an important right-hand man, is the most devoted advisor in Jaskier’s council. He’s supported Jaskier in everything throughout his life, having done nothing wrong by the prince, and yet, Geralt can’t bring himself to like the man.

Maybe it’s because of his too-shiny blonde hair. It gives him a headache if he stares at it for too long. Maybe it’s his all-knowing eyes that tend to judge the witcher silently every time they meet. The distrust is too typical for politicians such as him.

Or maybe, it’s because anyone with eyes can see how Valdo is desperately in love with Jaskier, but apparently, it’s not that obvious to the prince himself.

“I know because only you will have a tacky name like Buttercup for your professional career.” The words come out more sour than Geralt expected.

Jaskier squawks with rightful indignation, and Geralt can’t help but snort out a laugh. It’s truly too easy to rile him up.

“It’s just hard to picture.” The witcher continues, while taking Jaskier’s hand. “Someone like you, with soft hands like these. It would take a lot of hard work if you want to make it as a musician. I’m not sure if my prince is up for that job.”

Jaskier slaps him on the arm offendedly. “I’ll have you know, Geralt of Rivia! I am perfectly capable of enduring hardship for the right cause! Now that was truly rude of you to assume that I am spoiled just because I’m a prince! Really, it’s very unbecoming of you!”

“Hmm.” Geralt tilts his head, amused. “And what is a right cause in your book?”

All jokes dissipate after that question.

The prince looks around to the new camps and make-shift houses, everything illuminated by the setting sun. Bonfires are lit where families are gathered after dinner, laughing and dancing together, despite the hardship that brought them here.

“I want everyone on my land to live happily, no matter how they came to Aedirn. I wish they could all see it as a home,” Jaskier says sadly. “That is the most important cause in my life, Geralt. Although I’m not sure if that’s just a fantasy.”

Geralt squeezes the prince’s hands gently. They are exceedingly soft, and cold to the touch. The witcher used to assume that Jaskier just runs a little colder than the average person. But later, to his dismay, he found out that it’s yet another result of the poisoning.

He never wants to see Jaskier’s chest pain flare up again. He never wants to see Jaskier bend over in agony, his hands turning into blocks of ice from the lack of blood flow, his face skin covered in sweat in an instant. Just witnessing it happen almost gives Geralt phantom pain. What’s worse is that there’s nothing he can do but wait it out, holding Jaskier close and rocking him back and forth slowly.

At least he’s now feeling contrite. Teasing Jaskier about not being strong enough was a low blow, when in fact, the young prince is the furthest from deserving such an accusation.

He doesn’t need swords or muscles to be strong.

Jaskier is strong for his stubbornness and his unwavering faith. The elven settlement around them is the best testament. He carried on despite being hated by all other kingdoms, despite the attempt on his life, one that was nearly fatal. One that still hurts him in the quiet of the night.

“Fantasy or not,” Geralt’s insides melt at the way Jaskier looks at him expectantly. “I’d like to see it through with you, if you allow me to.”

Blue eyes suddenly sparkle with renewed excitement.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Geralt?” Jaskier asks carefully as if he could spook the witcher. “Are you finally saying yes to my proposal?”

“I’m considering it.”

“You’ve been considering it since the first time I asked!”

“You asked on our third ever meeting, Jaskier.” Geralt chuckles in exasperation. “And you’ve been asking every time we see each other.”

“And you’ve been giving me the same response every time.” His pout is too adorable Geralt wants to kiss it away. “One might suggest it’s rude to string a prince along like this.”

Geralt hums while cupping Jaskier’s jaw in his palm, tilting it so their gazes meet.

“One might also suggest that our beloved Prince Julian is too good for a witcher like me.”

Ho only means to joke but the smile on Jaskier’s face falls, hurt immediately replacing the earlier chirpiness.

“Shit, Jask… Forget I said that.” Geralt closes his eyes, regretting having ruined the moment.

“Darling, we talked about this.”

“No, you’re right. Of course…”

Jaskier takes the witcher’s hand and places a kiss in his palm. “I won’t allow terrible things to be said about the man I love, and that includes you, my dear. I’d hate it if you joined those senseless folk who can’t see you for the good man you are.” He bites into his lower lip. “Now, I understand if you have reservations about us. I mean, what I am… or what I do, is a lot. I won’t rush you into a decision anymore. I never meant to pressure you.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Jaskier.” Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose. “We are from completely different worlds. Anyone who has eyes will tell you we’re not compatible.”

“Did Valdo say something to you again? Or is that truly what you believe?” Jaskier takes a step back. “Do you wish to end things with me? I—I’ll understand if you want to—"

“No, Jask.”

“—I know how much I’m keeping you in Aedirn, and maybe you wish to be free of court rules and politics and—”

“Jaskier.” Geralt interjects, and cornflower blues meet him in earnest. He knows too well how the prince could spiral out of control, dredging up all the terrible scenarios hidden in the dark corner of his mind. Jaskier looks so lost right now and all Geralt wants to do is make it better, so he does it with action, as always.

He kisses Jaskier with a bruising force. It’s too rushed, too clumsy compared to the gentle caress they normally share, but it conveys everything Geralt cannot promise yet. Not out loud. Not right now.

Geralt threads his fingers into the hair at the nape of Jaskier’s neck, playing with the soft locks. He lets Jaskier lean against his shoulder when they break off the kiss.

“I’m yours, my prince,” he whispers.

“Have I told you how much I love it when you call me that.”

Geralt hides his amusement in soft brown hair.

“Many times, my prince,” he indulges Jaskier. “And yet I cannot help but worry. I fear that things will not work because of our differences. I am a witcher. I am the Butcher of Blaviken, no matter how noble you believe me to be. I will never become someone else. Not like in fairy tales, where a farm girl can transform into a princess and suddenly become worthy of her prince. I fear you’ll make too many compromises because of who I am, bear too many scrutinies, and you will end up resenting me.”

Jaskier shakes his head at those words, his hair ticking Geralt’s ear.

“You speak of my sacrifices, but what about you?” His hand rests between Geralt’s shoulder blades. “You’ve walked the continent for so long. Will you resent me for caging you in a castle because of who I am?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt breathes the name solemnly. “You promised to never trap me in the drudgery of court life. You promised that no matter what we become, I can always return to my path when my heart desires. I trust you on that.”

“And I trust you in return, that you won’t dishonor me. Not in ways that matter.”

They pull away. The sun is hanging just on the horizon, drawing a golden line around Jaskier’s hair.

“I will ask one thing of you, my prince,” Geralt says. “Allow me more time to be sure. Of myself and of our future.”

Jaskier’s eyes crinkle at the corners, taking the witcher’s hand and presses it over his heart, where the doublet is left wide open. The warmth of his skin seeps through the thin chemise and into Geralt’s calloused palm.

“Don’t you see, my darling? I’d give you the stars if you asked. What is a little more time?” His chest rises and falls. “Although I need you to promise something as well.”

“What is it?”

The last of the sunlight fades, darkening Jaskier’s eyes like a stormy night.

“Don’t break my heart in the meantime.”

The plea comes out desperate, vulnerable. Under his palm, Geralt feels the soft thumping that he knows to be fragile.

“I won’t,” he breathes the words reverently. “I promise.”

Jaskier’s heart is so full of the world and its sufferings, so full that there’s hardly room left for himself. So full that the witcher should build a shrine for whatever gods out there that it gives him any attention. To think that he has any power over it, that he can hurt it easily, makes his stomach turn.

He’d live out his life fulfilling that promise if allowed.

The witcher walks the path just like he’s done for the past decades. Temeria’s wind is as freezing as ever, and its secrets even more so.

Another dangerous contract is nothing new, and yet, something in him shifts. Somehow, the days ahead are no longer painted with monotonous black and white, but an unpredictable mixture of colors—orange like the setting sun on Jaskier’s long lashes, or rosy-pink like the too-easy blush that dusts over his cheeks when he’s pretending to be unaffected by Geralt’s attention.

More often than not, he sees in his future the blue of Jaskier’s eyes, deep and vast like the sea.

The same blue is what flashes across Geralt’s eyes as the striga’s teeth bury into his neck. With the crypt cold and hard against his back, the witcher would laugh at the irony of it if not for the blood choking in his throat.

Funny how the moment of revelation does not come in a whirlwind of poetry, one that is befitting to Jaskier. The moment Geralt realizes that he is finally ready to take Jaskier’s hand might just be his last moment.

He drifts into bottomless darkness and wakes to cool fingers on his forehead.

And here Jaskier is, sitting by his bedside, his frame so lonely in the Temple of Melitele. A relieved sigh by his lips and tired bruises under his eyes. Gone is his composed regality. Jaskier looks like he hasn’t slept in days, like he just rode all the way here with wind still in the tousled mess of his hair.

“Yes,” Geralt croaks.

The prince rushes forward to fuss over his bandages and splints, cooing with the most distressed frown. “What do you need, my dear?”

“Yes.” Geralt takes Jaskier’s hand, caressing those cool fingers. The stitches in his neck tug uncomfortably.

“Yes, I’ll marry you, my prince.”

---

Tagging: @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @theultimatenerdd

Are the tags working? Anyway feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #prince!jaskier #fairy tale elements #hurt/comfort #i can't believe this became a full story #hurt jaskier #jaskier whump #geralt doesn't see himself as a heroic knight #and jaskier is hardly a traditional prince charming #knight and prince dynamic with a twist

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breitzbachbea · 3 years

Text

Day 1: Language [GreSic]

Here is my first entry for @aphrarepairweek2021! No intimacy like finding traces of a shared past on your tongue.

Ship: Greece/Sicily [OC] (Herakles Karpuzi/Michele Vento) Set in an Human/Organized Crime AU Read it here on ao3

All Sicilian & Greek words are translated at the bottom - I marked the words in red, so that you can easily find where you left off if you jump to the translations!

Much thanks to @amber-isnt-a-precious-stone for betareading this Oneshot & to @crispyliza for helping me with the Greek transcription. Love you guys <3

Since I don't describe Michele in the oneshot itself, here's also a Teenage GreSic kiss, drawn by my friend @/C0FFINATED from twitter! (They're 16 & 15 here; in the Oneshot, they're somewhere between 18 and 20)

In Una Lingua Familiare

They sat in Herakles’ old and battered kitchen. It must have been the height of Greek Luxury back in the 50s, when it had been renovated. Now it felt cosy, with all its chipped tiles and worn handles.

Something flew past the window and they both turned their heads.

It flew past the window again.

“Taddarita,” Michele told Herakles with a content smile.

Herakles smiled back. “Nychterida.”

“Oh, I think that’s the same word,” Michele said and lifted the small coffee cup to his lips.

“It’s not,” Herakles said. “After you butchered it.”

Michele chuckled about it. He still hadn’t taken a sip. Herakles had made them Greek coffee and Michele was careful with it. He dreaded the thought of reaching the bottom and ending up with a mouthful of coffee grounds. “We didn’t butcher them, we’ve made them our own. But we’ve kept them, regardless.” He finally drank some before he glanced back to Herakles with eyes half lidded. “Carusu,” he said.

“Agori”, Herakles replied.

They had drifted off and talked about history and linguistics again. A safe topic. No business. No nightmares. Michele had tried his best to get rid of the bags under his eyes before he came to Greece but he had no idea if he succeeded. Herakles hadn’t said a word about it and he was grateful for it.

He just wanted to go back to the days when he learnt Ancient Greek at the liceo classico and Herakles did the same at his lykio. When they had found another shared passion to fill the time of the rare afternoons spent together in Palermo or Athens.

“Modern Greek is still Greek” Herakles said. “The words we kept, we didn’t change.”

“Even if we changed them to suit our tongues, we haven’t replaced them,” Michele answered. “After the Phoenicians and the Romans came. And the Arabs and the Germans, the French and the Spaniards. None of them could take the words from us.” His voice was low and he wondered if it even left his mouth or just stuck as vibrations to his lips.

Herakles gave away nothing as he looked into Michele’s eyes. His form was mostly in the shadows, with only the dim light of the moon, the city and a dingy lamp in the corner of the room.

Almost nothing. His tongue darted out and licked delicately over his upper lip.

Michele watched him intently. “Liccu,” he said.

“Lihoudis,” Herakles replied.

They said nothing for a while, broke eye contact and Herakles took a sip of his coffee.

“There’s an Italian version of Herakles, too,” Michele said and Herakles lazily raised an eyebrow. “I could call you Erculi.” His accent was heavy when the name rolled off his tongue.

Herakles' thumb rubbed over the edge of his cup. His lips were slightly parted and Michele didn’t miss the attentive spark in his eyes.

He tried to distract himself by taking another sip of coffee.

“Mihalis,” Herakles said and Michele swallowed coffee grounds and sugar.

His hairs stood on end. He wanted to take Herakles’ hand and call him Erculi and babble sweet nothings in Sicilian at him. He wanted to be reminded of the touches they had shared when they had been kids, behind the safety of a schoolbook and the wild growth of a garden or sometimes tucked away in the corner of a dock wall.

Now they weren’t kids anymore, however, freed from their parents' watchful eye. He could do all that.

Herakles chuckled and despite the hour, it was a joyful little sound. Michele had put the coffee cup down and thought to get a glass of water to wash the coffee out of his mouth. He didn’t dare look at Herakles.

“You know who also changed my name?” Herakles asked and Michele glanced at him.

“Who?” The grounds stuck to his tongue and the walls of his mouth, but he wouldn’t say anything. Not unless Herakles said something first.

“Natasa. She calls me Iraklis, because she thinks Herakles is pretty pretentious in this day and age.” He chuckled again, his eyes on the table instead of Michele, and a faint smile on his face. “Maybe that’s also the reason why we Greeks changed all the words you Sicilians kept.”

Michele chuckled to himself. He got up to fetch a glass of water.

“She's been a big help in navigating this Shark Tank. Calls me Ira for short,” Herakles said and Michele nearly choked on the water. One last chuckle left Herakles, more of an amused sigh.

“Oh,” Michele said, as steady as his voice could manage.

“Interesting.”

Herakles looked at him from the corner of his eyes. “Yeah?”

In Italian, Ira means wrath.

They weren’t kids anymore, Michele thought. He wanted to sleep.

So he put his glass of water down, walked over to Herakles and peered inside his coffee cup. Empty, but so carefully drunk that he didn’t inhale the grounds.

“Iri means to go in Sicilian,” Michele said. Herakles had turned towards him. “I think I want to go to bed.”

Up close, he saw the dark circles underneath Herakles’ eyes. There was a cut on his thumb that hadn’t yet fully healed. Scratch marks peaked out underneath his hair and shirt.

And Michele didn’t care one bit for any of it, because it didn’t change that Herakles was so beautiful it knocked the breath out of Michele’s lungs.

Herakles scooted back with his chair, a dull sound on the old tiles, and welcomed Michele onto his lap. His hands steadied him as he sat down and one found its way into Michele’s hair as he kissed him. He liked the warm and heavy weight against his head and his own thumb brushed over Herakles’ cheek. Herakles’ lips were soft and warm and when his tongue darted out into the other’s mouth or it willingly met Herakles’ in his own, there was a faint taste of sugar and coffee.

Herakles broke their kiss and pulled back. When Michele opened his eyes, they went wide upon meeting Herakles’ stare. The pleading in his eyes scared him.

“Mihalis,” Herakles then whispered and Michele was ready to keel over.

“Erculi,” he got out, voice on the verge of tears and held onto Herakles for dear life as they kissed again.

~*~

"Taddarita/Nychterida [νυχτερίδα]" = Bat

"Carusu/Agori [αγόρι]" = Boy (In Greek, it can also be used to mean "Boyfriend". Since the Italian ragazzo works the same way, I assume the Sicilian carusu can also refer to a boyfriend. Do with that information what you will.)

"Liccu/Lihoudis" = Greedy; To have a sweet tooth

#aphrarepairweek2021 #day 1: language #aph #hetalia #hws #aph greece #hws greece #hetalia oc #aph sicily #hws sicily #aph gresic #hws gresic #storie nostre #hera #miche #gresic #oh BOY OH BOY OH BOY #I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS #PLEASE ENJOY EVERYONE

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tintentrinkerin · 3 years

Text

Cathartic Arrest

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester

Characters: Michael (Supernatural), Minor Characters

Additional Tags: Post-Hell Dean Winchester, Post-Lucifer’s Cage Sam Winchester, Dubious Consent, Caning, Codependent Winchesters (Supernatural), It’s all about inflicting and receiving punishment, Jealousy

Summary: ”Sam needs to cope with memories of Lucifer’s abuse. Dean is still trying to cope with this time as torture Master in Hell.

And he’s JEALOUS.”

Word Count 1,793

READ HERE OR ON AO3

Sam was still shaking when he got back to the bunker. He had taken his time before he came back home, but still. This time, it had all been different. She had to help him back into his pants, his shirt, even tuck his shirt in, help him ground himself; when he still didn’t come down from what just happened, she made him sit in her “calm room” as she called it.

She gave him food, good food. Fruits. Pineapple, strawberries, vanilla infused yoghurt. Juices of passion fruit and apples, bread with butter and some lean chicken tenders. He could choose whatever music he wanted, but all he ever would choose was hard rock – the music of his childhood, part of his youth and part of Dean. The music in his ears, usually is of a different, much more intense nature. He’d tried pop. One Direction. Too happy. He’d tried Nu Metal. He was too old to bounce back into his emo stage, also known as his years at Stanford. He had tried all kinds of metal. Trash, Death, Melodic, Symphonic. Nightwish. Later Aesthetic Perfection. All good music, quality wise. But nothing was ever louder than the noises in his head. The crying of baby Sam Winchester, inner-child Sam Winchester. Traumatized and angry and helpless.

Only the noise of a cane meeting his skin, his ass, his legs, even his feet, his own painful cries, the muffled grunts, the thank you’s and the yes'es, the reenactment of his shame, would silence the child. It’d been rough today. The wax on his chest left pink swollen spots, the cane beat him bloody this time.

“I can stop, aye?” she said.

“No, Mistress. Don’t. I want it to bleed.”

She’s not his Domme and he’s not her slave. He isn’t that twisted in his mind to reenact the power exchange, his own powerlessness. Michael watching. Michael. That god forsaken coward.

Sam was still shaking when he started Baby’s engine, slowly rolling away from the place he visits when pressing on his scar stops working. And it’s been working less and less and less. Until nothing else will help but being beaten up by someone to finally overcome the pain, the helplessness, the feeling of being weak and useless. Sam Winchester might be broken, but he still can take a beating without crying.

Dean hates liars. Which is kind of, let’s say hypocritical, given his nature, his past. He lied to Sam about hell, he lied about the deal, he constantly lies to the only person who will probably never leave him. Because even if Sam does leave, he always comes back. He won’t even die for good. Dean doesn’t, Sam doesn’t. They’re here, two moons in this earth’s gravitational pull, doomed to circle each other; the forces of nature keeping them in place but always keeping them apart.

It's one of those days when Sam says he’s about to go jogging, but since when does he have to drive fifty miles to some secluded forest area to jog when they're in the literal middle of nowhere? Dean has seen Sam in the showers. They have their privacy here, both want that or pretend to, but the showers are group showers, long lines of shower heads like in school gyms. They usually lock the doors, so why, this one time, does Sam not lock himself up like he used to? Dean knows about the nightmares, the triggers, the sudden flashbacks and the pressing of Sam’s thumb against the palm of his cut hand. He noticed cuts, deep cuts around Sam’s wrists, that never heal because he keeps on scratching off the scab. The bleeding never stops.

Dean decides that today, enough is enough. He knows this trauma, he was in Hell too. He tortured innocent people, he tortured Bela fucking Talbot. A woman he really respected in the end, though he sugar coated it with cunt-y behaviour. He’s seen so many faces twisted in pain and agony – and all they do in the end? – cry for mama. They cry for their fucking mother, and Sam? Dean wonders who he cried for in the Cage?

Sam is packed up in his “jogging outfit” and he’s about to leave, when Dean gets up from his armchair in the library.

“Where ya goin’, Sammy?”

He jumps.

“Jesus, don’t scare me, man. Really? I’m going jogging.”

“There’s a whole ass forest in front of the batcave, Sam. Why not go there?”

Sam looks down and Dean knows, he’s angry. He’s angry because Dean caught him in his damn lie and there’s no good way out of it.

“I have a jogging buddy over there,” Sam clears his throat, his whole body is tense. Ready to run. Wherever.

“Ah, jogging buddy, I see. Lemme guess, their name is Mistress Lana and he looks bomb in tracksuits.”

Sam is about to erupt and he grows, his posture straightens and he yells. “This is private Dean, you have no, absolutely NO right to spy after me like a--”

“Like a what?”

“Like a fucking jealous wife who caught me in an affair?”

Dean falls silent, but his body, pure, condensed power, anger, fear, slams his arm against Sam’s throat and presses him to the wall.

“It is exactly like that. You drive an hour to see a dominatrix, to what? You become a subby bootlicker all of a sudden? You like that?”

Sam’s nostrils flare and damn, now Dean is on freakin’ thin ice. He is so goddamn jealous of this woman giving Sam something that Dean would give him freely. And happily. He would give him the relief he needs.

“Don’t talk like that!” Sam hisses, trying to wind himself out of Dean’s grip but he’s still sore from the last time Lana tied him up like a Christmas present and hung him on the wall like a pig-half at the butcher’s. Sam loved the marks of the rough rope, loved the feeling of just hanging there, floating, the ground beneath him so far away, the rock bottom so far…“You have no idea how I feel!”

Dean’s head tilts to the side. “I tortured people in Hell, Sam. I know how to make you feel the worst pain of your life – but I can also give you the greatest relief. I can show you mercy, because that’s what you really want. Isn’t it?”

Sam finally breaks free and attacks Dean, one hit after another, breaks Dean’s nose, gives him a black eye, and it only stops when Dean lands a blow right over Sam’s kidney – he staggers back.

“I deserve the pain,” Sam wheezes. “I don’t rely on anyone’s mercy.”

Dean drags him up and brings Sam, who is suddenly so pliant, to his room. What no one has ever known about is the secret door. Dean’s not a witch, Sam would be a great one, but Dean managed to hide a tiny little torture chamber behind his room. Sam fights, he insults Dean. Dean knows, yes he knows, it’s Sam’s way of provoking him and, kind of, making Dean stop.

Sam knows that, when he came back from Hell, Dean fucked around even more than before he’d died –but no one ever saw him with the girls, the submissive ones, the broken little dolls he found. This is Deam’s coping. Reenacting Hell.

Sam clings on to Dean when he’s tied to the bench, naked. Sam is still black and blue, some of his bruises had turned green-yellowish already but no one should hurt him there again. These bruises would take ages to heal, if they’re lucky, without a doctor needed. Sam isn’t fighting anymore, he’s crying.

“Please Dean, take it off of me. Please… I can’t… Take it OFF!”

“I can’t”, Dean says, gently, brushing away Sam’s tears.“Does she fuck you?”

A gasp. “What? Why--?”

“Simple question, Sammy. Does. She. Fuck you?”

Sam nods, hiding his face in his hair and pressing his forehead against the padding.

“I can’t spank you in this condition. You have to heal. Why would you go to that woman when you’re still so roughed up?”

“Why do you care?”Sam’s voice is so thin. Little, scared Sammy, and there was no one in the Cage to save him from what happened.

“Sammy.” Is all Dean says.

“My Sammy.”

Dean is not like that. He loves Sammy, and he would do a lot, but he won’t do That.

Dean’s favorite is his cane. Rattan. Unpeeled. Sam endures several hard blows, in a staccato, a rhythm other people would faint from. But Sammy is strong, and he wants to be broken.

WANTS

BROKEN

And Dean is giving him that. He can think of the girls and boys in Hell while doing it, like he’s not the one inflicting this pain on Sam, but it feels so damn good. Purging. Sam’s cries and whimpers, his yells and finally, finally, when Dean is about to lose control and maul Sam alive – there’s the one Sammy would cry for.

“Dean.”

A gasp. The blows stop. Blood dripping down Sam’s legs.

“Dean.”

Again.

“Sammy..”

So gentle. So tender. So silent.

“Dean, I want to go home….” and that is truly when Sam is broken, the last bastion of his mind, his pride, his goddamn pride is stripped from him. He babbles, he cries, snot and tears and gulps, he even chokes on his cries. “I want to be home with Dean, please hold me, Dean, take me home, Dean…”

Dean dissolves. His own trauma resolves for a minute. He knows, it will never fully go away, he will never heal. But.

“Sammy. I’m here, Sammy. Come here. I’ll take you home, my baby brother. I’m here.”

“Dean, I love you”, Sam chokes out. It could be anything. It could be nothing.

“Sammy, I love you more.”

Dean leans onto Sam’s heaving, still tied up body, sweat and blood, tears, the sobs. When Dean releases Sam from the restraints and carries him to a sofa, he huddles up in Dean's lap. Like a newborn. Overwhelmed with the world outside, sobbing and crying for Dean. Dean is here, holding him tight. Offering him water and more blankets.

Lucifer has never been closer, but Dean has blown him away from Sam. He made Sam just forget for a while. It’s so fucked up, but he can live with fucked up. As long as it’s with Sam and Sam never, fucking never, goes to a whore again when he can have everything from Dean.

Dean will do anything for Sam.

“Dean…”

“I’m here. You’re home.”

»And I will never let you go.«

@laxe-chester67 @deanking @vulgar-library @writethelifeyouwant @itsabookishblog @schaefchenherde @sacrificialtendencies @cloudesworld @all-4-wincest @ohnoitsthebat @rpsocsandcanonohmy @stemroses @nightmarecait @lostmykiliel @alexa-alcantara @wincestismyheart @closetedshippers @dragonardhill @alex-is-a-gay-human

IF YOU WANT TO BE INCLUDED IN MY MAILING LISTS, SHOOT ME A MESSAGE <3

#wincest #sam and dean #hell trauma #cage trauma #sin is sinning

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anachilles · 3 years

Text

» somewhere in the crowd, there’s you ♪ julie/luke [ juke ]

If they weren’t already dead Julie swore she would kill them. Luke especially.

Actually no, that wasn’t fair. This time she couldn’t completely blame them for what was admittedly a dumb decision on her own part. But see it from her perspective - the boys hadn’t seen the Mamma Mia movies. They didn’t even know of their existence. That had to be remedied.

TL;DR - The boys are introduced to the Mamma Mia Cinematic Universe. Alex spectates, Julie sings ABBA, Luke falls further in love, and Reggie ends up reliving the horror of high school math class. Also BROT4 couch cuddles.

link to read on AO3: [x]

taglist: @wokealex @blueruby31

If they weren’t already dead Julie swore she would kill them. Luke especially.

Actually, no, that wasn’t fair. This time she couldn’t completely blame them for what was admittedly a dumb decision on her own part.

But see it from her perspective - the boys hadn’t seen the Mamma Mia movies. Didn’t even know of their existence. They had just been finishing up a group jam session when she’d made some off-hand joke about them hitting the big-time and having their music turned into a movie-musical series “like ABBA”. Reggie’s face had lit up and he immediately jumped on it, “Wait, they made a movie out of ABBA music?”

“Multiple movies?!” Alex had cut in, looking disbelieving but nonetheless delightfully intrigued.

Luke snorted with laughter, throwing his hands up as he turned to look at Julie. “That’s it - I know what we’re doing tonight” he exclaimed, and pointed at her “Do you have them on ta-”

He catches himself before he can finish the word ‘tape’, but Julie’s eyes still narrow, her own smile now challenging. The boys really weren’t that bad at picking up the basics of modern technology, but slip-of-the-tongues still happened and Julie loved to tease them about it. Luke most of all just because he always dogged the other two the most about it when they did it. Also, perhaps a little bit, because he was kind of cute when he got all defensive.

“On what, now?”

Luke floundered for a second, and Alex and Reggie traded a look between them. Suddenly though, a lightbulb dinged above his head and his expression turned smug.

“DVD! Do you have them on DVD”

Julie laughed, making what was meant to be a loud ‘buzzer’ sound. “Wrong answer! Not the most up-to-date form of media storage, but nonetheless thank-you for playing”. Her expression softened though when she heard Alex and Reggie hound him a little behind her, “However, we do have them on DVD because my dad likes having physical copies of stuff”.

She was about to leave to go grab them from the house, only the time on her phone caught her attention and her heart sank.

“Hey guys, I can go get them for you but I don’t think I can stay the whole way through both. I’ve got school tomorrow.”

All three boys erupted in protestations, Luke’s notably the loudest of all, though on Alex’s suggestion she conceded to stay for at least the first one, then they’d pick up the second one tomorrow or something.

Honestly, it hadn’t taken nearly as much convincing as it should have.

She just really needed to physically be there to witness the three of them watching Meryl Streep jump off a pier to the tune of ‘Dancing Queen’ and Pierce Brosnan absolutely butcher ‘The Winner Takes it All’ for the very first time. Also, talking to them about the movies had made her realise it had been way too long since she’d last watched them herself, and they always made her feel so light and happy. As silly as it may sound, the care-free, sunshiney tone but with genuine moments in them had helped carry her through some really dark days. Since then, they’d always been comforting to return to.

So that’s how she ended up squished on the beat-up old studio couch with three ghost boys from the 90’s, having the absolute pleasure of seeing them react to ‘Mamma Mia’ for the very first time. It was a bit of a tight squeeze, and required Reggie to be sitting with one leg straddled over the arm of the couch and the rest of him pretty much glued to Luke’s side, but they made it work.

Although just as she was getting herself comfy in her spot between Alex and Luke, something niggled at the back of her mind. Something she forgot to do? Maybe? She wracked her brain for a couple of minutes, but her attention quickly and all-too-easily drifted to the screen as the opening chords of ‘Honey, Honey’ sounded, like some sort of siren call, and she couldn’t help but mouth along to the words. She knew them pretty much by heart.

What certainly didn’t help with her cognitive functioning however, is when during ‘Money, Money, Money…’ she felt Luke shift where he was pretty much flush against her side and his arm stretch out behind her neck. His hand settled somewhere near her shoulder; teasingly close but not quite touching it. Her heart rate kicked up a notch, but she was determined to keep her eyes on the screen in front of her, daring not to look his way or even let on that she noticed.

The boys were touchy-feely and generally very physically affectionate with each other, she knew that just from generally being around them these past couple of months. Julie had always found it really sweet and endearing, how unashamedly tactile they were with each other, but at the same time couldn’t help but feel left out as her own friendships with all of them got deeper and she grew closer to them all. Now that they were corporeal, at least to her, suddenly she’d become privy to all that as well.

Now she couldn’t imagine not being able to do stuff like hold their hands during band circles, or not knowing the utter warmth of Alex’s hugs (it was undisputed that he gives the best ones) when he noticed she’d had a tough day at school, or even what it felt like to not have Reggie gleefully grab her hands, or arm, or shoulders when he got super excited about something.

She’d already been falling hard for Luke before when she couldn’t physically feel him under her fingertips. For all intents and purposes wasn’t fully there there, but now? When she’d felt the brush of his body behind her when he’d lean over her shoulder to look at sheet music, or his thigh press up against her leg as they shared a piano stool during their little lyric brainstorming sessions? When they could high-five, lean into each other’s side, playfully shove each other when one thinks the other is being annoying, grab each other’s hands and dance around the room in celebration when they manage to book another gig? All those little moments they could have now added layers to what she already felt.

However, even if she felt something between them, that spark, and her gut told her Luke possibly felt so too, Julie also couldn’t deny that that kind of affection wasn’t any different to the kind he showed towards Alex and Reggie too. Plus, she didn’t really know how ghosts felt about having relationships, especially with the living, or if Luke would even want to go there. So she tried not to read too much into what kind of felt like Luke pulling that old “arm around shoulder whilst distracted by the movie” move.

So although she never really could forget how close he was, Julie let herself become immersed back in the movie. Her life was generally good, labels and certainty or not, she was happy. The happiness of the movie fed into that. The boys seemed to be having a hoot with it as well, if how much Alex especially was grooving in his seat was any indication.

Julie’s not quite sure what possessed her to say it in the moment, or what she expected to transpire when she did, but when they got to the ‘Super Trouper’ scene coming straight off of the, uh, heaviness of ‘Lay All Your Love on Me’ (during which Luke went weirdly quiet for some reason, prompting Alex and Reggie to share a fleeting look over the top of both his and Julie’s heads) and the opening chords sounded she blurted out

“Oh, this used to be my karaoke song when I was a kid”.

Luke’s eyes immediately went wide and she knew she was in trouble. He quickly urged Reggie to grab the remote and pause the movie, ignoring Alex’s soft “Hey, I was watching that!”, before turning his attention fully towards her.

“Well now you have to do the routine; get on up there and show us what you’re made of!”

Julie’s jaw hung open a little and she wasn’t sure whether she could really be annoyed at anyone but herself for practically handing this to him on a silver platter.

“No! I really don’t…” she tried to argue, though his mischievous smile was infectious and damn her lips threatened to twitch into a smile too. “It’s been years! And anyway, I only bust it out for audiences that are deserving of it”.

Luke met her with a challenging gaze. “Bet it’s cause you don’t know the words” he said, turning to Reggie, his tone dripping in antagonism. “Hey, did you hear that the great Julie Molina won’t perform because she doesn’t know all of the words to Super Trouper by ABBA?”. Reggie’s eyebrows shot up and he immediately played along. “Y’know what? I actually did hear that somewhere. Huh…”.

Julie shot a withering look at Alex, a wordless “Can you do anything?” shining in her eyes, but he has the nerve to just shrug (!) with a silent, smiling “I’ll allow it”.

She could’ve got them to drop it if she really had wanted them to, she knew that. Maybe Julie from three months ago would have. Actually, no, that version of herself definitely would have made them drop it; the darkness shrouding her life day-in, day-out smothering any semblance of silly, carefree happiness and convincing her that simply having fun just wasn’t for her.

But she didn’t feel like that anymore.

Julie pulled herself to her feet, eyes fixed with new determination. She crossed the room to the open space, taking a stance mirroring that of the one they’d paused Meryl Streep in and fixed Luke with a playful glare, even though she was addressing Reggie.

“Unpause the movie”.

The performance was one for the history books, if she did say so herself. The boys watched on in amazement as she remembered every word, near enough every step and dance move (the big sleeve shimmy was an interesting one though with sweater sleeves nowhere near dramatic enough to match Donna’s) and personally she thought she sold it.

About halfway through Alex snuck a glance at Luke by his side, and realised karma must be having a slow night given how fast it was paying the other boy back, because he was undeniably staring at Julie with what was clearly pure, open adoration.

“‘Cause somewhere in the crowd, there’s yooooou” she finished with a flourish, heart thumping, and lowered her arm to point at all three of them in turn, but finishing ultimately on Luke even though he was sat in the middle. His face scrunched up with a cheesy smile and he let out a loud whoop of appreciation, kicking off the round of applause before the other boys joined in, Reggie coming in clutch with the standing ovation and everything.

Julie felt breathless but joyful as she flung herself back into her seat, and Luke leaned forward to grab her soda, handing it to her with what looked like contrition.

“I guess I stand corrected, huh?” he said, defeated, but not entirely sorry to be so.

She shrugged, taking a sip of the drink. “I guess you are. It’s a good look on you”.

Luke snorted with laughter and they laughed together for a brief second, an apparent blush rising to sit on his cheeks (Could ghosts blush? How did that even work?).

Before the situation could get weird or questionable though, he turned back towards the movie, but slowly. Like he wasn’t quite ready to leave this moment just yet; like he wanted to stay looking at her just a bit longer. Julie just nudged him and settled back in, trying to go about it in such a way that would implore him to put his arm back around her like he had before.

It didn’t come until the scene where Bill confesses to Sophie that he thinks he’s her father, but eventually that now familiar weight settled behind her head again, setting off a whole herd of butterflies in her stomach.

The first movie came to an end, and things wouldn’t have been awful if she’d just called it a night there and gone to bed. But she was having so much fun and they were all so comfy, and the boys seemed very excited for the prospect of a half-prequel-half-sequel.

“Surely they’ve already used all the good ABBA songs in the first one though, right?” Reggie argued, causing Alex to swing round to look at him, scandalised.

“Are you insinuating that there’s a bad ABBA song?”

While they hashed it out in the background, Luke backing Reggie up just to get a rise out of Alex, Julie acted on impulse and jumped up, running towards the garage window. All the lights in the house were out, meaning her dad was already in bed and everything. As long as she was super quiet sneaking back in and remembered to bypass that squeaky floorboard on the stairs, he never had to know.

“Alright; Here We Go Again - let’s do this”.

Turns out Julie had kind of underestimated how late it was and how long the day had been. She could feel herself getting tired around the ‘Waterloo’ mark, eyelids growing heavier and heavier as she gradually sunk lower and relaxed deeper into the couch. By the time young Donna makes it to the Kalokairi her head had come to rest in the crook Luke’s neck, his flannel soft under her cheek as his cheek leans against the top of her head. Maybe it was a testament to how sleepy she was, but she couldn’t bring herself to move away. The posture felt natural.

She was so comfortable, surrounded by warmth and the soothing hum of the old second-hand TV they’d bought at a garage sale and moved into the garage, she was right on the verge of dozing off… when a realisation crashed into her mind, seemingly out of nowhere.

Julie shot up poker-straight, suddenly very awake. “Oh, crap!”

The three boys startled, most of all Luke when her movement meant he almost fell face-first into the couch cushion.

“What is it?!”

She groaned and fell forward into her hands. “I have a math test tomorrow. And I was going to study for it before bed tonight.”

So that’s how she ends up with Reggie hanging uselessly over her shoulder in the middle of math class, the exchange that came after the realisation still ringing in her ears.

“Hey, hey! It’s fine. Take Reggie - believe it or not, he was good at math” Luke offered up hurriedly.

Reggie himself looked a little stricken. “Yeah, 25 years ago, dude!”.

“Do the rules of math go out-of-date, or…?” Alex teased, though still placed a comforting hand on Julie’s back.

“No, Alex, they don’t - so relax, you’ll be fine, man! You can’t make the situation any worse by trying”

“Don’t give him that challenge, Luke”.

Though admittedly she loved him just for actually turning up and trying, he was staring down at the test with as much confusion as she was. Apparently math had changed over the course of 25 years. They exchange a mutually panicked look. Clearly, neither of them knew shit. Instead, Reggie just runs up to the front of the room and peeps on Mrs Ford’s answer sheet, Julie’s hopeful eyes following him as he dodges around desks and backpacks lying on the floor.

“Are you sure?” she mumbles to him under her breath when he gets back. Apparently not quite low enough though, when the guy next to her turns to give her a funny look, and she has to make a show of furrowing her eyebrows and counting on her fingers, muttering appropriately as she goes.

Julie can feel Flynn’s discerning gaze from across the room and she knows she knows there’s some ghost-like foolery happening. It’s a mess. She’s a mess.

Eventually the bell sounds and signals an end to the ordeal, and Julie takes out her (locked) phone to genuinely thank Reggie for his help all the same.

“Ehhh I’m not sure how much help I was, but you’re welcome” he says, laughter coloured with self-deprecation.

Julie smiles genuinely, and she would’ve nudged him if she wouldn’t have been nudging thin air in public. “Hey, I think we got about three quarters of those answers down and that’s 75% more than I would’ve gotten without you”.

Reggie looks pleased, and stands up a little straighter as he walks alongside her. “Do you mind if I hang out here for a while, by the way?”

Julie’s a little taken aback. “I mean, sure, but why would you want to? It’s just school”.

Reggie shrugs, and there’s something unreadable in his eyes. It’s weird for him; he’s generally such an open book. “I don’t know. I never graduated, we were still going when we… y’know…” he trails off, eyes scanning the halls and the throngs of students laughing and chatting together at their lockers, going about their normal day. “Kind of miss it”.

“Well, you obviously have free reign to look around wherever you want. If you want me to show you anywhere in particular, just let me know. I’m meeting Flynn for lunch now though, so that might not be as fun for you...”

The way he says it makes something ache in Julie’s chest, and she wishes she could give him a hug. With the boys so real now, and so immersed and predominant in her life, it was getting easier and easier to somewhat forget that they were actually dead and had both led and left lives behind. Being reminded of that was starting to hit her that little bit harder.

Reggie nods sincerely, mirroring her slight chuckle. “Thanks, Julie”.

Approaching the cafeteria, Julie sees Flynn in the distance, and is about to put her phone away when she suddenly stops in her tracks, and keeps it held to her face.

“By the way…” she smirks. “If Alex or Luke ask, I scored a 95 and it was all down to you”.

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #juke #julie molina #luke patterson #jatp fanfiction #mine #my writing

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secretlyatargaryen · 4 years

Text

Because I just had this referenced at me re: Arya discourse:

And that’s another of my pet peeves about fantasies. The bad authors adopt the class structures of the Middle Ages; where you had the royalty and then you had the nobility and you had the merchant class and then you have the peasants and so forth. But they don’t’ seem to realize what it actually meant. They have scenes where the spunky peasant girl tells off the pretty prince. The pretty prince would have raped the spunky peasant girl. He would have put her in the stocks and then had garbage thrown at her. You know.

I mean, the class structures in places like this had teeth. They had consequences. And people were brought up from their childhood to know their place and to know that duties of their class and the privileges of their class. It was always a source of friction when someone got outside of that thing. And I tried to reflect that. (source)

It’s not a stretch at all to connect GRRM’s statement here to what he depicts in the Trident incident in A Game of Thrones. This is a scene close to my heart not just because I love Arya, but because this is one of the scenes that drew me to the series, and immediately signaled to me that this was a fantasy series unlike most. As GRRM says, his fantasy world “has teeth.” Arya’s action of defending Mycah from Joffrey has consequences, and ultimately fails at protecting the butcher’s boy. But it’s absolutely wrong to stop there and say that this means that Arya shouldn’t have reacted the way she did, shouldn’t have tried to defend Mycah or shouldn’t have played with him to begin with, that she somehow messed up by stepping out of her assigned social role because her actions had consequences.

Because this is how GRRM writes conflict. To understand why this scene happens the way it does, let��s look at what else GRRM says in the interview.

Yeah, I’ve always been attracted to grey characters. I’ve always taken it as a code, William Faulkner’s Nobel Prize acceptance speech from the early ‘50’s, where he said that the human heart in conflict with the self was the only thing worth writing about. And I think that’s true.

The battle between good and evil is a theme of much of fantasy. But I think the battle between good and evil is fought largely within the individual human heart, by the decisions that we make.

I’m also going to keep harping on this particular point because I also love Faulkner and, like Martin, I believe that the only conflict truly important is the human heart in conflict with itself. And that’s where GRRM’s reasoning behind the creation of his world and characters comes in. It’s clear that Martin isn’t interested in writing about spunky princesses who easily tell off the prince, similarly to how he isn’t interested in writing about “the princess who rides off with the stable boy” without any consequences (and we can easily see his reaction to this trope in Lyanna, who is another female character that fandom likes to blame for being “impulsive”).

Martin is absolutely NOT saying that these female characters are wrong for going against an oppressive system. He’s saying that it’s HARD, but more importantly, he’s saying with these characters, that even though it’s hard, we do it anyway. To quote John F. Kennedy, we do it because it’s hard. Otherwise what is the point? What is the point of writing (or reading) about spunky princesses who face no consequences for going against the system? What is the point of a character who gets their way all the time, easily defeats every challenge and every conflict, and is only allowed to stagnate, never to grow? What is the point of writing about an oppressive system if it is never challenged by the characters and narrative? What is the point of writing about conflict if it is not about the decisions that we make, the choices that we have to make, not because they’re easy and free of consequence, but because they’re hard?

I’d also say that another important theme in Martin’s work is that it’s hard to do the right thing, but do it anyway. Oftentimes he also writes about characters who are victims of their circumstances, and of course those characters should not be blamed for their inability to “rise above,” but that makes it more powerful when a character does stand up for what’s right, even if they fail spectacularly. To believe anything less is to believe in the grimdark justifications that lesser authors make for including rape and misogyny in their novels, simply because it’s “realistic.” GRRM sometimes falls into this defense and his fans often do, but I don’t believe that’s what we’re supposed to get out of this series overall. In particular, I think it’s a misogynistic reading that is disappointingly popular in “feminist” circles because fans of the more feminine-presenting characters think they’re defending women this way, ironically. And on one level, I understand the impulse. Female characters should not be blamed for being victims of a system that oppresses them, but nor should they be blamed for standing up against that system, despite the consequences. ASOIAF has all sorts of female characters in it, ones who accept the system and ones who are defeated by it and ones who are able to break free to an extent, and ones who speak out against it and face consequences, but not a single one of them is unaffected by it. And to read this as a sign that the characters in their medievalish fantasy society (and by extension, we in our own society, because the society depicted in this fantasy series is really not that different from our own) should just stay in their assigned roles and not try to rock the boat is a serious misread. If the only conflict worth exploring is the human heart in conflict with itself, then we as readers must also look into our own hearts. We can’t avoid it. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s hard.

Seven, Brienne thought again, despairing. She had no chance against seven, she knew. No chance, and no choice.

She stepped out into the rain, Oathkeeper in hand. "Leave her be. If you want to rape someone, try me."

#arya stark #rape cw

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