#How do you watch the arm breaking scene and interpret that as a satisfying or proud moment for him

[rooolt]

motherfuckers will see a teenage boy character in the worst emotional turmoil of his life and say “he was at his peak here”

[uvobreakmylegs]

Compliance

another fic inspired by the opening scene of a horror movie. This time it’s Feitan being awful

Warnings: torture, graphic depictions of violence, graphic imagery, blood, slight smut, Feitan makes the reader do awful shit

“Stop screaming. We've barely gotten started.”

Feitan's words went unnoticed by the man strapped to the table beneath him, who yelled and struggled at his bonds as he tried to escape the hot poker Feitan was pressing against his side. You weren't sure who the man was; Feitan hadn't told you anything other than to get downstairs, and you'd done so without question. It was a scenario you were used to by now, and experience had taught you that if you just went along with it you were more likely to get out of this particular instance unscathed.

So when Feitan had kicked the struggling man into that torture room, the most you did was flinch at the noise. Trying to help the man would be a wasted effort and would just make Feitan upset with you, and you had no desire to give him any excuse to add to the scars that littered your skin.

You sat quietly in the corner as Feitan roughed the man up, stripping him from the waist up before he was strapped to the familiar metal table that sat in the center of the room.

It was sad that you were used to such things now. That he had shown you so much violence, so much darkness that resided within one man's soul, that you had become numb to it. It hadn't been like that at the beginning. Originally he needed to strap you to that chair to make you watch, and you cried and screamed at the things you saw. There had even been times where you had begged for the lives of those being tortured, and the results of doing so had been disastrous for both you and his victim as Feitan interpreted that as you having feelings for them. Those unfortunates were forced to linger on for days before they were granted the mercy of death, while the scars, bites and bruises he left on your skin increased in number.

Just don't say anything and get through it as best you can.

And that had worked for a time. You stayed as a silent observer in your corner while Feitan worked, only getting up when he had given you permission to do so. Do as he says and you won't get hurt.

But this time was going to be different.

Only a week ago he had confronted you, telling you that he wanted you to do more. When you'd asked him what that meant, he had rolled his eyes and answered “I'm not content with you just watching while I work anymore. I want you to assist me.”

It took a few seconds to realize that he was telling you to help torture people, and your throat seized up as you stared at him dumbly. Feitan just ignored your reaction, continuing by telling you that he'd let you choose what you wanted to do, that it could be as simple as taking out an eyeball or breaking a finger.

“I could even mark where you should cut,” he said mockingly, “would you like that? I paint the man, you cut the lines?”

You wouldn't be able to stomach doing the things that he did to people. But there was no way you would be able to talk your way out of this; there was nothing you could do once Feitan had made up his mind.

His musings on the tortures you would be able to perform got gradually more gruesome the longer he continued, and you needed to say something before he became upset with your lack of response and just chose for you. And with him, he would choose the worst thing he could think of.

Then your suggestion had spilled from your lips before you could really think about it, interrupting him. He paused and asked you to repeat yourself. You did so, and though it was hard to tell with the bandanna he wore, his facial expression didn't change, but you caught the slight glint in his eyes.

“..... Interesting.”

Feitan turned to leave the room, stopping only once to look back over at you while you tried not to have a panic attack as you second-guessed yourself and what you had volunteered yourself for.

“Teeth, huh?”

The hammer was heavy on your lap. The chisel was as well, but the hammer was a solid weight on your legs that you had to constantly readjust to try and feel comfortable, the gravity making it weigh like an anchor as you waited for Feitan to call you to his side.

By now Feitan had tossed the poker aside in favor of a new torture device, one that resembled a pair of pliers that he used to start the removal of the man's fingernails. The man screamed every time they were pulled out with a sickening rip, his struggles beginning anew when Feitan turned to deposit the nails into a small metal bowl to the side of him.

Feitan had barely looked at you this whole time and you hadn't been called up yet. A small, naive part of you hoped that you wouldn't have to. After all, you rationalized, the thing he wanted from you wouldn't help in interrogating the man – if anything, it would hinder it. Sometimes, when his victims were stubborn enough, they would hold out against the pain for as long as humanly possible, and that stubbornness would drive Feitan into such a rage that he would prolong their suffering long into the night, not being satisfied until he had put them through everything they were physically capable of and getting the satisfaction of watching the light in their eyes fade. It enraged him for anyone to defy him like that, and he wanted the pleasure of bringing them pain to belong to him and him alone. Maybe this man would be like that. It would mean immense pain for him, and you would need to sit there the entire time, but that way you wouldn't need to play any further part in this. But even as you silently begged the man to stay strong, you had a sinking feeling that you wouldn't be getting out of this. The man was a wreck, voice hoarse with tears and saliva streaming down the sides of his face as he begged for the torture to end.

Feitan reached the thumb of the man's left hand when he couldn't take it any more.

“I'll talk!” the man screeched, “I'll tell you whatever you want to know, but for the love of God, stop please!”

“Then talk,” Feitan answered, calmly setting down the pliers and leaning back while the man gasped for breath.

“Lie, and it'll be much worse,” he added.

The man nodded desperately, eager to please for the sake of his life. Meanwhile you sat with a pit forming in your stomach. Your eyes went back to the tools sitting in your lap and you would have let out a small sigh if you weren't worried that Feitan might notice.

“Th-the info was given to me by a-a woman! Her n-name was Marceline, I think!” the man yelled.

“You 'think'?” Feitan asked, his eyes narrowing.

“I-I know it was! That was her name!” the man insisted as his eyes grew wide on realizing his mistake.

“She's an older woman! Red hair, with a scar on her neck. She told me to feed that information to the troupe!” he continued.

“And you gave us that rotten info knowing it was a lie?”

“I-I just-!”

“You were hoping we'd fall for that trap, right? That none of us would come after you because we'd be dead,” Feitan's cold voice cut through.

“Too bad you're unlucky.”

The man flinched when Feitan picked the pliers back up.

“Please! I've told you everything!” he begged.

“I know.”

There was confusion in that man's eyes when Feitan turned his back on him, walking over to a shelf to place the bloody pliers. The man looked to you as he had done several times since the interrogation had started, confusion in his eyes as he tried to get some clue as to what was going to happen to him.

When Feitan spoke again, his words were directed at you.

“Get over here.”

The hammer and chisel hung at your sides as you stood, the hammer's weight pulling down on your dominant arm and making it hang slightly lower as you approached the table. Feitan walked towards it as well, a new device in hand while the man's protests began again, begging to be let go.

“I've told you everything!” he repeated.

“You said that,” Feitan answered, clearly annoyed.

“Then let me go! I'll do whatever you say, whatever the troupe wants, but don't hurt me anymore!”

Feitan tsked.

“Pathetic. So much bravado earlier, and now this.”

He wrenched the man's jaw open and slipped in a metal piece that fitted itself to either side of his mouth, forcing his mouth to stay open when Feitan's hands pulled away.

“What happens now isn't for the troupe. It's for my own pleasure,” he said.

His hands went into his pockets, and he glanced to you across the table.

“Your turn.”

They were words that you had been dreading, and your palms felt sweaty as you gripped the hammer to your chest, taking in deep breaths to try and calm yourself. The man was looking up at you, his eyes practically bulging out of his skull as he pleaded for you to stop, though the words weren't easy to understand with the way his lips had been forced open.

Feitan spoke your name in a warning tone and you bit your lip – if he needed to say anything else it would mean punishment for you.

Slowly, you lifted the chisel and placed the edge against the top of his central incisors. You couldn't stop the trembling in your hand and the chisel rattled against his teeth; to you it seemed like it echoed through the room.

When you lifted the hammer the man was red in the face, screaming at you to stop. You wished you could apologize to him, just let out a quick “I'm sorry” for what little it was worth. But Feitan wouldn't like that. And if you took any longer to get this started he would do something unspeakable to you.

You lifted the hammer over your head.

'Gravity does most of the work,' you told yourself. Like that helped.

You swung it down.

The crack that sounded reverberated in your ears as you stood petrified, watching the man beneath you writhe in pain after three of his teeth managed to fly out of his mouth, blood gushing from the open wounds. With the angle you had hit it them, some of the teeth behind the ones you had knocked out looked slightly askew and you looked back to the hammer, noting just how substantial its weight was.

“Do it again.”

Feitan's voice cut through your confused thoughts, and you rushed to comply, adjusting the chisel again without looking at him. He still sounded annoyed.

It sounded like the man was trying to beg you to stop again, but you ignored him as you swung your hammer again, taking out a canine and some of his premolars. They managed to fly out of his mouth again and hit the metal table sounding like pieces of hail on a car. You took less time to compose yourself after that, switching to the other side of his mouth and swinging again.

Even though he was practically out of his mind with pain, there was a hatred in the man's eyes as he looked up at you. It was hard to blame him for that, and you wished you had an excuse to stop, but fear of Feitan kept you in check as it usually did.

With the top gum having been turned into a mess of missing and broken teeth, you switched to the lower set. You were halfway done, you told yourself. Just a few more swings and then this would be over.

It wouldn't be, but hopefully your part in it would be ended.

You hit one of his bottom canines and a few drops of blood had somehow managed to spatter onto your cheek. Instinctively you set the hammer down, wiping at your face with a shaky hand. At least that gave you an reason for taking a break.

Feitan had been quiet since his last order, and throughout this you had been too scared to even look at him, fearing that might trigger him into some sort of action against you. But as the man gasped in pain, against your better judgment you looked over across the table.

Maybe it was because of your victim's screams, or just the way your heart pounded in your ears, but you didn't realize how heavily he was breathing until you looked at him. He had changed positions when you weren't looking, gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles were turning white, his figure completely rigid and his eyes practically burning a hole in you, excitement dancing in that normally cold gaze.

Was he.... Aroused by this?

You snapped your head back to the man, whose protests had become weaker, only able to let out strained noises that vaguely resembled the word “no”. Picking up the hammer, you raised it once again. Just a little bit more, and then it'd be over. You could go back to your corner and let the numbness carry you through the rest of this scene.

Feitan's breathing was still audible.

The man's tongue was still moving, trying to form words to appeal to you.

The blood from the holes in his gums dripped down to the back of his throat, making him choke and cough up onto the now bloody edge of the chisel.

The amount of blood in that man's mouth.

And you were the one who did this to him.

“I'm going to throw up.”

The words barely escape your lips before you practically drop the hammer and chisel and rush out of the room, sprinting up the concrete steps to try and make it to the bathroom in time.

It was one of the few small mercies Feitan granted you, that you could leave if you felt like you were going to be sick. Turns out, for a man who tortures people for a living, Feitan had no tolerance for vomit.

But it was a small mercy with a stipulation: you needed to come right back after you were finished. And he would typically wait for your return before he continued, intent on you witnessing everything.

As you threw up the meal you had eaten earlier, the bile already a clear taste in your mouth, your mind went back to the image of that man, and how you could count that Feitan would make you finish what you had started. All you could hope for at this moment was that he wouldn't be too upset with you leaving in the middle of it.

Surprisingly, he was waiting for you outside of the bathroom. Though he seemed calmer now, you looked down to the floor immediately after your eyes met.

“I'm sorry,” you whispered, fiddling with your fingers, “I just needed a break. I'll go back down.”

“Don't bother,” he said, stopping you just as you made a move to walk past him.

“You did well enough. I'll let you off the hook for the rest of it.”

You nodded in response, but said nothing: whatever small mercy this is, there's going to be a catch somewhere.

“Go back to the bedroom. Undress, and wait for me.”

And there it is.

You looked back up at him, and while his posture was relaxed, that excitement you had seen earlier is still present in his gaze. So you were right that he was aroused, though perhaps at this point you shouldn't be too surprised about it.

“Okay.”

Feitan was already walking back to the basement stairway, and you wondered if he was going to kill that man downstairs, or set something up so that he was suffering even while Feitan had his way with you. For the sake of that soul down there, you hoped it was the former.

“Make sure you brush your teeth before I come back up,” he ordered.

He didn't take long to come back to the bedroom, spatters of blood visible on his dark clothes as he stalked towards your form while you sat still on the bed. His clothing was quickly removed and thrown to the floor, forgotten as Feitan used two blood-stained fingers to lift up your jaw and bring you into a chaste kiss.

The goosebumps that had formed on your arms while you had waited in the cold quickly vanished as he pushed you to your back, crawling over you to let his bloody hands trail over your body, tracing your healed scars while marking your skin with smears of that unfortunate man's blood. He kissed you again; this time it was more demanding and you opened your mouth in submission, the taste of cleansing mint still present as he dove his tongue in.

His hard length entered you shortly after and he started at a rough pace that had you grasping at the sheets, letting out small shrieks when he would lean down to bite you.

You would be hurting in the morning, but it was better to just go along with what he wanted.

He could do far worse than this.

[midnightsgift]

I just read your analysis on Yohan cherishing his last moments with his niece since he thinks he's going to die and now I'm emo again 😭 pls pls let Yohan and Elijah live, also I saw a theory that Gaon was instead going to sacrifice his life saving the two since Soohyun died anyway, what do you think about that?

i think you're referring to my post about Yo-han and that dinner scene, if u are then yh it makes me emo to knowing Yo-han is finally at a stage where i think he's letting his walls crumble himself only to perhaps die/betrayed in the final episodes.

Idk if u want me to ramble so you don't have to read all my word vomit and skip down to where I answer your question. If not enjoy the ride.

We initially see external forces (NON Yo-han characters) trying to infiltrate this wall be it Sun-ah, Ga-on and even the House keeper at times. And we'd usually see these met with resilience (on Yo-han's part) and the only times he'd 'tolerate' it would mean it be beneficial to him/his plans and even then it wouldn't be with open arms. Take the scene where Sun-ah asks him to be kinder to her, or the Jenga scene, very different, however even in the Jenga scene we're met with that resilience to remind us that Yo-Han does not need anyone, or one step further Yo-Han would like everyone around him to believe he does not need them.

We the visibly see this change when he apologies to Elijah. The first apology is prompted by Ga-on, but episode later once Ga-on leaves Yo-han makes that decision by himself (Internal forces). His image that he has created is no longer more important that the relationship he has with his niece or how his niece sees him. And as heart-breaking it is to see him still be turned away it depict a realistic reaction from a hurting child. This is also shown when he offers to cook/ask Ga-on if he want food. I'd also like to highlight the importance that it was through food he attempted to comfort Ga-On. I could also write more on that but i don't think most ppl would want to hear that so we move.

Answer:

So, i would hope that none of them die, and already we've seen 2 'keyish' characters die and idk whether to interpret as we're safe or that alot more blood is to be shed. If one of them (Ga-on and Yo-han) was to die I would be more scared it would be Yo-han. If you asked me from the beginning of the show till about the time he got shot i’d be heavily inclined (90:10 spilt) that if either we’re to die it be him. I don’t think this is rooted in many ‘hints’ from the show but from having watched other shows and personally I find it more satisfying to watch a character like him die. Fucking heart-breaking but none the less satisfying due to the fact his life revolves around this idea of him completing this mission. However if anything was to hint at his death it would be the whole Christian  symbolism we see all the time from the show. And if we remember Judas comment from earlier, if Ga-on is his Judas the he must be Jesus. We often hear Yo-Han talk about how nobody is not sinful and i don’t exactly want to say this religion believe this or that, but there is the belief that Jesus died for everyone's sins, and it may not be in the same way but i feel like there a link there. I also think Yo-han dying to save Ga-on would be a nice (not exactly parallel) parallel to Yo-han unable to save Isaac. I would like to add any of the 3 we’re to die i feel like them doing it to save each other would be valid.

So I implied i’m leaning less to Yo-han dying but i’d say it’s still a 75:25 spilt to him. Ga-on dying to save Yo-han and Elijah, seems like the only way i’d accept his death. I don’t think it’d be such a clear cut consequence but i do see Ga-on sacrifice himself to indirectly save them. IDk if that makes sense. The fact that Soo-hyun has died to me actually makes it seem like his death would have less of an impact, yes they could play up the relationship with other characters but it would seem almost cheap for him to die. Especially as his character keeps flipping sides, i feel unless in the least two episodes they really solidify where he stands it doesn’t have a great pay-off IDK maybe i should have more faith in the writers but Ga-on dying doesn’t seem like the appropriate thing to do. 

As i was correct my spelling mistakes I though of another scenario and that would be if one of them killed the other. For Ga-on to die by Yo-han’s hands would be ‘great’ to see. It would have link well to scene where we see Yo-han warning Ga-on that he obliterates those that stand in his way, but also it play for great betrayal from Yo-han who otherwise is kinda quite Loyal. It would also parallel nicely to the card scene in a similar way Soo-hyun’s death did to Ga-on and hers last meal together.

[katsuflossy]

Best Worst Night Ever?

Pairing: Pro Hero Midoriya Izuku x Black reader

Genre: Fluff

TW: Sexual assault, obscenities, Drinking, throw up, cops, um pubic lice?

A/n: This is my thank you for 500+ followers!! I sadly have limited time to do any fics but I squeezed in a day to finish a lil WIP I had which is this!! I just watched Hercules and couldn’t help making this so please enjoy!!

BIG PSA: I am in no way romanticizing or poking at sexual assault. The story is inspired by Disney’s Hercules. 

Taglist: @sunset-novice-writer @goatsenpaiultimate

The Tokyo club district may be Midoriya’s most hated areas he has to patrol. Nothing attracted him here, in fact, the area repulsed him. The last time he stepped foot into the club was for Denki’s 21st. That night ended early for him due to an incident involving throwup that cost him his shirt, pants, and custom shoes. Ochaco still sends him apology gifts from that night. But even before the incident, the top pro-hero felt no pull towards club life. The music was so loud he couldn’t hear himself think. Someone always was pushing him in a shuffle to ruin their liver or to grind on strangers. Not to mention he is a pro-hero so there was a reason All Might never appeared in nightclubs – it’ll eventually turn into an unofficial meet-and-greet.  

So why was he assigned to watch over the district during one of the most popular summer nights? Simple, crowd control. Deku was one of the only pro-heroes who could sway a crowd to his will. His spirit could’ve reached anyone even if it was a simple crook or a drunk valley girl and his presence in the Shibuya would bring more foreigners to the club scene hoping to see the number one hero. 

A sigh escaped his lips as his fingers massaged his temples. Midnight announced its arrival through the train station nearby yet the soft pulsing from each club around collectively buzzed out the PSA automated message. His eyes strained to stay open as he passed the reds, blues, and greens of Shibuya’s active clubs. He stretched for the fifth time in the hour, the cracks of his back emitted little result to the weighty feeling on his body, like the humidity within the night. Tokyo was sure hot that night

Hot indeed it was. 

Izuku was on his twelfth attempt to suppress a yawn until his ears caught on to a female scream barely breaking through the night. He questioned whether the scream was fearful or...playful, remembering one specific night he interrupted a couple in an alleyway. However, the scream rang out again, pushing the pro-hero to the source and silently cursing himself for second-guessing. His ears led him three blocks up, beside the infamous Harlem. The red club light glared in Deku’s eyes as he tried to register the bodies in front of him.

Muted red scattered across your body front forward pressed against the bricks of the building. A tall, skinny man pressed his body against your own, restricting your thrashing from knocking him in the nose or somewhere much more sensitive. Your cheek pressed harshly against the rough texture you were forced upon as you glared at the perpetrator.

“Why don’t you just let me carry you home, babygirl?” The liquor and weed wafted from his mouth, singeing your nose hairs as you thrashed harder.

“Like fuck, you green bitch! Get the fuck up off me!” He sneered in response, ignoring your demand as his hand brushed your leg, trailing to the hem of your skirt.

“Stop! Let her go!” Your eyes snapped to the open end of the alleyway where the voice rang out. You wasted no time to take the distraction as you used your stiletto heel to stab his foot. He shrieked as he recoiled from your body. You took the time to turn around and kick him in his crotch, bringing the molester to the ground. 

“You fucking slut!” As he attempted to get up, Deku zapped in front of him, grabbing his elbow as he slammed him against the opposite wall. The man had his breath knocked out of him in an instant before passing out due to the impacting force. 

The alleyway stayed quiet for a few seconds, processing what just happened and how quickly the man crumpled against the wall. Your eyes furrowed and your fist clenched, walking up to the passed out body before commencing in a swift kick after kick adding stomps to his stomach. 

“That’s what yo filthy ass get!”

 “The next time I see you, I’m putting one ‘tween yo eyes cause you lucky I wasn’t packing tonight motherfucker!”

“If you had put your grimy hands on me further I would’ve bit your ear off like I’m fucking Mayweather in this bitch.”  

Midoriya, grabbed your upper arm, snatching you away from the bruising body on the ground, mortified by the profanities spilling out from your mouth.

“P-please stop, the police are on their way and they’ll deal with him.” His pleading stopped you momentarily. Believing that you were calm, he released the hand from your bicep only for you to get one more stomp in. He attempted to grab you again before you raised your arms and stepped away from the man, satisfied by the pain-filled groan he let out. 

Not saying a word to the pro-hero, you went to pick up your phone, which skidded from you as the molester wrestled you against the wall. The young hero also spotted your clear handbag at the corner of the alleyway, assisting you as you dialed your friends’ numbers on your phone. Your back faced him as he approached with your purse. You clutched your phone tight as you cursed into the phone, freezing Midoriya in his spot. 

“You fucking bitches! Not only did y’all not tell me y’all were leaving the fucking club, y’all not answering the phone and still posting ugly ass pictures on snap. I knew I should’ve never fuck wit y’all stank ass hoes in the first place. And Charlotte? Suck my fucking dick from the back! Hope that nigga you let hit tonight gives you crabs, dumbass bitch!” 

You slammed on the send button in the group chat, giving your ‘friends’ a piece of your mind, forgetting about the audience that was behind you. 

“U-umm…” You whipped around at the sound of the male behind you, still pissed off about your friends ignoring your call. 

“Yes?” Your attitude fell a little when you noticed how handsome the man in front of you was. Freckles peppered the tops of his cheeks, deepening the blush he sported in miscellaneous places on his face. Scars did nothing to deter your attraction, in fact, they made him more alluring, giving a rugged look to his chiseled features. 

“I believe this is yours?” He held out your clear mini handbag revealing the few yens you had and your Fenty Beauty lip gloss. 

“Thanks.” You took it graciously before reapplying some of the gloss that had come off due to your ‘encounter’ just as the pro-hero actually looked at your appearance. 

Your plump, glossy lips reflected the red club lights so sinfully. His eyes noted the beam of light shifted at the slight lift and drop of your lips. Your skin compared to the softest velvet and satin as the red light refracted on the shimmer of perfume you wore. May he mention that you smelled like euphoria? Or what he may interpret as that. His eyes traveled down your outfit, a pink skirt slit on the side peeking more of your thigh and leaving the rest to imagination. As for your top, the fluffy pink bikini top had his mind on haywire, noticing the sheen on the curves of your—

—He blinked, removing the haze from his mind. He had to say something to you, like his soul begged for a minute of your time. Denki’s voice popped in his mind, “Be cool guys, after a DID (Damsel In Distress), lay it on little by little. Ask her for her name, then if she’s safe, be a sexy gentleman.” Swallowing the thick ball in his throat, he went with the advice.

“Are you...a-alright Miss?” His hand went to his nape, rubbing the end of his undercut as a blush grew on his face. You smiled at his flustered attempt.

“(Y/n). My friends would call me (N/n) at least they would if I had anymore.” You couldn’t help your eyes to roam his physique, noting the rippling muscle under the black and green suit. 

 “So? Does a name come with my hero or should I start calling you Hercules?” A warm feeling traveled through his body, making its way to his face, burning his cheeks a brighter red. He bashfully chuckled. 

“I-I’m uhh...uhh uh...uhh” You raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at his brain malfunction, smirking to yourself at how cute this was. 

“Are you always this articulate?” His eyes widened realizing the babble was not coherent as he jumped to answer your question.

“Deku! My—” He coughed at the fine pitch in his voice, brain bringing up the “How to be Cool Manual” made by Denki as he readjusted his vocal placements.

“—My name is Deku.” A light chuckle escaped through the air as you smiled at his notably lower than normal voice. 

“Hmm, Deku? I think I prefer Hercules.” You joked before your teasing was interrupted by a loud groan coming from your forgotten assaulter.

“So? H-how did you get mixed up with the...uh?”

“Nigga who don’t know what the fuck rejection is?” You looked at the crumpled man again, having the thoughts to step on his globe head again. Deku’s eyes widen as if he read your mind, holding his arms out to stop you. You raised your arms, showing no harm before retelling the night’s events.

“Some bitches and I decided we were going to go to Harlem and I was the designated driver even though it wasn’t my car. Haven’t stepped into the club yet and they already drunk off of the entrance drinks. Lightweight bitches but they wanna chug down all the martinis in there. So one of them got a hookup and left without saying shit to anyone and the other was fucking faded—”

Deku flipped through his brain to remember what the definition of faded was.

“—my guy, like bitch was puking up in the stalls. So the third girl, almost as drunk as the other bitch, took the fucking car and ditched me. Didn’t tell me when I could’ve left this place cause in there was lowkey trash. All fucking mainstream pop, and few trap songs. But anyway, this pants-suffocating-my-balls ass nigga was preying on me the entire night and you know how men are. Saying 'no' means 'yes' and 'fuck off' means 'take me I’m yours'.” Your hands clasped together as you bat your lashes up into the sky. You quickly dropped your dreamy acting gig as quickly as you made it. Deku stood confused, chivalry and respect rolled off of his body as he did not know what the female interpretation implied.

“Don’t worry, ask rock-a-bye-baby here when he gets up.” Deku’s laughter halted as the sounds of sirens rang through the air. 

“Well, thanks for everything, Mr. Deku. It’s been a real slice.” You waved at him before turning to leave. Deku panicked, rushing to grab your forearm. You raised a brow at his actions.

“W-wait! U-um the police would like a victim report so he can g-get full repercussions for what he did to a l-lovely lady like you. Heat flooded your cheeks as you mulled over what he said, lovely lady?

“U-um sure, it’s still fuck 12 though cause they didn’t do shit.” You turned around again only for the pro-hero to turn you back around, completely facing you. 

“W-what?” You looked at him, wide-eyed at his boldness as he cupped your cheek. His finger swiped the side of your soft lips, almost dipping into the shimmery, inviting pool before retracting from your face. 

“Y-you had s-some lip gloss smudged on your face.” Deku’s eyes remained on your own as you tried not to melt on the spot. All you could do was simply nod as the police cruiser pulled up by the entrance.

“Well thank you, ma’am, he won’t trouble you any further.” You nodded as the officer went back into the car, the man in the back sleeping quite peacefully for someone who’ll wake up behind bars. Your fingers typed in the address for your apartment, which was a 20-minute walk from your current location. You sighed as your feet, sore from standing in heels all night long, trudged down the street. However, a certain green-haired hero refused to let you go. Thanking the officers in the car, he rushed to your distancing figure.

“(Y/n), wait for me!” Deku waved you down, not breaking a sweat as he reached your figure.

“Deku, I’m sure you have somewhere else to be, so thank you and–” 

“I’m a hero. My job is to make sure everyone is safe, including you. So please, let me walk you home.” His eyes were unyielding. He refused to take any other answer than a yes. You nodded your head, smiling at his chivalry before walking again.

“Alright Hercules, tell me why did you become a hero?”

And so the 20-minute walk seemed like only five as you and Midoriya talked about your childhoods, struggle, and funny memories. Your feet finally touched the doorsteps of your apartment after Deku carried you halfway through the journey. 

“Thank you so much for saving me, even though I had it in the bag.” Laughter broke from the pair into the twinkling sky of the night.

“I’m sure you did.” The lighthearted atmosphere trickled into the sewers of the streets as the pair realized that their time was coming to an end. Deku began to panic, he wanted to see you again, there was no doubt as Denki’s voice invaded his head once again, “Go for the kill bro! Go for the kill!” The young hero grabbed your arm before you turned to leave.

“Umm (Y/n), I know you had an awful night but I- I would like to see you again!” His forwardness stunned you, not expecting the man to be this bold. Your heart sped up and you attempted to keep your cool.

“Sure, you got your phone on you?” He pulled out his phone, handing it to you as his excitement built. A smile stretched across your face, unable to contain your happiness as you returned the phone to its owner.

“Alright Deku, Imma fuck wit ya.” You fist-bumped the hero before leaning into his face, making the daring move to press a kiss against his cheek. 

“Bye Deku.” You unlocked the door of your apartment, entering the vicinity before waving at the scarlet faced hero, who, still absorbing what just happened, waved back aimlessly. As you closed the door, your knees finally buckled for the first time in the night. You slumped against the door, smiling to yourself, not knowing the number one hero was doing the same thing. 

[when-a-humble-bard]

in ways that can’t be said

Summary: Geralt lives in a very dark and violent world. Good things are few and far between. He doesn't know what it means, really, to be in love.So when he falls in love with Jaskier, it happens slowly. Gradually. Reluctantly.Or, 10 moments where Geralt falls a little more in love with the bard no matter how much it scares him. Geraskier.

Companion piece to this fic but can be read separately.

Word Count: 6961

Warnings: canon-typical peril and violence, blood, injury, death mention (but no actual death), light Geralt whump, feral!Jaskier, headaches, fear of sensory overload, cursing, interpretation of canon scene with shipping lens, Yennefer makes a brief appearance, Ciri is part of this at one point, emotionally constipated Geralt, and then emotionally-overwhelmed Geralt, lots of softness and hurt/comfort elements, let me know if other warnings should be added.

A/N: These two have so much story to explore together, and I’m apparently just along for the ride. Edited by yours truly, so all mistakes are mine.

Read on AO3!

...

I.

Geralt is on his second ale when the bard starts his set. The Witcher stays tucked away in the corner of the tavern where he usually prefers to sit, as it provides a decent vantage point of the room. That it also encouraged other people to leave him alone was, really, just an added bonus. Tonight seemed to be no exception that rule. Jaskier had sat across from him and jabbered on as he always did—his energy especially heightened given that it was right before a performance—but he had been the only one to engage the Witcher in conversation thus far.

The bard usually burned off his excess energy during his set. Geralt finds himself hoping the bard doesn’t expend too much of that energy, as they needed to head out early in the morning. Tired Jaskier was an even chattier Jaskier, and Geralt wasn’t sure he had the patience for it.

Jaskier is standing on the small stage across the tavern. Through the haze of idle chatter and drinks being poured at the bar, Geralt listens to Jaskier finish tuning the lute. The final string the bard plucks sounds slightly higher pitched than usual to the Witcher. He sees the tip of Jaskier’s tongue poke out between his lips in concentration, adjusting something on the instrument. He plucks it again. It sounds right to Geralt now, and the bard seems to agree if his satisfied nod is anything to go by.

He starts off with a popular tune—the one about the daughter of a fish merchant—and Geralt turns his attention to the venison and potatoes the barmaid sets in front of him before she quickly ducks away. Geralt stops paying close attention to Jaskier’s performance as his mind drifts to the rumors he’d caught wind of regarding a wraith. The trick would be finding someone who could confirm or deny the rumors; and if confirm, then someone who would pay him a fair price to deal with it.

He could also go kill it himself and hope to be able to sell it for parts, perhaps. That was riskier business, though. Still, Geralt considers the merits of it as Jaskier performs.

“Bard!” A sharp voice yanks Geralt from his thoughts. An older man, with thinning blonde hair and a stocky build, has leapt to his feet and immediately claimed the attention of the room. “If you keep singin’ the praises of the fuckin’ Butcher of Blaviken, I’ll break that fuckin’ lute o’er your fuckin’ head.”

Geralt’s jaw works. He’d always hated that name. He hates how it follows him like a shadow, the way it makes his arms feel heavy with Renfri’s unconscious weight every time he hears it. Still, it’s not a fight worth starting when he needs work and the man’s worst offense is using a name that travels with Geralt like a curse he can’t get rid of. He flexes his grip around the tankard in his hands instead.

“Sir,” Jaskier says, an odd and barely constrained edge to his voice, “the White Wolf is widely regarded as a hero across the Continent.”

“The Butcher ain’t no hero,” the man spits. “Just a monster gettin’ off on the sufferin’ of others.”

It’s an unoriginal insult, Geralt thinks. The Witcher’s lips press into a thin line before he swallows down more of the ale in front of him. If Jaskier is smart, he’ll let it go. He’ll stick to the songs in his repertoire that aren’t about Geralt, and he should still be able to charm the audience enough to earn a bit of coin for his trouble.

But Jaskier is—evidently—not a smart man.

“Bold words coming from someone who is too much a coward to face down the wraith plaguing his own town. The only thing you have less of than honor, sir, is shame. You slander the name of the very person ready to risk his life so that your crops don’t wither.” The bard’s eyes are aflame with indignation so strong it brings Geralt up short. “You call Geralt of Rivia a monster, but he is twice the man you will ever be.”

It’s such an impassioned, sincere defense… and all Geralt can do in the silence that seems to echo in the tavern after it is stare at the bard as something knots in his chest.

One of the man’s friends tugs on his arm and he sits again. Jaskier’s gaze doesn’t waver as he starts the next song.

“When a humble bard…”

II.

Jaskier drops a bucket of water onto his head, and Geralt hums at the welcomed shock, scrubbing the metallic, rancid scent of selkiemore off his face. The water smells faintly of rose, which the Witcher knows to be Jaskier’s doing. It’s… pleasant, if unnecessary.

“Now now,” Jaskier chides, “stop your boorish grunts of protest. It is one night of bodyguarding your very best friend in the whole wide world. How hard could it be?”

Geralt glances over at the bard. “I’m not your friend.” He wasn’t sure what Jaskier was to him, but friend seemed like the wrong term. It didn’t fit right in his mouth as a way to describe the bard.

“Oh, oh really? Oh, you usually just let strangers rub chamomile onto your lovely bottom?” Geralt levels a glare at Jaskier, but the bard seems unphased. “Yeah, well, yeah exactly. That’s what I thought.”

It’s all Geralt can do to not roll his eyes, watching Jaskier cross back to the salts and oils in front of him as he rambles. “Every lord, knight, and twopenny king worth his salt will be at this betrothal. The Lioness of Cintra herself of Jaskier’s triumphant performance!”

It’s a deflection at best, even as Jaskier throws some added salt to Geralt’s bath, and the Witcher just stares at the bard framed in the candlelight around them. He has the feeling Jaskier may be hiding something. Or rather, trying to redirect attention from something else.

“How many of these lords want to kill you?” Geralt asks flatly.

Jaskier’s façade deflates just a bit. “Hard to say,” he replies, and Geralt is reminded once again of how openly honest Jaskier tended to be. “One stops keeping count after a while. Wives, concubines, mothers sometimes.”

Geralt could do without the list, really. It sends a twist of unexpected annoyance through his chest. Jaskier notices—but then again, he’d always had this habit of paying more attention to Geralt’s expressions than most humans did. The Witcher isn’t sure why.

The bard sits on the edge of the tub, framing Geralt’s form with his outstretched hands. “Ooh, yeah, that face! Scary face. No lord in his right mind will come close if you’re standing next to me with a puss like that.”

Geralt reaches for his ale—he’s really not drunk enough to deal with this—when Jaskier snatches the cup out of his grip.

“Ooh, on second thought…” Jaskier continues, because he never seems to stop talking really, “might want to lay off the Cintran ale. A clear head would be best.” He pats Geralt’s shoulder as he stands.

It an unusually casual touch and Geralt’s skin tingles with it even after Jaskier steps away. Still, Geralt tries not to dwell on it. “I will not suffer tonight sober,” he growls, “just because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry. I’m not killing anyone. Not over the petty squabbles of men.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” comes Jaskier’s voice from behind him. “You never get involved. Except you actually do, all the time.” Geralt snaps his gaze over to him, but he can’t find it in himself to argue with the bard on that point. Perhaps Jaskier had a point. At least on that front.

Jaskier crosses back in front of him. “Ugh,” he continues. “Is this what happens when you get old? You get unbearably crotchety and cantankerous?”

Geralt sighs, pulling his arms off the edge of the tub in the hopes that it will ease the way his shoulder is still tingling slightly from where Jaskier had rested his hand on it a moment ago.

“Actually, I’ve always wanted to know. Do Witchers ever retire?”

“Yeah,” Geralt snaps. “When they slow and get killed.”

“Come on,” Jaskier says, his voice softening just a little. “You must want something for yourself when all this monster hunting nonsense is over with.”

“I want nothing,” Geralt replies immediately. Instinctively, more than a legitimate answer. He hadn’t wanted anything for a very, very long time. And anything he may have wanted at one point certainly had proved itself impossible for a Witcher like himself to achieve, so what even would be the point to desire it in the first place?

There’s a waver to something in Jaskier’s eyes that puzzles the Witcher, but it’s gone before Geralt can put a name to it. “Well, who knows?” the bard says, crossing to the tub to crouch in front of Geralt. Jaskier is abruptly close like this, facing Geralt head-on while the Witcher sits in the wash basin. Geralt averts his eyes. “Maybe someone out there will want you.”

The idea that someone might want him one day like that—like how Jaskier is suggesting—sends a thrill of something almost like fear through the Wticher’s stomach.

“I need no one,” he replies immediately. Then he looks back at Jaskier. “And the last thing I want is someone needing me.”

“And yet,” Jaskier says softly, meeting Geralt’s gaze unwaveringly. “Here we are.”

And that—well. The almost-fear feeling in Geralt’s stomach turns to something a little less sharp. A little warmer. No less terrifying, and yet somehow… nice.

Geralt tears his gaze away, desperate for a distraction from that feeling. “Where the fuck are my clothes, Jaskier?”

III.

Geralt has lost track of just how many performances of Jaskier’s he has sat through over their years of travels together. He knows the bard’s musical repertoire nearly as well as he knows monster classifications. So really, the Witcher does not have an explanation, even to himself, of why this time is different.

But the bard is making his rounds, strumming his lute with a practiced ease, singing an exaggerated song about Geralt fending off a bruxa with one hand tied behind his back… and Geralt can’t take his eyes off him.

The Witcher had never enjoyed being the center of attention. A part of him had gotten used to it a long time ago—in his line of work, looking like he does, one has a nasty habit of drawing unwanted gazes—but he’d never sought it out. Then there was Jaskier, who thrived in environments just like this one, where he could command the center of attention. He thrived in backwater village taverns full of people desperate for mediocre ale and a good story.

And Geralt has to give credit where credit is due—Jaskier can spin a good tale. The bard reveled in it, even. Geralt hadn’t asked him, but he could tell from the man’s unrelenting enthusiasm that as much as Jaskier was a performer, not all of it was an act. There was an earnestness to him every time he sang. A genuine belief that what he was doing mattered.

Geralt takes another bite of the stew in front of him, his gaze not wavering as Jaskier finishes the song to enthusiastic applause. He grins, thanks the crowd graciously, and launches immediately into the next song. And still, Geralt watches.

The bard had discarded his blue doublet several songs ago, tossing it into the seat across from Geralt as he passed. Jaskier’s off white shirt is tucked into the blue pants that are several shades darker than his eyes, and those eyes are really what Geralt keeps finding his own gaze drawn to. Eyes that are vibrant with energy and life when they briefly meet Geralt’s across the room.

There’s a very unexpected, soft squeeze in Geralt’s chest.

The bard had always radiated light and joy on a level that Geralt privately thought outshone most other humans. Jaskier is a beacon—evidenced by the near-blinding grin that the bard throws to him before turning away—and Geralt feels the odd urge to shy away from it. As if that light might expose all the parts of him that he’d spent years hiding away.

But Jaskier is nothing if not relentlessly and stupidly persistent. And he seems—had always seemed—entirely unaware of how rare his own vibrancy truly is. It is an integral part of him that chooses again and again and again to share with others. And no matter how much they take from him, Jaskier seems to always have more he is willing to give.

It seems like a kind of selflessness to Geralt, and the tightness in his chest gives a sharp, aching clench.

IV.

Geralt and Jaskier end up at the same party completely by accident, really. The Witcher didn’t even know that the bard was in town; the last he’d heard of Jaskier’s recent exploits had him giving a guest lecture at Oxenfurt. Geralt had been passing through Temeria when he was approached and none-too-kindly asked to attend the king’s banquet. Geralt had almost turned the offer down—he didn’t like being seen as some novelty to be ogled at—but the promise of good food and decent drink didn’t sound horrendous, and besides. The king had demanded it, and Geralt really didn’t want to deal with the bloodshed that could’ve resulted from his refusal.

So he begrudgingly attended, and did his best to stick to the outskirts of the collection of boisterous ladies and lords that had amassed in the banquet hall. He’d seen Jaskier the moment the bard stepped into the room—sporting a golden doublet and a beaming grin—and Jaskier had seen him almost as quickly. There’d been a flicker of surprise, but then Jaskier was being asked to play a song to start things off, and he’d busied himself with performing.

The food is good, Geralt will grant that much, and the wine is some of the best that he’d consumed in a long time. He’s ribbed for a story or two by curious nobles, and Geralt tells them enough to pass for stiff politeness and little else. Jaskier had always been the one to fill in the details. Besides, Geralt finds that he doesn’t like telling them to the men who appear to only listen until they feel insecure in their own manhood.

Jaskier wasn’t like that, Geralt finds himself thinking. Jaskier listened for other reasons. Always attentive. Always… enthralled. Even when he was “stingy with the details”, as the bard often accused.

The party has stretched for hours when Jaskier finally takes a break and Geralt sees him starting to weave through the drunken crowd towards him. Geralt takes a long swallow of wine and arcs an eyebrow at the bard as he approaches. Jaskier smells of honeysuckle and sweat, his doublet open to reveal the light blue shirt underneath.

Jaskier’s eyes are bright, but there’s a slight crease between his brows. “How are you managing, Geralt?” he asks, with far more sincerity than Geralt is prepared for.

Geralt arcs a brow at him.

Jaskier just tilts his head, then gestures vaguely to the drunken dancing the attendees are doing. “It seemed a question worth asking, given tonight. It’s rather loud, even for me, and Temeria always overseasons their food in my opinion, not to mention the smells involved what with sweat and ale and food. I can’t imagine the assault it is on your… Witchery senses.”

Geralt stops, blinking at him. Jaskier was worried that he—a Witcher—was… overwhelmed? Geralt wonders if he should be insulted, but he isn’t. There’s an odd feeling in his gut, something warm that isn’t alcohol, that stirs at Jaskier’s explanation. Geralt doesn’t know what to say. He just stares at him.

Jaskier holds his hands up as if in surrender. “Forgive me for checking in on a friend.” He drops his hands, the tilt to his head returning and his gaze… softening somehow. “You’ll tell me, though, won’t you, Geralt? If it gets to be too much?”

Suddenly, that soft, concerned look in the bard’s eyes is too much. Geralt looks away and distracts himself by taking a swallow of wine. “Hm,” he agrees.

V.

Geralt hears Jaskier scream something that sounds almost like his name before he even feels the bite. The sharp jaws clench around his thigh and Geralt grits his teeth, swinging blindly with the silver sword. It makes contact with the basilisk enough to make it shriek and pull back. But it already released venom, and Geralt feels it pulse with a blinding pain.

His vision swims. His knees buckle, slamming into the stone floor of the cavern.

“Fuck.” The world tilts sideways as the rest of him falls.

A voice, high and panicked and oddly familiar, is yelling something distantly. Far away. Too far away to help him, really.

He has to get up. He has to. Geralt grinds his teeth and pushes against the ground with as much strength as he can manage. He gets his chest off the ground but his legs won’t cooperate and then suddenly someone is leaping over him and snatching the silver sword beside him.

“You want him? You’re gonna have to go through me, fucker.”

Jaskier?

Geralt watches in a haze as the bard lunges at the basilisk with the silver sword in his hands.

“Jaskier!” he shouts, because the bard is stupid and reckless and he is going to get killed.

But the bard doesn’t respond, and Geralt watches as the blade flashes in the dark cavern. The Witcher struggles to push himself up but now his arms won’t even support him and he’s going to die, but first the world is going to make him watch Jaskier die and that thought fills Geralt with a cold, desperate dread.

“Jaskier!”

There’s a sick squelching sound and when Geralt looks, he sees the bard is up against the creature with the hilt of his sword buried into the basilisk’s chest. It screeches and thrashes, and Geralt’s breath chokes in his throat. But Jaskier is nothing if not nimble, and he rolls to avoid the wings that whip around towards him. The screeching gets louder for a moment. The creature stumbles. Collapses.

There’s a sudden, echoing silence that is filled only with the sound of Jaskier’s labored breathing and, at least for Geralt, his pounding heartbeat.

“Jask—” Geralt rasps, wanting to ask if he’s injured but his voice cutting out with the sharp burst of pain as the venom seizes.

He’s going to die.

“Geralt.”

Jaskier is suddenly right above him. When did that happen?

Geralt feels Jaskier brush a hand back through his hair and cup his head. Something is getting pushed against his lips.

“Drink it, darling,” Jaskier murmurs, so softly that Geralt wonders—perhaps deliriously—if the bard is even aware that he’s just called Geralt darling, of all things.

When he looks back on this moment, Geralt will say that the venom coursing through his system made his thoughts hazy and his will pliable. That his weakened state is why the warmth in his chest happens even before the potion Jaskier is forcing to his lips reaches his mouth. It has nothing to do with that term Jaskier used.

Nothing at all.

VI.

It’s the soft gasp that really gets Geralt’s attention, causing him to halt Roach and glance at the bard beside him. They have maybe about two hours before sundown and had spent most of the day traveling along this road headed towards Kaedwen.  Jaskier had filled most of the long hours with aimless chatter and half-composed songs. Geralt half-listened, grateful for the familiarity of the lilt in the bard’s voice even if he wasn’t constantly tuned in to the precise words the bard happened to be rambling on about. He’d missed the way Jaskier filled the silence since their parting after the dragon hunt.

Then Jaskier’s musings had broken off with a sudden, sharp inhale.

“Oh, Geralt, look!” Jaskier breathes with surprising reverence. Geralt doesn’t have time to ask the bard what caught his attention before he’s rushing off into the field of wildflowers just ahead of them, nearly 70 yards away.

The Witcher goes to call out to him, but something makes the bard’s name die in his throat. He watches as Jaskier spreads his arms out as he rushes into the expanse of yellow and violet and blue. The sun sits low in the sky and frames him in a soft halo of light as he rushes delightedly through the flowers. Geralt’s chest warms slightly.

Jaskier looks over his shoulder at him then, like he can sense it, and offers Geralt a dazzlingly bright smile. He kneels then, in the middle of the field as if he’s about to meditate, and his fingers brushing softly against the petals of the flowers around him before he flops onto his back. Sinks into the flowers around him.

Geralt had never really known what it meant to love. He’d read once that most people learn of love from their parents when they’re children, but his own mother had abandoned him to become a Witcher—a process so few boys survived that, really, she might as well have abandoned him to die. Geralt refuses to believe that was what love was supposed to look like. Or how it was supposed to feel.

Earlier in his life, Geralt used to ask. He’d see couples who claimed to be in love, and he’d wonder what that meant. What did it feel like, because Geralt didn’t know. The answers others provided to him were either full of derision—what does it matter, Witcher? You’re not capable of it anyway—or too vague to be of any help—it’s just something you feel, I think.

Then he met Jaskier, who seemed to be brimming with love all the time it was a wonder the bard didn’t burst. He sang songs that talked of love in romantic, elaborate metaphors that Geralt understood at surface level, but that gave him a bit of a headache when he thought too long about them. Jaskier seemed to understand this concept of love so readily and intrinsically that it was, in truth, a little intimidating.

But when Jaskier sits up as Geralt approaches him—flower petals and grass clinging to his hair, his blue eyes sparkling in the near-setting sun, a warm and content smile gracing his lips—the thought whispers unassuming in Geralt’s mind.

Maybe, just maybe, this is what love feels like.  

VII.

“You, Princess, are beginning to take after Geralt with the amount of brooding you’ve been doing today,” Jaskier chimes lightly, but Geralt looks up and sees the crease of concern between his brows. “And that will simply not do, because I can’t very well be surrounded by brooding, angst-ridden individuals, now can I?”

Geralt glances over at Yennefer, who merely arcs an unimpressed eyebrow at the bard. The cottage Yennefer had recently taken up residence in was small and unassuming on the outside. It seemed larger on the inside, more spacious, and Geralt knew it to be the work of an enchantment set on by the sorceress. Ever since Sodden, Yennefer had needed to be careful in her own right about avoiding and evading the ever-growing presence of Nilfgaard. She moved every few months, but had taken Ciri under her wing the past few weeks to teach her control her “chaos”, as she’d called it. Geralt called it magic.

They’d been dropping by to check in before moving on, and Jaskier’s comment wasn’t off the mark. Geralt had noticed it as well.

There were days when Ciri’s quietness rivaled the Witcher’s own. Where the Lion Cub of Cintra seemed saddled with a weight too heavy for a girl of her age. On those days, Geralt thinks he understands more than most would—the dullness in her icy blue eyes is brought on by the fog of grief of losing everyone she loved in a night and watching her city burn as she fled. It reminds the Witcher of how he’d felt following sacking of Kaer Morhen.

But just because Geralt understands doesn’t mean he’s known what to do on those days. He hates it. Hates that he doesn’t know how to help her, because nobody had been there to help him.

Ciri glances up at Jaskier from where she sits beside Geralt. “I just… miss home, Jaskier. That’s all.”

Jaskier’s lips press together in thought, his head tilting slightly. Geralt watches as something brightens in his eyes before he says, “Well, I have just the thing for that.” He glances over. “Yennefer?”

The sorceress looks as surprised as Geralt feels, but Jaskier just quirks a brow at her and Yen smiles faintly before inclining her head. Geralt doesn’t have a clue what silent request the bard has made, but he starts strumming a familiar song on the lute in his hands for several seconds—it’s upbeat, and though Geralt can’t place the title of it, he knows he recognizes it as one of Jaskier’s jigs. A few seconds go by, and then Jaskier’s fingers stop plucking at the strings but the music continues to fill the space.

Jaskier grins, and when Geralt glances at Yennefer, he sees that she’s got a faint smile as well.

The bard sets the lute aside and jumps gracefully to his feet. He extends a hand out to Ciri, his smile soft and sincere. “Will you dance with me, princess?”

Ciri hesitates for only a moment before she takes Jaskier’s hand. Jaskier’s grin brightens, and the two of them fall into a dance that Geralt recognizes as one usually done at court amidst nobility. It doesn’t surprise Geralt that Jaskier knows the dances of court—he has to play them often enough so it makes sense to Geralt that he would also know the steps—but a part of him is surprised when he hears Ciri laughing.

As she and Jaskier spin in circles and the bard adds an extra flourish to one of his steps, Ciri smiles and laughs and something in Geralt’s chest gives a sharp squeeze. Jaskier grins back at her, looking as relieved and content at the spark of mirth in her eyes as Geralt feels, and the Witcher feels a very slight, and unexpected lump in his throat.

VIII.

“Geralt?”

“Hm.”

“Will you let me try something?”

The question is asked surprisingly quietly in the dark forest around them, barely louder than the crackling fire between them. Geralt doesn’t know why Jaskier would be speaking so quietly, but a part of him counts it as a small mercy. Because the pressure behind his eyes that had started this morning had steadily grown to a dull throb up through the top of Geralt’s skull by mid-morning. By late afternoon, the headache wasn’t quite so dull anymore.

Geralt hadn’t seen a need to say anything about it, though. He just rode on Roach and tried to not squint too much against the blinding sunlight that made his head spike. Jaskier had seemed to lose steam in conversation as Geralt was even more unwilling to engage with him than normal. He hoped the bard wasn’t too offended, as by the early evening, it was really all Geralt could do to stay upright on Roach and keep moving forward.

“A new song?” Geralt muses, and carefully manages to keep the internal wince off his face.

Jaskier huffs something that’s almost a laugh. “No. Just… here.” He turns to the bag beside him and rummages through it. Geralt watches in the dim light of the fire as the bard pulls out a small cloth and a vial. He dampens the cloth with part of the contents, then pushes himself to his feet and crosses over. He kneels beside him.

There’s something soft in his eyes, Geralt thinks. Or maybe it’s just the way his face is shadowed that makes his eyes look bigger than normal. “Close your eyes, Geralt.”

And Geralt does. He tries to tell himself it’s because even the firelight is too much with this pounding in his head, but he knows it’s not just that. It’s such a simple, easy request and it’s Jaskier that makes it. So Geralt lets his eyes fall shut.

He feels Jaskier drape the cloth over his face. “Breathe in for me.”

He does. It’s lavender oil, he realizes. The scent is faint, diluted—careful to not be too overpowering, even given his enhanced sense of smell—but it blocks out most other scents around him. Geralt feels part of his jaw untense just a fraction.

“That’s it. Keep breathing.”

He feels Jaskier’s hands brush against his temples, then a slight nudge and some shifting and suddenly, Geralt is being guided to rest his head against something softer than the log it had been on a moment ago. Jaskier’s lap. Through the lavender, this close, Geralt can smell the faint honeysuckle traces that seemed to cling to the bard.

“Let me help,” Jaskier whispers in the dark, and then his fingers are moving deftly against Geralt’s temple, gradually up through his scalp, encouraging Geralt to breathe.

Through the ease of his muscles and the lightening of the tension in his head, Geralt becomes aware that somehow, Jaskier had known exactly what was wrong. Geralt is sure he hadn’t said anything about it, and a headache is hardly a life-or-death situation. But Jaskier knew and, more than that…

Let me help.  

The Witcher feels a little dizzy all of a sudden and so abruptly vulnerable that it scares him a little bit. It sends a jolt of something sharp and electric up through his core but Geralt swallows down the urge to pull away because… it’s nice. This softness, this gentleness that Geralt does not and has never deserved is offered so willingly, and Geralt cannot bring himself to pull away.

Instead, he breathes and listened to Jaskier’s fluttering heartbeat.

IX.

Geralt feels the drops hit the top of his head seconds before the rain begins a steady sprinkle. Geralt isn’t shocked, exactly. The sky had been a flat overcast since this morning, and he could smell the promise of rain clinging in the air as he and Jaskier had gathered herbs about a mile outside of the village they were staying for the time being.

But then the sprinkle turns to a downpour. “Fuck,” Geralt sighs under his breath.

He glances over at the bard beside him, who a moment ago had been rambling about his recent lecture at Oxenfurt regarding the role of narrative music in shaping cultural perspective. Geralt had a feeling that the bard had, in fact, just delivered the exact speech to the Witcher, but he hadn’t minded. Not when Jaskier’s voice carried that familiar, melodic lilt that underscored his excitement and passion on the subject.

There’s a teasing mirth in Jaskier’s bright blue eyes that eases into something softer. Geralt doesn’t know why. For a moment, it looks like the bard—for once—is lost in his own thoughts that he doesn’t speak aloud. It’s… unusual.

Geralt opens his mouth to ask him or tease him—he’s honestly not sure which is about to pass from his lips—when Jaskier cuts him off.

“And you thought the lute case was a poor investment. Well, how do you feel now, Geralt?” Jaskier sets his hand on the strap across his chest, almost protectively. “We still have a mile to go before shelter, and such time for a lute to spend in rain like this…” He shakes his head, his dark hair dripping rainwater onto his nose. “It would be nothing short of an absolute, irrevocable tragedy.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replies, because perhaps the bard has a point. A raindrop unceremoniously drips into Geralt’s eye and he blinks, then shoots a glare up at the sky.

“Not a fan of the rain?” Jaskier asks.

The truth is, Geralt isn’t a fan of the rain. Not really. It makes it harder to see, and it clings to his lashes in a way that makes his already sensitive eyes sting a bit. Which isn’t anything he can’t handle—he’s done it hundreds of times before, he’ll do it hundreds of times yet to come—but the rain would also wash away most of the tracks he’d been hoping to follow later this evening to the kikimora that was terrorizing the town.

“It will make it harder to track—what are you doing?” Geralt cuts himself off when he looks back at the bard, who is half-way to shedding his violet doublet. Jaskier finishes pulling out of it. His dark blue shirt underneath is immediately drenched.

Unfazed, Jaskier rolls his eyes. “You left your cloak back at the inn and I know, though you will adamantly deny it, that the real reason you hate the rain is because it gets into your eyes and makes it harder for your sensitive, Witchery eyes to see. So, here.” He holds the garment out, his gaze looking down the road ahead of them.

Geralt stares at it. This was… ridiculous. Jaskier was sacrificing his own comfort so that Geralt could… what, block some of the rain a bit easier? Not only did Jaskier gain nothing from this but he actively lost something in the name of Geralt’s comfort and… the Witcher doesn’t know what to do with that. It was such a small, simple gesture but there’s a weight to it that Geralt cannot ignore.

Something heavy, warm, soft sits in his stomach as he stares at it.

“Jaskier…”

“Honestly, Geralt, you’ll be doing me a favor. Wet doublets are dreadfully heavy, and as I am already saddled with carrying the weight of this lute and your reputation…” Jaskier glances back then and offers a smile.

It’s a flimsy attempt to make Geralt feel better about accepting Jaskier’s simple selflessness. A part of Geralt wants to refuse. But when Jaskier is smiling at him like that, offering such a small piece of him that doesn’t feel that small to Geralt… well. Geralt finds himself taking the doublet from his hands gently.

And if Jaskier spins away to welcome the rainfall as Geralt holds the doublet above his head to shield the rain, well. Maybe that heavy, warm, soft feeling spreads through him in a way that makes the rain feel not quite so cold and annoying.

X.

Geralt hears it first. There’s the sound of something snapping with a flash of green light behind him and it’s all less than a second but Geralt still feels that he should have been faster.

Because he looks over his shoulder, sees Jaskier hit the ground with the sound breaking bones echoing in his ears.

Jaskier screams.

“JASKIER!” Geralt roars, but panic closes his throat in the next moment. He slashes viciously at the figure in front of him, and the head of the injured soldier in front of him rolls off his shoulders. Geralt growls low in his throat—Jaskier is silent and Geralt is shaking—and hurls the knife at his belt towards the mage almost blindly.

It sinks between her eyes. The sting of copper in the air barely registers to the Witcher because all he can focus on—all he can smell—is the acrid, sharp scent of pain that radiates from Jaskier on the forest floor, several feet away. Geralt’s eyes snap to him before the mage has even hit the ground and he sees the way Jaskier is trembling so hard he’s vibrating but at least he’s moving. At least he’s breathing.

Geralt makes sure the mage isn’t, and then he’s sprinting the short distance to Jaskier and sliding to him on his knees. Jaskier is on his side, his back to the Witcher. As gently as he can, Geralt places a hand on his shoulder and rolls the bard onto his back.

Jaskier whimpers, his face ashen, and the sound turns Geralt’s stomach. The bard’s eyes clench shut.

“Jaskier.”

Geralt’s slow-beating heart is hammering so loud and so hard he wonders if the bard can hear it. This close, the scent of Jaskier’s pain is so pungent and potent that it clogs Geralt’s throat. He dove in front of a spell for you, a voice hisses in Geralt’s mind. That pain should be yours.

“Fuck,” Jaskier manages to wheeze out weakly.

“What the fuck were you thinking, you goddamn idiot?” Geralt grits out, and his voice very nearly breaks. It’s the wrong thing to say—Geralt always says the wrong things. Always, always, always. And always when he’s afraid. But it’s the only ones of the words he can think to say that will push past his tight throat.

“My dear Witcher,” Jaskier replies, his own voice strained but for a different reason, “you’re quite lucky I love you, or else I might be insulted.”

The words echo in Geralt’s mind. I love you, I love you, I love you. Over and over and over. They ring with an ease and sincerity, because Jaskier never did anything by halves, even when he may be dying. Dying. And Geralt feels something breaking inside of him.

And still, the words repeat. I love you, I love you, I love you—Until the words sound less like Jaskier and a lot more like his mind repeating it back to the bard.

“Jask,” he whispers, his throat too tight to even get the bard’s full name out. His hands are shaking a bit, but he thinks Jaskier won’t mind, and he brushes his hand against Jaskier’s face. “You can’t—you…” He can’t just… just say things like that, so boldly, so cavalier.

With a courage that Geralt cannot match.

“Fuck,” he says instead. Because the words that flood him cannot find their way through his chest to his lips.

His swirling thoughts cut out as he sees Jaskier try suddenly to push himself up. Mindful of the damage to the human’s ribcage, Geralt lets the hand on his face slip to the back of the bard’s neck and grabs his less-injured arm to ease him up. Then Geralt just holds on tight. An irrational part of Geralt thinks that if he lets go, Jaskier might really slip from him in a way that Geralt cannot fix.

The Witcher breathes in, and the sharp scent of Jaskier’s pain is starting to lift. Jaskier offers a faint smile. “Not a lethal spell, it would seem.”

A distant part of Geralt goes a little weak with relief. The rest of him wants to shake the bard. “You didn’t know that,” he snaps. Because Jaskier didn’t, he’d just decided to dive in front of a spell that could have been anything. He could have… he almost…

“A moot point, really, Geralt.”

And that… that hurts, in a different kind of way. There’s no regret in Jaskier voice or his scent or his eyes. He would do it again, Geralt knows this, and it terrifies him. Jaskier would risk himself for Geralt.

Geralt shakes his head a little and starts to reply, to ask why, but the breath he takes still has that haze of acridity to it. He frowns instead. “You’re still hurt,” he says. It’s not a question.

Jaskier then has the audacity to wave a dismissive hand. “Some broken ribs.”

“Hm.” He could help with those, he thinks. His gaze flickers over Jaskier’s chest. He knows how to help with those injuries. The spell wasn’t lethal. Geralt should be feeling relieved and a small part of him is. The rest of him feels like the ground has shifted beneath him and Geralt still doesn’t know how to hold himself steady. I love you, Jaskier’s voice echoes in his mind, but it only makes Geralt feel a little more cracked open. Because maybe Jaskier didn’t mean it. Maybe it was just something he said in the throes of dying--

“Geralt,” Jaskier says, so unbearably soft. He instinctively meets the bard’s gaze. Jaskier’s bright blue eyes are remarkably steady. “I meant it, you know. I do. Love you, I mean.”

Geralt’s breath hitches in his throat. Because here was this remarkably fragile person who had followed him across the Continent for years, had seen the absolute worst that Geralt had to offer… this person who radiated warmth and light and love, so much love, and was everything Geralt wasn’t, and was saying these words so easily. Geralt’s fear had come true—Jaskier’s light had seen the darkest parts of him, but Jaskier chose to love him anyway.

“Jaskier,” he manages, and his own voice has never sounded quite so weak to his own ears. He leans forward until his forehead is against Jaskier because Jaskier was that beacon of light calling to him. Grounding him. “I… fuck.” He can’t find the words again. “Fuck.”

He does the only thing he can think to do in this moment, to try to convey all the words he can’t find. He brushes his lips against Jaskier’s, softly. Afraid to demand or hurt, afraid, afraid, afraid. So he presses his dry, cracked lips against Jaskier’s impossibly soft ones. Questions he dare not ask taste like salt that he passes to Jaskier’s own, and Jaskier answers with silent promises and a breathless little huff of contentment.

Jaskier is more than a beacon. He is a lighthouse, calling Geralt home. And Geralt cannot help but feel that he’d follow that light to the ends of the world.

[se-ono-waise-ilia]

I hate it when you leave me unattended (version 2)

I hate it when you leave me unattended - version 2 (less mature content to meet Yamanaka week guidelines)

Summary: Ino contemplates her unsatisfying intimate life at a bar packed full of couples experiencing the opposite perspective, much to her frustration. Yamanaka week 2021 submission!

Pairings: Ino x Sai, Temari x Shikamaru, Sasuke x Naruto, Sakura x Kakashi, Tenten x Yamato, Hinata x surprise! (hint, features some cloud nin)

Heads up: This is a story of our beloved shinobi enjoying adulthood, and ignores the existence of the Boruto universe.  

Warning: Rated M for implied suggestive/ smutty themes, alcohol, and a few curse words (but toned down from original version, still rated it M to be safe)

Title from the song "Pretty Please"

Read original NSFW version here on ff.net

Ino couldn't stop listening. Did the content of Temari and Shikamaru's sex life intrigue her? Repulsively so. But did it also make her want to weep in champagne problems despair? Absolutely.

The former Suna nin took another long dredge of her tall glass of sake that wasn't meant to be served in a portion that big (Ino concluded that Temari had simply filled a water glass with sake - which was a fantastic idea), and continued to boast to Ino about the delights of her devastatingly erotic sex life. The telepathic kunoichi was simultaneously transfixed and infuriated.

Recently, the sexual aspect of Ino and Sai's marriage had been... unsatisfying. She was 27 and had been married one year. It was a great marriage. No, it was a wonderful marriage, dammit! The two leaf nin were supportive and loving partners to one another. They were best friends, made each other laugh, had incredible teamwork as roommates and shopkeepers and ninjas. Most importantly: they were in love.

But ... Ino slouched further into the booth of the cozy and dimly lit basement bar... their sexual chemistry as of late had been ... on different pages, to say the least.

As Temari continued to shamelessly drone on about Shikamaru’s bedroom performance (Ino simmered in her jealously.  How did Temari get so lucky?!), Ino tried to distract herself from envious feelings as she gazed around the bar of familiar friends.

It had been ten years since the ninja war ended, and the whole world was celebrating with numerous festivities for the month. Yes, a whole month. It was incredible to celebrate at this capacity.

On this particular night of celebration, many Konoha jonins, the Hokage and foreign friends had all ended up in the basement of a sake brewery in the trendy night life part of Konoha. Leaf nin had spent the day hosting part one of a showy games tournament featuring prominent war shinobi, and now they were here.

Much to the dismay of the internal turmoil Ino was experiencing, almost everyone in the goddamn bar was oozing sexual chemistry with their partner.

The most blatant example was the infamous war heroes and star crossed lovers, who were playing what should have been a very simple game of trivia with the Hokage and forehead. Evidently, the teams were Kakashi & Naruto vs Sakura & Sasuke. When Sakura asked Sasuke a question, Naruto attempted to sabotage his dark haired lover with publicly inappropriate neck kisses and ear bites. Sasuke appeared to know the answer to the question, but couldn't seem to voice it through clenched teeth.

Ino stared slack jawed at the unfolding steamy scene. Temari had seemed to stop her rambling to also watch, "How's Hokage-sama going to sabotage Sakura with his mask on?" she bit her glass afterwards because that's a thing drunk people do.

The answer presented itself when Sasuke shoved Naruto off of him, spoke (more like yelled) the correct answer, and asked Sakura some sort of question regarding the history of the senbon. All too casually, their esteemed Hokage wrapped Sakura's pink tresses around his fingers and gave a slight tug. Sakura seemed to melt in response, yet was able to answer correctly whilst melting (to the irritation of Sasuke and delight of Kakashi).

Ino looked to her own long blonde tresses, a generous length that could be easily pulled with sensual intent. She wanted Sai to pull her hair. She would have to tell him to do so.

And that was the root of their recent sexual incompatibility: Sai needed to be told what to do.

At the beginning of their relationship about three years ago, Ino didn't mind this quirk one bit. She relished in being assertive and directive in the bedroom. It made her feel in control and empowered. Sai gladly bent to her every whim and want. She knew exactly how she wanted to be satisfied, and how she wanted to satisfy her man, and it was amazing. All she had to do was tell him what she wanted.

But recently, Ino wasn't as satisfied. She wasn't interested in directing every aspect of their sex lives. She wanted Sai to take initiative. To know her wants without her telling him. To openly lust after her. To kiss her neck and bite her ears with cruel and pleasurable intentions. To tug her hair with the confidence and sensuality.

Alas, he didn't operate like that, and their sex life had suffered for it. It was ironic that Ino wanted him to read her mind, knowing he couldn't (he could barely read body language cues when naked for kami's sake). These past few weeks, that should have been full of post-party drunken banging, Ino had stopped initiating sex altogether.

Evidently Sai interpreted his wife's lack of initiative as Ino not wanting sex.

Which she desperately did!

Watching her best friend melt at the touch of her older lover's clever and commanding fingers in only her hair was the essence of Ino's recent fantasies.

Huffing in frustration, the telepathic nin chose to get herself a drink and find her man and wack him in his stupid expressionless face with her ponytail.

At the bar, Tenten was waiting for her drink with Darui from Kumogakure. Ino perked up at the idea of spending time with the head strong weapons master who was in a new relationship with Yamato. Knowing Tenten's strong will and the captain's bashful sweetness, Ino figured Tenten's presence would be cathartic. Surely they also had a similar dynamic in the bedroom?

As she got closer, she realized Darui must be unaware of Tenten's relationship update. While engaged in an animated discussion regarding the senbon trivia question, he was leaning towards her with an obvious vibe that he was interested in more than just senbons, yet respectably keeping his hands to himself.

Ino ordered her drink close to Tenten and was about to do the classic your-boyfriend-is-looking-for-you tactic, but Tenten's actual boyfriend did it for her. With much less tact.

Yamato had his scary shadowed face on as he appeared quite close to his new girlfriend, "Darui-san."

The cloud nin immediately noticed the proximity as he realized their status and leaned away, "I apologize Tenten-san if I made your uncomfortable. Good to see you Yamato-san, can I buy you both a drink?" Casual and cool as always, even when in an awkward faux pas. He didn't seem affected by the implication of Yamato's interruption.

The shadows left Yamato's face as he nodded in polite thanks and wrapped an arm around Tenten's waist. She didn't seem to mind the masculine possessiveness, as she kissed her new boyfriend on the cheek. Yamato reacted by taking her bar stool and placing her on his lap while gushing with the prior-war general about how they were a new couple. Darui lifted his cup to them.

Sai never placed Ino on his lap, she always sat there on her own accord. Ino sighed as she took a long sip of her fresh drink. She now bet that Yamato didn't need to be told what to do in bed. 

Ino shook her head and took her drink and continued to look for her not-possessive husband who was quite unlikely to brush off flirtatious encounters with territorial drive.

She passed by the trivia game again, which now included Shikamaru and Temari. It was the disgruntled nin's turn to answer Kakashi's question regarding the most ideal way to negotiate a deal with Iwakagure to encourage artisans to move to Konoha. It was obvious to everyone except a very drunk Temari, who was leaning over her husband's shoulders and licking his cheek, that Kakashi was milking the strategist's presence for work purposes.

"Troublesome trivia question Kakashi," the shadow nin eyed the Hokage knowingly, yet he quickly generated a response...while sensually stroking his wife's calf.  Ino couldn't help but storm off to the opposite side of the bar.

She finally found Sai ... with Hinata and Omoi? Ino felt a sense of dread as she approached the trio and comprehended the word's coming from her out-of-touch husband's mouth, "Omoi-san, notice how Hinata-san flushed when you told rambled about how fireworks could somehow lead to a misunderstanding that could cause the break of the alliance between the cloud and the leaf? You two are cute together," he made that neutral smile towards the two anxious nin, who clearly only amplified each other's insecure quirks.

Ino rushed over to shove her clueless husband and save this catastrophic set-up, "Omoi-san, I believe Darui-taichou wanted to meet Hinata-chan? Seeing as he's being groomed to be the next Raikage, it's important to have a continued positive relationship with the Hyuga clan."

Hinata looked to the bar, blushed (the way she used to at Naruto, indicating she found the cloud nin attractive), and pulled at her long hair nervously, "I-I-I don't think now's the time for me to meet Darui-sama. We should h-h-have a more formal meet-"

Omoi seemed contemplative at the idea, "If Hinata-san and Darui-taichou meet at a bar, what if he buys her a drink? Then, what if they flirt and have good chemistry? Then Hinata-san will bring Darui to the Hyuga clan, who will undoubtedly speculate his intentions for her. But Darui-tachou is an honorable man, and will prove his love for the Hyuga princess with..."

Ino was surprised to find herself enfolded with Omoi's romantic tangent. Darui's calm nature would be good for Hinata, his status of decorated war general and upcoming Raikage was worthy of the heiress's stature, and (if they made it work) the match could be a beautiful symbol of forgiveness and peace between the two village's violent history. Although Ino's spontaneous idea of an introduction was quick thinking of how to salvage the awkward chemistry between anxious nin, this was a fantastic opportunity.

While Omoi continued to ramble about how Hinata would adjust to life as the Raikage's wife, with his ever present lollipop somehow staying in his mouth, Hinata's breathing intensified and she started to fan herself. Ino took her now sweaty hair out of the nervous nin's fidgety hands to style it in a thick side braid, modeled how to breathe slowly, all the while nodding in approval of Omoi's outrageous fantasy that was very romantic and actually a really good idea.

Ino curtly told Omoi to shut it, folded his arm to formally hold Hinata's in the crook of his elbow for a proper escort, and shoved them in the direction of the bar. Ino also told Hinata she could only fidget with the bottom portion of the braid.

Sai was about to say something, when Ino covered his mouth with her hand in shushing manner. Although she had been looking for her oblivious idiot of a husband all night, she was now invested this potential pairing, and for the first time tonight her sexual frustration wasn't at the forefront of her mind. She grabbed Sai's hand to pull him closer to the trivia game so she could watch from a better view.

Darui was quick to notice Hinata's approach, as he quickly stood with uncharacteristic alertness. He bowed quite formally, Hinata bowed back and also greeted Tenten and Yamato (who took a hint, excused themselves, and took Omoi with them). Damui offered the shy beauty his bar stool, asked her a question to which she bashfully answered without making eye contact, and he ordered her a drink. Ino couldn't hear them, but she was quick to deduce that the war general was quite taken with the angelic Hyuga princess. A few Hyuga also present at the bar noticed the exchange with the prominent cloud nin, and were quick to put themselves on duty standing by Hinata's side in a chaperone/ bodyguard manner. Damui was unfazed as he greeted them respectfully and ordered them drinks as well. Hinata seemed to appreciate this courtesy as she gazed at the captain with admiration while fiddling with the bottom of her braid.

Ino was so involved in the romantic spark struck at the bar she almost didn't notice Sai's hand was gently caressing the back of her arm with his knuckles. It took several moments for Ino to register the touch and look up into her husband's eyes in confusion. He had never pulled that move on her before, let alone any moves of this nature.

His almost expressionless face conveyed something sincere that Ino couldn't put her finger on. Yet she relished in this gentle moment of intimacy, leaning into him and nuzzling his tall and lean form as he put his arm around her and rested his chin on her head. The future romance of Hinata and Damui didn't seem too important anymore. Sai was holding her, and nothing else mattered.

It was then she noticed that right in front of them, Kakashi was brushing the back of Sakura's arm with his knuckle, and Sakura was looking into the Hokage's eyes as if all her dreams had come true. Kakashi then leaned in to whisper something into her best friend's ear.

Sai lifted Ino's chin so he could do the same, "I miss touching you, Ino," he whispered into her ear. She looked up to meet his hooded eyes and observe his gorgeous oval face.

Heat pooled at Ino's core as her husband made her feel aroused for the first time in far too long. How tempted she wanted to say something sly like "Kiss me like you miss me," and jump into his waiting arms. She almost did, so they could once again be that shameless couple who blatantly made out in public. Such fond memories.

It was so tempting, but it struck Ino that in all their relationship, Sai had been learning how to be intimate solely from her cues. She looked to the various styles of physical flirtation happening at this steamy trivia table. Perhaps Sai should start learning from others...

She eagerly leaned up to whisper into her artist's ear, "Then touch me like they touch their lovers," she then blew into his ear to get him in the mood, and dragged him to the trivia table.

It was Naruto's turn to answer a question about the political process of appointing a feudal lord. Instead of answering, he was glaring at Sasuke who was sitting smug with his one arm resting on the back of his chair, "Teme, you're supposed to...you know...sabotage!"

"The game implies you only sabotage if you know the answer, which you don't, userantonkachi," the arrogant nin responded with a knowing smirk. Naruto banged his head onto the table in disappointment.

Temari cackled at the fox-carrier's misfortune, and then prompted the new players, "Sai-kun! Your question is..." Ino excitedly prepared to sabotage her man as she sat closer to him on the bench. Should she use her fingers, lips, breath, hair...so many choices! It had been weeks since she felt hopeful at the thought of touching her lover, "Name the second Mizukage's summoning."

Ino started dancing her fingers on Sai's thigh when he answered all too quickly, "Giant clam."

The would-be temptress wanted to smack him. Sai didn't get the point of how to really have fun with this game! She was about to remove her hand, when he grabbed it. She glared at him, willing him to know what was wrong without her having to spell it out for him, but then she noticed his vacant expression. That meant he was trying to understand.

"So when it's Ino's turn, I'm expected to sabotage her if she knows the answer?" He looked to his friends, "How?"

"Like this, Sai," Naruto was all too enthusiastic to explain as he attempted to again assault Sasuke's ear, but the raven-haired nin quickly shoved his hand into Naruto's cheek to block him.

Sai continued to stare with his vacant expression, "Molest your partner against their will?"

The table reacted with vigorous "no no no" and head shakes.

Temari whispered something into Shikamaru's ears. He sighed, "Such a drag. Sai, pick a card and ask Temari a question. Notice what I do."

Sai obeyed and picked a card, "Temari-san, which hand symbol is most commonly used by sensory type nin." Ino had to bite her lip from blurting out the answer. Sai gave her a knowing look, and she couldn't help but peck her cute husband on the cheek.

The wind user's eyes brightened, "Oh, I think I remember this one," but those same eyes quickly grew hooded as the shadow user pulled down the shoulder of her dress and placed featherlight kisses upon the newly bared skin. Sai nodded his head in understanding.

"Time's up," Kakashi chuckled after about 10 seconds. Temari didn't seem to care as she leaned into her husband with a drunken smile.

Shikamaru smirked at his beloved then looked back to Sai, "By sabotage, it means distract your partner with attention of a sensual nature to prevent them from answering."

Sai nodded, "So who's winning?"

He received a variety of shrugs. Sakura giggled, "Naruto and Kakashi have a consistent losing streak."

Naruto growled as Sai looked quizzically at the Hokage. Said leader of the village shrugged with a closed eye smile, "Sakura's public displays of affection interest me more than answering a trivial question correctly."

Sakura stopped giggling, "I knew I shouldn't have bothered when you claimed to not know any demonic illusion genjutsu hand symbols!"

"The things your hand symbolized on my leg were a much more tantalizing way to capture my imagination and enjoy the game," his eyes fixed on Sakura's.

She stared right back at him and bit her lip, "Well I expect you to be creative with your hand symbols tonight."

"When am I ever not?" said the nin with confidence as he pulled the medic nin onto his lap and nuzzled her neck. Sakura blushed while laughing at the tickling sensations. From what Sakura shared with Ino during girl's night, all of those years of Kakashi reading porn resulted in quite an adventurous sex life. Ino had never been more jealous of forehead in her life.

Ino looked to Sai with hopeful eyes. Perhaps she and him should start reading erotic literature? He nodded in partial understanding, with that expression he always makes when he's learning something new, and pulled Ino onto his lap. The blonde excitedly moved her long hair to her opposite shoulder and prepared herself for the delights of nuzzling, but instead she felt Sai simply press his face into the crook of her neck.

It wasn't a playful act, Ino noticed as his arms tightened around her. It was an act of ... longing. She was beginning to realize that Sai missed being intimate with her as much as she did with him. She crossed her arms to also wrap them around his, tightening the embrace as she leaned into him.

"Sasuke, are you OK?" Naruto asked his boyfriend, who looked repulsed by the scene in front of him.

The raven haired man pointedly looked away from his ex-teacher and teammate to pick a card from the pile, "Ino, this question is for you," she and Sai perked their heads up. She wanted to get excited to see what Sai would do, but she also didn't want to get her hopes up. Should she just put Sai's hands where she wanted them to control her pleasure, as she used to? But she really wanted him to take initiative...

Ino let out a breath. She already told Sai she wanted him to observe and replicate, and the rest was up to him. He was in learning mode, he could figure this out. She believed in her husband.

"What is the clan symbol for the Tsuchigumo clan?"

Ino had no idea.

Sai lifted her wrist and started to draw a design above her pulse. It felt lovely, but it wasn't affection at the same level as the other couples. Then she realized he was making the symbol.

Her beloved had yet to grasp the fun of the game, as he was actually helping her win as he drew a spider on her pulse. She sighed in acceptance. Was her husband as sex-driven as the other males at the table? No. But does he support and care for Ino? Always. When Ino reflected on it, that mattered more in their marriage.

As she was about to announce the answer, she was interrupted by an accusatory forehead, "That's cheating!"

While at the same time, Kakashi suggested, "Sai, use your tongue."

The moment Sai heeded the Hokage's recommendation to draw a spider on her pulse with his tongue, Ino lost the ability to speak as she tried to hold back her whimpering. She never realized how sensitive a wrist could be before.

"Time's up," Shikamaru announced with a smirk.

Ino paid them little attention as they moved onto the next question, for Sai touched his mouth to her ear,  "Can we please make love tonight?" he whispered. If she wasn't mistaken, there was a rare hint of yearning in it. Ino hadn't been this turned on in months.

She stood to reverse her position and straddle him, "That depends, my love. What have you learned tonight?"

Sai was taken aback, but he concentrated, "Use knuckles to caress skin, kiss your shoulders, put you on my lap, place my face into the crook of your neck," which he did, "and lick you in unexpected places," which he also did, and experienced her collarbone being licked for the first time in her life.

Ino felt her body shiver with anticipation.

"And pull her hair!" Temari joyfully recommended, almost falling out of her husband's lap.

"Grazing skin with your teeth will get a reaction too," Naruto proudly chimed in, much to the embarrassment of Sasuke.

"Pick her up and be creative with your environment," Kakashi winked.

"Don't just wait for her to tell you what to do. Take initiative," Sakura directed, the best friend in the world that she is.

Sai dutifully nodded to all these recommendations. As fun as it would be to stay, it had been too long and they were both about to burst with desire, "Take me home, Sai."

Following Kakashi's suggestion, Sai stood straight up, lifting Ino with him. As she tightened her legs around him so he could make the proper symbols for his transportation jutsu, she looked to Sakura and Temari and mouthed 'thank you' to them both.

"Have fuuuuuun," Sakura winked as the Hokage gave them a thumbs up.

"Show her a good time Sai!" Temari squealed as Shikamaru asked Naruto to get them water.

And then they were home. And then they were kissing. And then ... oh ... Sai was a dutiful student.

---

A/N: I told ya it was still M rated.  I cut a few hundred words I guess.  If you want the slightly longer & steamier version, click here to view story on fanfiction.net.

I actually played this steamy sabotage style of trivia at a house party when my partner and I were a new couple. It was super fun. But the game only works if every couple wants to play it that way. We realized that when some of our friends in less affectionate relationships were super uncomfortable lol...

Anyone else into the idea of Hinata x Damui?

@yamanaka-week

[thepetulantpen]

(A short addition to my blind!Geralt AU! Bit of a sickfic, this time.)

“You’re sick.”

Jaskier startles at Geralt’s voice, bed creaking beneath him. He’d been writing in his notebook- hard at work with another song, if Geralt had to guess- apparently thinking Geralt was asleep.

“What? No, I’m not.”

Geralt sits up and thumps Jaskier lightly- though, not lightly enough judging by his responding grunt- on the back. The vibration rattles in Jaskier’s chest and reveals exactly what he’s already smelled. 

“Yes, you are.”

Concentrating, Geralt can hear Jaskier’s mouth turn downward in a frown. It’s not very hard- he’s not sure whether the exaggeration is a product of Jaskier’s personality, or an attempt to make it easier for Geralt to “see”. More likely a healthy mix of both, coupled with Jaskier’s considerable need for attention. 

“And how can you tell that?” Jaskier sounds genuinely curious, but doesn’t wait for an answer, “Can you hear the mucus? Smell it? Feel the tiny bacteria in the air?”

“Something like that.” Geralt smiles, hearing Jaskier’s heartbeat pick up in a way he’s taken to interpreting as indignant. 

“I won’t stand for this blatant invasion of my privacy. Keep your witcher-y senses to yourself, you-”

Geralt hums and pulls Jaskier towards him, against his chest, making him interrupt himself with a surprised yelp. He bats at Geralt’s hands weakly, laughing as they trace up his doublet, feeling for the pattern. 

“I’m not exactly reading your diary, Jaskier. I’d find out later, with or without your confession.”

“I’m not convinced you wouldn’t read my diary, if you could.” Jaskier shifts Geralt’s hand slightly, moving it to an embroidered flower. “It’s gold, by the way.”

Geralt nods, satisfied he’s solved the mystery of Jaskier’s fashion choices for the day, and gets up, using one hand to push Jaskier back down when he tries to follow. “You’ll stay here and rest.”

“I’m fine.”

“For now, maybe. We’ll see how you feel tonight.”

Jaskier groans and falls back against his pillow, the thump echoing through their small room. He grumbles under his breath about boredom, but he may as well have said it out loud- it’s all the same to Geralt. 

Convinced that Jaskier isn’t an immediate flight risk, Geralt turns to pack up his bag, running his hands over everything to double check. It’s well-organized, which he can thank Jaskier for. He wouldn’t have thought to rearrange it with a less visually dependent system- he hadn’t changed much, in recent years, figuring his senses would compensate. 

Jaskier, to put it lightly, had thought this was lunatic. 

“Why not give yourself shortcuts? You’re taking an extra minute to do something when you could just help yourself out beforehand.”

“I don’t need-“

“It’s not about need, Geralt. Let me show you.”

One of many instances of Jaskier improving Geralt’s life through sheer force of will. He’s adopted an insistence on convenience and efficiency that Geralt can’t- or won’t, to save himself the indignity- argue with. 

He’ll be able to return the favor by taking care of Jaskier today. With any luck, it’ll be a simple cold, cleared up with rest before it truly sets in. He’s going to run errands, pick up human medicine, and be back by midday to check on him. His hunt can wait until the afternoon, once he’s confident Jaskier will be alright.

“Think about it as a chance to rest your voice.” 

Jaskier flicks him off and Geralt doesn’t bother letting him know that he can sense that. 

…

Before he even enters the room, Geralt can tell Jaskier’s gotten worse. The scent of sickness is stronger, his breathing worse. He’ll need to check Jaskier’s temperature, and make sure he hasn’t taken a drastic turn for the worse.

It’s challenging, between the barrier of the door and the relative lack of sound in the room, but Geralt focuses on the draft as it bounces against things, outlining the scene and giving him an idea of what he’s walking into. Jaskier is curled up on the bed, writing quietly in his journal- slower than the fast, presumably messy, scratches Geralt is used to. 

Jaskier must hear him step up to the door because he tenses, writing coming to an abrupt stop. Geralt opens the door before he can worry and starts pulling out what he’s bought, kicking the door shut to keep his hands free. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier greets, voice more hoarse than it was this morning, “how’d it go?”

“I’ve got stuff for tea.” 

He has... something for tea. The store had been so packed with herbs it was difficult to distinguish between them, and he didn’t want to sniff every ingredient with the owner watching. He thinks he’s found the right things, more or less. 

Jaskier pulls back the covers and climbs out of bed, crouching beside Geralt and his bag to supervise. “Your tea is always nasty.”

“My tea is healthy.” He pushes Jaskier’s hand away, knowing he’s just going to complain about whatever he ends up putting in.

“For someone with a great nose, you really haven’t grasped human taste buds. Would it kill you to add some honey, once in a while?”

“Well,” Geralt tries not to smile, turning away to start mixing, “I was going to use a little of this fresh honey I bought, but I think I’ll have to save it for someone more grateful.”

“Geralt-“ Jaskier starts, but breaks off with a cough, ending his whine before it can reach the truly annoying, high-pitched range. It would be a blessing- if the coughing stopped. 

Geralt pats Jaskier on the back through the coughing fit, fumbling for his water-skin with his other hand. Jaskier finds it first, unscrewing the cap with shaking hands and almost choking from drinking too fast. 

When he’s done, Jaskier pauses to regain his breath and goes quiet- it takes a second for Geralt to concentrate enough to realize he’s smiling, trying to reassure Geralt. 

Geralt frowns and puts the tea aside to face Jaskier- for all the good that’ll do. “I’ll stay with you tonight.”

“No, no,” Jaskier coughs again, and clears his throat, forcing his voice to sound almost normal, “Your hunt is more important. It’s just a cold.”

“Jaskier-“

Jaskier puts his hands on Geralt’s shoulders and leans on, so their foreheads touch. “Geralt. The people here need you more than me, right now.”

He takes Geralt’s hand and places it on his chest, under his shirt. The skin is warmer- slightly hotter than it should be- and the rhythm of his breathing isn’t great, but it’s steady. It’s a cold, nothing that Jaskier can’t handle, after these years of travel. 

“I’m still going to make you tea.”

Jaskier laughs, the sound broken up by his sore throat. “I suppose it wouldn’t be that easy to get out of, would it?”

Geralt doesn’t respond, just adds a more generous dollop of honey.

...

It’s a miracle that the hunt ends successfully at all- he’s distracted the whole time, thinking about Jaskier. He gets lucky with a few strikes, more reckless than wise, and ends it quickly, collecting his coin without counting it. 

The smell of sickness is obvious at the top of the stairs, from the opposite end of the hallway.

Jaskier is in bed, under the blankets, and shivering, despite the heat of his skin. It permeates the air around him; Geralt doesn’t even have to touch him to feel the temperature. He puts a hand to Jaskier’s forehead anyway- running a fever, but not a dangerous one, yet. Any higher and he’ll have to seek out a healer, but there’s no point dragging Jaskier out of bed for the same tea they can make here, where he’s relatively comfortable. 

His teacup sits empty at his bedside, and Geralt picks it up to fill it again, mixing stronger herbs, this time. Jaskier stirs and props himself up as Geralt works, blinking slowly, blearily. 

“Ger-“

He cuts off with a cough, a deep, harsh sound. It makes Geralt’s ears ring, and he almost doesn’t notice Jaskier waving, gesturing for something. 

“What is it?” He hates to make him talk, when his voice is clearly shot, but he can’t tell what he’s pointing at. 

“Candle.” Jaskier clears his throat, trying again, with more success, “Some light, please.”

He spends a second debating whether Igni is too dangerous for a small target, then another fumbling with a match. He’s pretty sure he’s lit it, based on the heat around the wick, but Jaskier makes a low hum, confirming. 

Once the candle is placed on the bedside table, next to a new cup of tea, Geralt sits at the edge of the bed, all his senses focused on Jaskier. He helps Jaskier sit up and drink, then goes still as Jaskier leans against him, under Geralt’s arm. 

“I’d read you a bedtime story, but,” Geralt waves, vaguely in the direction of Jaskier’s notebook, now abandoned, “well, that’s usually your job.”

“Next time, I’ll slay the drowners, and you write the story,” Jaskier rasps and laughs, a breathy exhale. 

They fall into silence for a few minutes, none of Jaskier’s usual chatter to fill it. He’s still awake- Geralt can tell from the pattern of his breathing- probably too uncomfortable to fall asleep. In the meantime, he’s making a valiant effort to drain the teacup. No amount of honey disguises the bitter medicinal herbs, and Jaskier’s sore throat makes him wince with every swallow, so it’s slow going. 

“I’ll tell you a story, anyway,” Geralt offers, before he can second guess himself, “Of one my older hunts. Before I was blinded.”

It’s a strange memory to relive- the details are fuzzier than he thought they’d be. He’s struggling to recall the visual elements that Jaskier tends to prioritize when describing things, by habit. He does his best, and decides the color of the monster doesn’t actually make a difference. Jaskier has never been picky- always happy to know how things sounded, how they smelled, how they felt. 

“Your world,” Jaskier told him, once, “is so vivid. I can’t even imagine it.”

“It’s missing a little something, too,” Geralt joked, only half-kidding. 

“No,” Jaskier insisted, “it’s all of mine and more. Sounds and smells and textures I’ll never experience, except through you. Thank you, for sharing it with me.”

Jaskier hums contentedly now, starting to nod off halfway through the third story. His hands twitch, as if aching to take notes, but sleep finds him before he can fidget too much. 

Geralt sits by him all night, carefully monitoring his breathing, heartbeat and temperature. He’s listening carefully for any change for the worse, but the medicine in the tea takes hold and Jaskier only improves as he sleeps. 

(In the morning, Jaskier uses his newly healed voice to yell at Geralt for staying up all night, lecturing him again on taking care of himself. 

It’s worth it, just to hear his voice again.)

[lyta2323]

well, the interviews keep on coming and im loving this

The Flash actor Jordan Fisher discusses Bart Allen's relatable 'humanity' in episode 150

To play Bart Allen, a.k.a.  Impulse, Fisher studied Grant Gustin and Candice Patton's performances.

Even though The Flash's Bart Allen is both from the future and a speedster, his portrayer, Jordan Fisher, still found Barry (Grant Gustin) and Iris' (Candice Patton) superheroic son very relatable — especially when it comes to his trademark impulsiveness.

"The way that I live as Jordan is I think that your gut should always be followed," Fisher tells EW ahead of the CW drama's landmark 150th episode airing Tuesday night. "I think you have the feeling in your gut for a reason, but we're not always as good as Bart is at 100 percent strictly following that feeling. [Laughs] That is what makes Bart, Bart. That is what makes Impulse, Impulse. For Impulse, his impulsivity, he definitely views that as an asset, and I do too, for his family. You've got to have one person that's unhinged, and that's Bart."

After making his crash debut in the final scene of last week's episode, Fisher further steps into the spotlight in the milestone (and season 7's penultimate) hour, titled "Heart of the Matter, Part 1." Hailing from the year 2049, Bart and his older sister Nora (Jessica Parker Kennedy) reunite with their parents in the present day and get caught in the middle of the Godspeed war that's tearing the city apart.

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: How familiar were you with both the show and the character Bart Allen?

JORDAN FISHER: Coming into it, less familiar with the show, more familiar with Bart in the DC universe. What I knew of Bart was anything I had seen of him from, like, a random comic or Impulse from Young Justice. Before I actually started work on the show, when I was quarantining and getting ready to actually get up to Canada, what ensued was a deep, deep, deep dive of all of it. I needed to know what was going on. I needed to know about this timeline [on the show].

What I found, honestly, is that Impulse is 1,000 percent one of my all-time favorite superheroes. I think that there's so much real-life, actual humanity in Bart that we can all relate to. I think his impulsivity is something people either have in spades or wish they had more of. I think that his compassion, his love, his heart for his family, how much fun he has being a superhero — that's the thing that's probably so relatable, that you can really sink your teeth into. The fact that this dude is one of the fastest people in the history of mankind and can do all these really, really cool things and he's as young as he is. He knows that he is so cool! [Laughs] He knows what he can do is awesome, and he has fun with it. When you watch Impulse fight, he's laughing and smiling and cracking jokes. He's like, "Watch this real quick!" and then jumps off the wall and flips in the air and does parkour. You know when you have superpowers in your dreams or what have you, when you're just having fun, that is what I imagine Bart would be like in real life.

So then to truly introduce this character in a way that's great for both the show as well as satisfying for the fans who read Impulse comics or Flash comics, or is a Young Justice fan, I think I put enough of all sorts of different elements and versions of Bart into one thing to make it feel the most authentic in a live-action setting, and I had a blast doing it.

What was the most enlightening thing you watched on the show or read while preparing?

The thing that was most exciting for me, honestly, was seeing the dynamic between Barry and Iris. Like catching up on the show, figuring out what this is, and seeing little physical traits and characteristics and mannerisms, and things that they do with each other and how they are both individually as people [and] as mom and dad to Bart. That was the most exciting thing for me to watch and to ingest, and really think about as I'm building out this character and doing the breakdown of what I want to do. Like how can I take a little bit of what Grant is doing with Barry and what he did in his past? What can I take from Candice's interpretation of Iris? How can I make these things kind of [like] mom and dad so that as people are watching, they can pick up on little things that are familiar to them?

What mannerisms did you end up borrowing from them and making part of your portrayal?

That it's a big family. Of course, we're coming [from] the future and that adds a little layer of things there that you have sort through, but generally speaking, I think you can look at a family unit and be like, "Oh yeah, they all belong together!" Maybe a few of the kids look like each other and maybe one or two of them look exactly like their parents, but like they all talk [the same] or fold their arms the same way, or give certain reactions to things. Specifically speaking where Bart and Barry are concerned, I think Grant has done a beautiful job of being so consistent. To watch him in his element and see him do what he does and how he is as the Flash and how he is as Barry are two very different things, but they share a lot of similarity.

I think my version of Bart going into this was, "What would Bart do?" He would probably take some of the cool things that his dad did, but he probably doesn't think that everything his dad does is cool. But Bart wants to be cool, wants to figure out what would be the coolest way to enter into a fight. "Or if I have to kick this guy over the head, how can I do that and look like Jackie Chan at the same time?" That's Bart, and I think that is so relatable. I think that Barry is a little more calculated, whereas Bart specifically is not a calculative person. He does everything based off of instinct. No one can figure out what he's going to do, which I think is what makes him as cool as he is. That was something my version of Bart specifically set out to do so that he wasn't like Barry. Finding the differences between the Flash and Impulse is, contextually, a very different layer than finding the differences and similarities between Bart and his father. Being able to play with that duality as an actor? Oh my God! I got to have so much fun on set every day.

How did you feel when you put on the Impulse suit for the first time?

A dream. [Laughs] I took so many pictures and videos on my phone, like sending them to my wife like, "Look at this, I'm a superhero! I'm an actual superhero." I had these dreams of answering the door with my Impulse suit on, on Halloween and handing out candy to trick-or-treaters. This has got to be one of the coolest thing to do as an actor. It's not the most comfortable thing in the world, I guarantee you that, but it feels cool.

Did you rely on your gymnastics and dance background to help you get the hang of the action and stunts? How much preparation did you do?

There's not a lot of preparation that can go into it. You kind of just have to learn as you go. The thing that I really set out to do as well was just stay on top of my correspondence with the showrunner, Eric [Wallace], as well as the VFX team, because my goal going into playing Impulse was, "All right, Impulse has to be completely different from every other speedster." The way that he moves, the way that he skids into things, the way that he leaves the room all had to be different. It has to have a different kind of zest to it because that's what makes Impulse, Impulse.

I think Bart being as comfortable as he is with his body and doing things that other speedsters don't do — Bart's doing like parkour off of buildings and stuff like that, and spinning, and doing all sorts of crazy of stuff. What I drew from truly was the training I got as a gymnast, just kinesthetic awareness and not being afraid to just throw your body and see what happens. That's a lot of what learning what new skills in gymnastics is, like, "I'm going to show you what you're going to be doing and we're going to be breaking it down, but ultimately in the next half-hour you're going to have to just try it, throw your body up and see what happens." Other than that, there's no particular style.

It's also great that you're coming into the show with Jessica Parker Kennedy, who is returning as Nora. How would you describe Bart and Jessica's dynamic, especially as superheroes?

Probably like The Incredibles, it's siblings first. It's not partners-in-crime first. And that's what informs a lot of the decisions that they make and how they function together, fight together, and play together. It's unconditional support for sure at the end of the day. If either of us in trouble, we're going to throw our bodies in front of them. That sibling-first mentality is really helpful for them, but it also can impede on things as well, which you'll see in terms of the dynamic.

Bart is the annoying little brother. "Why do you exist?" is kind of like what comes from Nora's brain whenever Bart enters the room, and at the end of the day she loves him so much and would do anything for him. We get to see a little of that as well, which I'm excited about.

[omgthatdress]

How to make Cats a good movie.

I watched Cats, and once I got over the initial horror, I was actually pretty entertained and found myself enjoying the shit out of it. Like god bless it, for as nightmare-inducing as much as it was, Tom Hooper was clearly *committed* to his vision and you gotta give him credit for that. The scenery was actually really beautiful and the cinematography was frequently breathtaking. Like it really did have a lot of elements that really worked for it. But for every bit of genius, there was something terrible that the movie just couldn’t overcome. So let’s dive in.

First of all, you kind of have to understand Cats: the musical. It’s an adaptation of poems that T.S. Elliott of nihilistic lost generation fame wrote for his godchildren about cats. And the poetry is charming af and totally captures the nature of cats and why they’re so lovable. In the in the 1970s, Andrew Lloyd Webber did a shit ton of cocaine and decided to make a musical out of these poems. As a result, Cats has no plot. It’s a bunch of cats singing their songs about who they are and doing a lot of dancing. The thinnest of narrative devices is created with the “jellicle” ball and the deciding of which cat gets to ascend to heaven or some shit. So yeah. Cats is actually pretty controversial among theater nerds, it’s very much a you either love it or hate it thing. Is it stupid? Yes.  Is it going to make everyone happy? No. Does it lend itself well to film adaptation? fuck no. I get the feeling that Tom Hooper was really going for deep, meaningful poetic cinema here and trying to make another Les Mis (which was way overly long and ultimately sank under its own sheer weight as a movie and probably is better viewed as a play). I’m operating under the assumption that Hooper was going for ground-breaking cinema that would have made millions and swept up during awards season and cemented him as a legendary director and gone down in movie history, because every little detail of Cats is clearly meant for maximum impact. You kind of need to drop all expectations going into Cats, so once you’re there, you can have fun with it. So how do you make it a good film?

1. The HORRIBLE hyper-realistic cgi human-cat hybrids. YES, it’s a technical marvel, and the CGI artists who made it all deserve a ton of credit for the work they did. And I understand why the actors were kept in their human shapes: live dance is a huge part of what makes Cats work. One of the smart decisions made was hiring theater veterans for the filler roles in the cat chorus, so when you have the choreographed numbers, it’s really spectacular. It’s just the end result was way too uncanny valley and bizarre for any of the film’s good parts to ever rise above it. I think a minimalist approach would have actually worked best. Cat ears and simple costumes with clean lines that show off the dancer’s bodies. Go for the suggestion of cats, and kind of let the viewer’s imagination take over, and showcase the cat’s personality. A huge part of what I enjoyed was hearing the poetry and imagining these cats and how they all relate to cats I’ve known. The dance and the music helped heighten this experience, but hybrids kept reminding me of the joke: what do you get when you cross a human and a cat? An immediate cessation of funding and a stern rebuke from the ethics committee.

2. The schlocky, honestly amateurish attempts at slapstick humor. I’m gonna come out and say it and say that Hooper is pretty deeply entrenched in *dRaMa* and has no sense of how comedy works. There was a lot of added in comedic bits from Rebel Wilson and James Corden, and it was honestly terrible. I mean really, a crotch hit? That kind of lowbrow comedy is so crude and base that it’s actually really hard to pull it off well. Slapstick comedy actually lends itself to the whimsical tone, and slapstick done well can be utterly sublime, but Cats seemed satisfied that fat people falling over is the height of comedy and should be left at that. And a second note on the comedy? Weirdly fat-shame-y. A saw a post about how odd it is to see James Corden, who has been very frank about how he’s struggled with dieting and come to accept that his body is fat and can’t be made not fat, playing this role where fat is added to his body, his CGI vest strains at the buttons, and he’s literally stuffing his face with garbage. The theme of fat people as lazy, stupid, and slovenly carried over from Rebel Wilson’s role, in which she also plays a fat lazy cat who is leaned on heavily for comic relief. I know the role is about a fat cat, and gently laughing at a fat lazy cat who loves to eat is fine, but, speaking as a fat person myself, this felt like a gleeful exploitation of a nasty and cruel stereotype. James Corden and Rebel Wilson are both extraordinarily funny people who happen to be fat, and their comedic gifts were tremendously mis-used here, reducing them to simply two fat bodies to be laughed at.

3. Jennifer Hudson. She’s a talented actress who can sing and emote like a motherfucker. And emote she did. She was clearly GOING for that second Oscar. I really don’t want to call her performance bad. The same level of emotion, tears running and snot flowing, in another movie, would have been devastating (Hello, Viola Davis in Fences). But this isn’t Fences, it’s fucking Cats. You need a level of character depth and development that Cats doesn’t afford to make those tears hit. All the crying and misery was an odd maudlin and over-dramatic break in the fun and whimsy. With a subtler performance and a hint of self-awareness, it could have actually brought in an emotional anchor for this light-as-air film, but Cats doesn’t make any attempt at nuance, and as a result the scenes just hit you out of nowhere like a load of bricks. 

4. Francesca Hayward. Okay, before we go anywhere, I want to say that this girl is not un-talented. She’s the principal ballerina of the Royal Ballet, and has a very long list of ballets that she’s lead in. So it makes sense that she’d be hired for a role that’s primarily ballet. This girl is a really really great DANCER. But Cats was clearly trying to make an A-list actress out of her. They tried to make her into Florence Pugh, who has been acting for a while and is blowing up right now because she’s very talented. Like everything about Francesca’s role in the film said “This is a star-making role.” A new song was written just for her to sing as an addendum to Cats’s show-stopping signature song. But the song was just okay, it didn’t carry nearly the emotional weight or all-around beauty of “Memories,” and all in all felt wedged-in and totally unnecessary and really just felt like a grab at that “best original song” Oscar. Francesca’s voice is high, thin, and child-like. It’s not unpleasant, but next to the richness and depth of Jennifer Hudson’s voice, it crumbles, and it’s not the sort of voice that I want to seek out to listen to over and over again. As for her overall performance, she largely keeps the same look of wide-eyed wonder throughout her numerous close-ups, so much so that I found myself thinking of the the MST3K “dull surprise” sketch. But I don’t know if that’s really entirely her fault. There was an attempted romantic storyline with the magic cat, but again, because of the nature of Cats and its lack of real character development or depth, the chemistry fell flat. There really isn’t much of a chance to show off a lot of dramatic range, so to keep going back to her character, it kept reinforcing the one-notedness of her performance. Really, I just kept wanting to see Francesca dance. Ironically, I think they really blew an opportunity trying to make an A-list actress out of her. All she really need to make people want to see more of her is one spectacular dance number, but for some reason, she never really gets that show-stopping moment. 

5. Dignity? I guess this goes back to the whole CGI cat thing, but there were a lot of moments when I felt this tremendous wave of second-hand embarrassment hit me on behalf of the talented actors in this film. Watching Gandalf lap up milk from a saucer was a wholly uncomfortable experience, like come on, grant the great Ian McKellan some fucking DIGNITY here. Which goes back to whatI said earlier that a suggestion and interpretation of cats would have worked better than all-out just being a cat. Or it could again just be how much Cats just fails its attempts at comedy. But then again there was no fucking reason at all for Idris Elba to be that fucking NAKED. I guess they were trying to make him sexy? But his sexy smolder and just being Idris Elba wasn’t enough they had to make sure that we all saw his chiseled pecs and thick thighs. And then at the end when he’s dangling off of the rope of a hot air balloon and what’s supposed to be a funny scene, I think, I kept thinking “I’m so sorry this is happening to you, Idris.” 

There’s a bunch of other small, nit-picky things that I could go into. Those cockroaches would have worked so much better if they weren’t humans with an extra set of arms. Watching them get eaten was some horror movie shit. Taylor Swift’s Macavity song would have worked a lot better if the cat chorus full of cats we’ve gotten to know had sung it, but instead Taylor Swift is brought in as a new cat we don’t know whose only purpose is to sing the Macavity song? but of course a big oscar-bait movie needs to have that pop star that draws in the people who wouldn’t otherwise see it and making her a part of the cat chorus would have had her performing throughout the whole movie and she would have floundered the way pop stars tend to do when performing musical theater around a bunch of musical theater actors. So I guess I get why she was thrown in.

So.... yeah? Is there anyone else who found themselves enjoying it in spite of everything? I’m glad I have dogs and didn’t have to watch this mess with actual cats around me.

[laurazepamwrites]

The chemicals between us ~ Ch.2

Darwin was a beautiful harbour city, sharing a tropical climate with the nearby south east Asia. Genji was thankful the monsoon season was over as he sat on a rooftop in an industrial area on the outskirts of the city, closely watching an abandoned warehouse. He stood up and stretched what muscles remained, he should head to the rendezvous point soon, but first he wanted to do a final sweep of the area. He silently jumped roof to roof stopping so often to scan for any movement. Talon were coming and that always meant bloodshed was to be had. Satisfied the area was for now clear he returned to the warehouse. The soft glow of a small fire through a broken window confirmed the two Junkers were still inside. Genji had his doubts on bringing them in but when Morrison was set on an idea hardly anyone could argue with him. Except for Reyes of course. Genji chuckled darkly to himself ‘And how well that turned out’ He thought. It was nearing ten in the evening when Genji saw the Orca come into view. It was invisible to normal eyes in stealth mode but with his cybernetic enhancements he could faintly make out the looming shape catching brief reflections of light and hear the low hum of its engines. It touched down on open land outside of the industrial estate, Genji was walking up to it as the door opened, slowly moving down to make gangway.

Morrison was the first to leave, wearing his mask as the Soldier 76 and carrying his Pulse rifle. He noticed Genji and greeted him, clasping his hand and giving it one firm shake.

‘Anything?’ He asked.

‘Nothing yet Commander’ Genji replied and then gestured over his shoulder ‘The objectives are in the warehouse over there, it's been long abandoned, no cctv or security droids but I've been watching Fawkes set up traps and explosive devices around the perimeter and at the entrances. No sightings of Talon, but that is not to say they are not close.’

Morrison gave a low hmm in reply, narrowing his eyes under the mask towards the standalone warehouse. He wondered if the Junkers knew they were being followed or if this was a common security measure wherever they ended up. Behind him McCree was walking down the gangway, immediately lighting a cigar. ‘Any chance of getting a coffee before we crack a few skulls?’ He asked to no one in particular. He took a drag. ‘Or a whiskey?’.

‘Aw you get no sleep Jesse? I slept like a log.’ Said Lena happily, adjusting the belts on her chronal accelerator. She winked at Genji, ‘It's good to see you.’

‘And you Lena.’

Winston was the last to leave the ship and greeted Genji warmly as Morrison turned towards his team and spoke; ‘Alright, this is how it's going to work. Myself, Tracer and McCree will position ourselves south of the warehouse, Genji I want you on that roof opposite on the northside. Winston you're backup. Remain with the Orca. Anything happens you can get to us quickly and likewise. If anything happens here I'll send Tracer to you. We keep vigil on that warehouse and wait for Talon to make their move.’

‘Make their move?’ asked McCree ‘Not just go in, grab them, get outta here?’

‘Do you think they’ll take to us charging up to them, physically forcing them into the ship and flying off into the night Jesse?’

‘Well, that's what you did to me’

Jack ignored him. ‘The last thing I need is fighting them and Talon. Let Talon go in first, let them set off whatever death traps that's been laid and then we go in and clean up.’

‘Erm, silly question but what if Talon kills them before we get in?’ Asked Tracer.

‘I think it's more likely Talon will be dead before we get there.’ Offered Genji. ‘This Roadhog is huge commander, I would not want to fight that beast’ ‘Hopefully we won't have to.’ Replied Jack. ‘Fawkes is a talker. I want to use that to my advantage.’ He took a definitive breath in and out. ‘C’mon, lets move out’.

The warehouse was large, desolate, cold and empty except for the large metal storage crates lining the floor. Their contents long removed, except for one crate filled with a new cargo hidden under a large plastic cover. A small oil puddle on the concrete nearby. Wind whistled through the smashed in windows gently swaying the long dead wire lighting. Over the years local youths had snuck in to partake in illegal activities and to graffiti the walls. Metal stairs led up to a platform, the end of which held the foreman's office. The office was bare inside apart from a desk, a metal filing cabinet - one of the draws taken out and put on the floor, a small fire burning steadily within - a small coffee table and a chair. Its occupant resting with his hands folded across his huge inked stomach. With each breath the chair creaked, threatening to break. A large rust spotted hook rested against one of the legs. The glass in the sinister black gas mask hid the owners eyes, the only indication that he was asleep was the loud rumbling snoring. A gust of wind blew through the broken window, rustling old files strewn across the office, but this did not disturb the sleeping giant.

Junkrat shot him a glare. He was used to Roadhogs snoring, what wound him up was how easily he fell asleep. He was feeling wired, lying on the hard floor resting his head on his living arm whilst he tossed a grenade shell up in the air and catching it with his prosthetic hand. His metal peg crossed over his living leg. The foot tapping incessantly. Frag launcher and a couple of mines within easy reach. He strained his ears to listen over the sound of his companion. He swore he heard something moving on the roof. For near two weeks he had been telling Hog they were being followed, and not by the authorities. This felt different. He was told he was being paranoid but Roadhog finally relented to leave themselves relatively open in hopes of confronting whoever was stalking them. Or to blow them up, either way. He wondered often to himself and outloud who was following him, maybe a bounty hunter? No, there was too many different faces and they tend to work alone. Was that stupid Suit some part of some Illuminati shit and they wanted revenge? No way had the Queen sent raiders out to bring them back in, Junkers don't do subtle..

He was distracted enough by his thoughts to misjudge his throw. Not catching the falling shell but knocking it so it bounced loudly across the floor awaking Roadhog from his slumber. Grumbling and cracking his neck he turned to his younger partner.

‘Would you get some fucking sleep already?’

‘Fuck off, someone's gotta keep a lookout. Your job really’.

He received what could have been a glare in return. He had to sometimes interpret the look he was getting.

Junkrat sighed, ‘Can’t fucking sleep can I?’

‘It's been three days Rat…’

Junkrat sat up, his bushy blonde eyebrows frowning. ‘I've been drinking coffee and had those pills from that skinhead in that bar, which made me feel better by the way until I started to-’

‘Paranoid.'

‘I'm not-!’

Roadhog pointed a large finger at him. ‘You’re paranoid and been on edge since we left Sydney, we’ve travelled for two weeks. After tonight we’re going back to the outback. I'm going back to my farm and If you piss me off anymore I'm going to-’

Both their heads whipped to the door as dull explosion sounded downstairs, signalling a trap going off. A second or so passed, they could hear sound of debris settling and muffled voices. Junkrat slowly turned to Roadhog who was making a point of not looking at him. Knowing damn well he had that shit eating grin on his face. He had no choice but to hear him however.

‘What did I FUCKING tell you mate?!’

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

Genji had alerted them of the figures silently moving towards the warehouse, all heavily armed. They had safely crossed and cut the wire trap surrounding the perimeter and carefully dismantled the incendiary device on the entrance. Unfortunately for Talon this was a decoy, its disturbance triggering a bomb buried right under their feet. Jack had watched the scene play out from his vantage point. So far he counted eight Talon agents on the ground, not including the two now dead in a bloody heap. Three more were on the roof, grappling hooks being attached to belts to storm the windows.

‘Commander?’ Genji asked through Morrisons earpiece.

‘Deal with them. Quickly’.

Genji leapt from the roof towards the warehouse, moving with a stealth only a Shimada could know. His shurikens slit through the throat of two agents before the remaining one realized what was happening. The last thing he saw was the flash of green light and its reflection on the gleaming metal of Ryū ichimonji as it slashed through the air, cutting through armor, fabric, muscle and bone like paper. Morrison watched as one fell off the roof, landing with a sickening crunch. Dead. The ground troops had moved in setting off more traps, there was a shout of pain followed by another. Through the top window with the fire he saw a large shadow move. A large bang sounding like a shotgun followed by the distinctive sound of an assault rifle.

‘Advance now!’ Morrison ordered his team.

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

Roadhog dragged the desk with one hand to the middle of the room with ease and let it land on its side. He then grabbed the metal cabinet and wedged it against the door. It wouldn't hold but it would buy a couple of minutes. He then crouched as low as he could behind the desk, getting what little cover it would offer his huge frame.

‘Do I look smug Hog?’ Laughed Junkrat, grabbing his frag launcher. ‘Feeling pretty fucking smug right now.’

‘Get the fuck down!’ Yelled Roadhog, grabbing one of the straps across Junkrats chest and pulling him down behind the upturned desk just as the door violently banged against the metal cabinet. Immediately Roadhog fired his scrap gun, its wide shot smashing the window pane in the door and imbedding shards of metal deep into the wood.

‘Yep. Pretty smug.’

‘And shut the fuck up!’

Junkrat twisted to look over his shoulder and positioned the frag launcher. He fired two bombs through the window, laughing as he heard them explode. Maybe they hit home, maybe they didn't. It was still fun. He’d worry about the whys and whats once this was over. For now he was quite happy to ride the adrenalin wave.

‘We need to move I reckon mate.’

Roadhog grunted in reply. They had the advantage of bottlenecking the narrow stairs and doorway but they were trapped in here. His main concern was a smoke grenade or something more sinister being thrown in. If that happened he guessed he could always throw Rat out the window..it wouldn't be the worst thing to of happened to him. Roadhog left his cover and lined himself against the wall next to the door, trying to give himself a line of sight through the shattered panel. He moved forward slightly to chance a better view and received a barrage of bullets for doing so, turning his head just in time. A bullet grazing the tip of his pig mask.

‘Hog?’

‘M’fine.’ He huffed. ‘Got us trapped in.’

‘How many we talking ere?’ Junkrat asked, reloading.

‘Hmmm..ten? Give or take.’

Junkrat moved to a crouch from behind the desk, positioning the launcher on his shoulder. ‘Thats bloody rude is what that is.’

‘Wanna make it fair...?’

Junkrats golden eyes darkened and his grin took on a slight devilish turn. ‘Too fucking right I do!’ He fired every grenade the Launcher had through the door, shouting could be heard from the other side as there was a scramble to avoid the explosives now bouncing along the platform and down the stairs. In the chaos Roadhog kicked the cabinet out the way of the door and flung it open, immediately firing his scrap gun, it's unfortunate target now a bloody mess of metal, flesh and blood. A grenade had disposed of another judging from the mangled corpse. Roadhog walked forward towards the stairs, Junkrat close behind him. At the top of the stairs one of their assailants was screaming and writhing on the floor, clutching what was left of his leg. Junkrat smirked down at him. ‘Hurts like a bitch don't it cunt?’ as Roadhog stamped on his neck, shutting him up. Their attackers had fallen back and now positioned themselves behind the metal crates. Junkrat sent another volley of grenades for cover as he and Roadhog ran down the stairs and threw themselves behind a crate of their own as a shower of bullets passed over them. One of them ricocheted off the metal railing on the stairs and caught Junkrats prosthetic hand, shattering part of the casing. Junkrat gasped and dropped the launcher, holding his prosthetic with his living hand and quickly assessing the damage. He moved the metal digits, two of which weakly moved and twitched on their own accord. He tried holding the Launcher but it wouldn't hold steady in his grasp.

‘Fuck. FUCK! Fucking cunts!’

‘Least the hand is still there..’

‘No good when you can't grip a fucking thing though is it!?’ Junkrat snarled back through gritted teeth. The damaged synthetic nerve receptors sending pulsing waves of dull pain up his arm. He took a ragged deep breath, squeezing his upper arm to null the throbbing pain before straightening up and breathing out. ‘Sod it, it's fine!’

Roadhog looked at him. The same look on his face that he wore under his mask a hundred times before. He remained silent. Junkrat hated that look, hated how it made him feel. ‘Said i'm fucking fine Hog.’ He muttered, switching his weapon to his living hand. It felt strange and heavy in his living hand despite being able to use both. He turned to grin at Roadhog ‘See? All good. Now lets-!’

 Roadhogs hook struck out at force, passing his head by inches, it connected to its target, a flanking attacker, his fingers just shy of the trigger as the huge hook embedded deep in his flesh and pulled him forward with such strength he crashed into the hard concrete. The unfortunate target barely had time to gasp in pain before his head burst with the brute force of the scrap metal and gunpowder of Roadhogs gun. A second attacker quickly followed, aiming at Roadhog. He instantly pushed junkrat against the crate using his large frame to shield him. The bullets never hit however, despite hearing ammo firing. It sounded different to the gunfire they had already endured. Shouting accompanied the new sound. Their attacker yelled in surprise, twisting to aim at a new target, his head jerked violently and he landed dead on the ground.Then suddenly, in literally the blink of an eye, a woman was standing in front of Junkrat and Roadhog, holding dual pistols and wearing goggles with a strange glowing contraption strapped to her chest. She gave a cheeky grin toward the pair. ‘Hiya boys!’ she said in a friendly London accent. And just as suddenly as she had appeared, she was gone. The two junkers stared at the spot were the woman had stood. A second or so passed before Junkrat spoke; ‘Err…..Hog?’

‘I saw it.’ Roadhog replied, still staring at the space that was occupied seconds before.

‘Yeah but Hog..’

‘I saw it.’

‘What the fuck was that?’

‘Dunno.’

‘Am I high?’

No reply.

'Fucking ghost mate!'

Roadhog gave a low growl.

‘How would you fucking explain it then..?!’

Roadhog did not answer and let Junkrat continue his rambling, things were getting more complicated by the minute. He didn't know who these people were but he had soon realized that the bullets were meant for him. They wanted Junkrat and they wanted him alive. Now a third party were involved and he was getting really pissed off. He just wanted to go back to his quiet farm. More gunfire from yet another gun, more shouting. Roadhog signalled to Junkrat to follow him and both darted to the next crate, moving towards the large chopper and sidecar hidden at the end of the warehouse. They passed another dead body. Bullets had not killed him, his throat sliced open. A strange and bloody metal object embedded in the metal. Was that a throwing star? A loud explosion went off close by, another trap being detonated, Roadhog held Junkrat back until the debris had settled before pushing forward. They were so close now, just a few more yards..

..A flash of blinding light struck right in front of Roadhog, stunning him. He staggered backwards firing his Scrap gun blindly in front of him. He heard struggling and cursing behind him. Turning he watched at Junkrat fell against the crate, the Launcher now on the ground before it could fire. A man stood over him, wearing a visor and mask covering his face, his hair grey. He was pointing a large rifle at his partner and that was a fucking bad idea. Roadhog growled loudly raising his arm to aim at his new victim, he was so close to turning his targets head into a bloody puddle when something silver and neon green whooshed past him so fast he could not tell what it was, it took him a second to realize he had let go of his gun. A second more to realize a silver revolver was pointing at his head. Another second to realize blood was slowly dripping from his hand where something very sharp had sliced through leather and flesh. He side eyed the man pointing his gun at his head. He wore a cowboy hat, chewed an unlit cigar and wore an old dusty poncho. He noticed the prosthetic arm and the slack smug smile on his face which he instantly wished he could slam his fist into.

‘Y'all don't wanna make any sudden moves y’hear?’ He drawled in an American accent. A clang on the roof of the metal crate beside them made him glance up. Roadhog also looked at the sudden noise and was greeted with the sight of man adorned with silver armor, glowing green lights to suggest cybernetics, his face also obscured by a mask. He crouched over the scene, shurikens between his knuckles and leaning on a gleaming asian looking sword. Something whizzed past him and the woman from earlier appeared seemingly from thin air, also pointing pistols at both Junkers. They were well and truly surrounded. Roadhogs attention was now on Junkrat, who was breathing heavily, eyes locked and glaring at the man in the visor, his mouth twisted into a snarl. His eyes darted to his launcher which still held a full cartridge of grenades. Roadhog grunted, getting his attention. The last thing he needed was for Junkrat to panic and do something stupid and get them both killed. He slowly shook his head. Junkrat narrowed his eyes at him, weighing the decision to attack or surrender. Eventually he sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes.

‘Arite ya cunts, make it quick.’

The cowboy chuckled. ‘Not here for that kid.’ He slowly moved the scrap gun away from Roadhog, pushing it across the floor with his foot as the woman did the same with the Frag launcher. Neither lowering their guns at the pair. The older man however did, leaning it across his shoulder. He gave Roadhog a glance over before turning his attention to Junkrat. ‘We’re not here to kill you, unless of course you give us reason to. We dealt with your stalkers, a sophisticated terrorist group named Talon. Know that name?’

Junkrat shrugged. ‘Know a lotta things mate, don't know you though. I ain't answering shit.’

‘Sounds pretty fair..’ Said McCree, looking at his comrade.

Morrison regarded Junkrat for a moment before speaking. ‘My name Is Jack Morrison...I am the former Commander of Overwatch. You know what that is. You’ve been followed by Talon for sometime and they want you alive. I want to know why.’

Junkrat peered at Morrison as he processed the information. Suddenly he barked out a laugh and put his hands on his hips. ‘Fucking getta load of this drongo, Hog!’ He grinned, jabbing a thumb towards Morrison. Swagger quickly returning despite guns being aimed at him.

He smirked at Morrison. ‘Overwatch long gone mate, went up in a bloody big bang as I heard. You the top guy? I call bullshit. Don't know who you are, don't know who those dead fuckers are. So unless your gonna pop a bullet in me and me mate we’re just gonna fuck off outta here. So you can take your Captain America shit, Your Billy the kid there, stupid hat by the way mate. Your Casper the friendly ghost and your Naruto, and fuck right off!’

McCree and Tracer glanced at Morrison, awaiting his response. McCree would have bet on Jack adding a black eye to the kids face. Instead Morrison sighed, weighed up his answer and addressed the Junker. ‘You survived their first strike, but what about the next one? Or the next. They sent cannon fodder this time, they underestimated you, and they certainly did not expect us. Each time they’ll send worse before they get what they want. And whatever it is I cant let them have. It's important enough that they’ll spend time and resources hunting you down. So you have a choice Fawkes, you give up whatever it is to us and you walk out of here back to that hell hole. Or you come with us until you do.’

Whilst Morrison spoke the grin had slowly disappeared from Junkrat's face, gradually turning dark and threatening. When he spoke it was lower, quieter and menacing. ‘I got nothing I’m gonna give to you or this Talon. You could be the same for all I know and like fuck am I going anywhere with you less its my dead body mate..’

A muscle twitched under Morrisons mask, not that Junkrat could see. He was quickly losing patience with this hotheaded, crude and smug Junker..

‘Now you listen you little sh...., If you gave a damn about-’

‘Commander!’ Winstons alarmed voice cutting through the comms. Morrison immediately replied.

‘What have you got?’

‘Talon Heavy assault incoming on your position.’

As if on cue a dull distance thud could be heard, slowly becoming louder. Morrison began to order his team, aiming his gun once again on Junkrat. ‘Genji, Tracer. Slow that thing up. Disable it if you can. Winston get here and cover us. We need a shield. And you two!’ He addressed the Junkers. ‘You help with this thing or take cover up there.’ He pointed over his shoulder toward the office. ‘Is that a choice you're willing to make?’

Junkrat and Roadhog looked at each other, seemingly to communicate silently. Eventually Roadhog gave a single nod of his head. The grin returned to Junkrat's face. ‘Right o mate. We can help blow up whatever needs blowing up.’ Morrison considered him a moment before making his mind up if this was a good idea. ‘Fine, get your weapons. McCree, get the high ground. You two, hold that choke point. If we can keep it outside the better. I don't want it throwing a crate at anyone.’

‘Yeah yeah and wadda you gonna do G.I Joe..?’

Morrison smirked under his mask. ‘I’m not letting you leave my sight.’

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

The huge Juggernaut moved with purpose towards the warehouse, machine like in appearance but in fact the result of extensive genetic engineering. Its powerful exoskeleton, armour and stimulants making it a horrific killing machine. It carried two massive chainguns and had two large canisters on its back. Whatever trace of humanity it once had had gone due to extreme experimentation, it only knew one command now; to kill. It moved past the cut wire surrounding the perimeter, sighting the entrance to the warehouse, now a smouldering cavity thanks to one of Junkrats explosives. It took a step closer, dust unsettling under its heavy footfall, when suddenly a hail of bullets impacted against its heavy armor. It spun towards the direction of its target, and was struck once again from behind. Spinning to locate its adversary , it raised its twin chainguns and wildly began to fire in all directions. A sound or ricochet and its own bullets deflected right back toward it, hitting it hard and denting its armor, one bullet hitting a wire connecting from one of the canisters to a chaingun. Steam escaped the wire, dispersing into the cool night air. It caught a glimpse of one of its targets, a young woman rapidly firing twin pistols. She darted around him, like an annoying buzzing fly, firing at weak points in its exoskeleton. It timed her movements, letting her strike it and waited, it would take her a long time to breach its armor. Suddenly at the right moment it swung its huge arm out, striking home and colliding with its pest hard into her shoulder. The impact sent Tracer flying towards a huge truck parked up for the night, the collision certainly bound to crush her thin frame. Tracer flew through the air, her shoulder screaming in pain. She braced herself and suddenly she was thrown back, the truck moving further away, the pain disappearing in her shoulder with time flowing backwards all around her. She appeared once again close to the heavy assault, this time dropping to her knees as its huge arm swung over her head, emptying both pistols in the weakly armored point of its joints.

‘Oi big boy! Think you missed!’ Tracer laughed as she darted back to a safer distance. Genji landed softly beside her, ‘That was too close..’ He warned her. Tracer grinned back at him. ‘Dont tell dad!’ She disappeared once again, soon dancing rings around the Colossus, Genji joining in on her assault. If they could keep it distracted long enough Winston could help cover their escape. As if reading his thoughts the Heavy assault continued its march towards the warehouse and its target. It opened fire on on Genji and Tracer, forcing them to cease their attack and dodge the hail of bullets, when suddenly it propelled itself forward, twin rockets firing on its back.

It charged, hurtling towards the warehouse and passing through the cavity when suddenly something clamped hard on its leg. It lurched forward hard, and crashed heavily into the concrete. It raised its head, and was greeted with the sight of a crudely made concussion mine. It heard a giggle from above, a soft click, and the mine exploded in its face.   From a safe distance Junkrat surveyed the damage and the now motionless Heavy assault lying on the ground. He turned on his metal peg toward Morrison.

‘You're welcome.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘Right so now that's done with, we’re off. Places to be, people to avoid. Good luck with fighting Cobra or whatever you call it..’

‘Ya wanna make sure that things dead Morrison..’ called McCree from his high point.

Junkrat scoffed ‘Yeah nah mate, cunt took a big spill and got a blast to the face. Pretty sure it-fucking christ!’

Morrison fired every round of his Pulse rifle into the heavy assault, bullets bouncing off its thick armour, slowly being chipped away. A canister on its back shattered open, fuel splashing in all directions. Just like McCree had warned the heavy assault began to move, the huge gun arms pushing itself up to stand. Morrison fired the Pulse rifles helix rockets, breaking the armor on one of its guns. The impact causing the fuel drenched across its exoskeleton to ignite. Armor breaching and ablaze, it roared, lifting both guns and opening fire. A dome of blue light suddenly surrounded it, absorbing the rapid fire of bullets. The Heavy assault had no chance to be confused for now it was suddenly wracked with electricity coursing through its massive body. Under great strain it fired what ammo it had left in all directions. The barrier broke, a huge form leapt over it and landed heavily on the crates nearby. Still stunned and with great strain it weakly lifted its arm in a last attempt to kill. The response it got was a huge rain of overbearing damage; Bullets, scrap metal, grenades, a mine, shurikens and electricity. Broken and mangled, It roared loudly as it fell to its knees, still aflame, blood and fuel dripping slowly off its body before finally collapsing to the ground. Morrisons team eyed the creature, the flames slowly smouldering. The last barely intact canister on its back cracked and black from heat and smoke. They waited for any sign of life which it did not give. Satisfied, Morrison turned to the Junkers and found them both staring at Winston. Morrison cleared his throat, realizing that a huge genetically modified Gorilla maybe a shock to some.

‘This is Winston, head of Science within Overwatch…’

‘Its a fucking monkey mate…’

Winston frowned at him and growled, ‘A Gorilla to be more accurate...’

‘Ah yeah right, it talks don't it? See Hog, I know they got up to some weird shit in Overwatch. Never thought i’d ever see the space monkey up close.’

Winston flared his nostrils and deeply growled, teeth baring. It should of been threatening but the young Junker just laughed and looked to his partner.

‘Hey that's what you do mate!’

Morrison stepped between them as McCree, Tracer and Genji joined them, purposely surrounding the Junkers.

Junkrat put his hands on his hips and gave them all a glance. Eyebrows raising and mouth smirking. Roadhog stood next to him, he fingered the chain attached to the huge hook at his side. The atmosphere becoming tense.

‘Yeah, we’ll be off now.’ Said Junkrat casually to Morrison.

‘Are you actually oblivious to the situation you're in or do you just enjoy being difficult?’

‘Yeah..? No...? Maybe..? See now you don't know where I'm coming from!’ Junkrat laughed.

McCree smirked, he found this amusing. It reminded him of when he was picked up all those years ago. He was a little shit to authority too. And unfortunately for Jack he reeked of it. He holstered his gun, looking at Jack who gave a nod of reluctant approval, He also holsted his weapon and the rest of his team followed suit. Junkrat and Roadhog continued to hold theirs, despite an empty Launcher and a Scrap gun with only one shot left. McCree finally lit the cigar in his mouth. Taking a long drag and exhaling.‘You’ll be safer with us kid.’

He received a laugh with contempt in return, ‘Don't know what the fuck that means mate, never had the pleasure of feeling it.’

McCree shrugged. ‘Sure, you're free to leave. But Talon will get to you, be it a week, a month...but they’ll get you. Your partner there will be killed. You, you’ll probably be tortured, I know some in Talon who enjoy that kinda thing..now I think you been approached before. Maybe they said they were someone different since you claim not to know Talon. I think maybe they asked you to join them. Maybe they say they need someone who can topple buildings with a push of a button…maybe they ask about something else, offer money for whatever it is you have or know..?’

Junkrat wasn't smiling anymore, he chewed the inside of his lip and regarded McCree with slight suspicion and said nothing, he let McCree continue.

‘...You got something they want. That's obvious. It's important enough that you have to be alive, otherwise, and believe me, you would be done dead weeks ago. Is also important enough that You just didn't give it to them in the first place which suggests to me it's dangerous too. I’ve met some o’ your Junkertown bounty hunters. Know you bragged loudly bout some treasure in that omnium corpse. Don't think you counted word of it getting out o’ that place though right? You come with us now and you won't have to worry about Talon or whatever they send your way, and you won't be harmed by us less you give us good reason to. From there we all decide what to do with what you got. We won't force it out of you.'

‘You’re at a disadvantage here Fawkes, I suggest you just come quietly.’ Interjected Morrison.

‘Dammit Jack!’ McCree cursed at him.

‘We need to move before Talon sends backup if they haven't already. Tracer, get the Orca ready for flight.’

Tracer looked hesitant but eventually followed orders, dashing away. Junkrat folded his arms across his chest and gave Jack a sneering grin, looking him up and down before saying; ‘Nah mate. Not going anywhere with you.’

Tensions rising again, Roadhog placed his hand on Junkrats shoulder, pushing him slightly behind him. He made to move towards Jack, the team reaching for their weapons when suddenly a spark burst from the felled Heavy assault laying a few feet away from them, all heads turned to it. The remaining canister burst once again into life. It fuelled the barely working rocket on its back and charged it forward, forcing it along the concrete floor as it crashed towards them at speed. Genji, the first in its path immediately jumped out the way. Not everyone had the benefit of his speed however, leaving Junkrat right in its path. Before he could even react a huge arm struck him hard across the chest causing him to land heavily against the crate behind him, the heavy assault a second from killing him. It instead crashed full into Roadhog, hurtling him backwards at such force it left a crater of their combined weight into the metal crate they struck. Its rocket still ignited and the force crushing Roadhog.

‘Hog!’ Junkrat screamed, dropping the launcher and rushing to his partner. With one huge hand and with all his strength Roadhog pushed back against the Heavy assault, trying to lessen the damage it was causing him. His other hand had somehow remained hold of his Scrapgun. He lifted it, pushing the two massive barrels against its face and firing his last shot point blank. Blood and metal burst in a violent shower, the creature now certainly dead. However the rocket still propelled forward, using the last of its fuel. Genji jumped onto its back, stabbing his sword downward straight into the canister, smashing it. Slowly the creature began to slack, finally slumping and stopping for good. With a low growl Roadhog pushed its lifeless body off of him and in turn slid to the ground, breathing very heavily, gas mask rattling with each labored breath.

‘Hog! Hog mate, you alright? Gonna be alright!’ Junkrat had caught up and was frantically checking him over. ‘Ok it's fine alright, its fine. Bit o’ bruising maybe, just take it easy yeah mate..’ His voice catching slightly. Jack raised his eyebrows, making note of Junkrats concern. Roadhog slowly placed a hand on Junkrats shoulder, meeting his worried eyes and pointing toward the back of the warehouse. Junkrats eyes lit up in understanding ‘ Yeah mate, yeah I’ll get it’. He rushed away as fast as his metal peg would allow him towards the chopper. He ripped off the plastic covering, his riptire the first thing to greet his eyes. He quickly and carefully detached it and opened the boot, amidst the supplies and extra grenades which he ignored he found what he was looking for; A canister of Hogdrogen. He hurried back, helping Roadhog attach it to his mask. He watched with worry knitted on his face as his partner breathed in the chemical concoction. His breathing became less labored, but he was still clearly in pain. Jack was kneeling beside them, detaching a biotic emitter from his belt and planting it on the ground. Its energy projecting a soft light of yellow healing aura. Jack stood back up and looked at Junkrat. ‘Biotic emitter.’ He informed him. ‘Will help your friend some but he could have more serious injuries. Won't fix a punctured lung or broken ribs..’

Junkrat looked at him darkly. ‘Yeah, and what's your fucking point?’

‘We have a doctor at our base. And better equipment then out here, we can help him. Unless of course you want to go to a hospital, get yourself arrested and separated.’ replied Jack, matter of factly.

 Junkrat cursed under his breath, he looked at Hog hoping for some help as to what to do, but he knew already he was now left with only one choice. He heard a sound of something large landing outside. Morrison turned to Winston. ‘Get the first aid point ready, Genji I want you to do a final sweep of the area. Make sure no back up has been sent.’ Winston and Genji both left to their respective tasks as Morrison and McCree watched the young Junker make his decision. Slowly Junkrat stood up, folding his arms and sighing heavily. ‘Alright fine, but you fucking promise me this doc of yours is real and gonna help Hog otherwise you’ll have another base exploding. Agreed?’

‘Agreed.’ said Morrison. ‘We’ll take your weapons of course, the bike stays here.’

Roadhog cursed loudly and tried standing up, pointing a large finger toward Morrison. ‘That bike comes with me or we go nowhere!’

‘For fucks sake…’ Muttered Jack. ‘Fine, Fawkes. You and me will get the bike. Jesse, get Rutledge on the orca. We need to leave now.’

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

Roadhog sat on the more comfortable chairs for his size on the Orca, a safety belt hardly stretching to cover his massive stomach. He breathed in the healing fumes of a small biotic tank and was seemingly asleep. The huge chopper, Riptire and their weapons stored safely in the cargo hold with Genji guarding them. Junkrat fishing out a hooded sweatshirt from the boot as he surrendered his explosives belt. They had been airborne for twenty minutes, and had hours of flight ahead of them. Junkrat sat on the floor next to Roadhog, glancing at him on occasion. He had rolled out his small tool kit, and was delicately working on his prosthetic hand. He tested the two malfunctioning digits, they moved slowly, the cybernetic nerves still exposed but no longer causing pain. He’d need more advanced tools to repair the casing. McCree was sat close by, feet up on the table in front of him,he watched the young junker concentrate on his work.

‘Need help with that..?

‘Yeah what do you know about prosthetics..’ Junkrat looked up at McCree who had raised his own prosthetic arm with an amused look on his face.

‘Ahhh shit. Sorry mate.’

McCree shrugged, ‘No harm done..’ He nodded to Junkrats metal arm, ‘Make that yourself..?’

‘Mostly..leg too. Not got any of your fancy cybernetic docs in Junkertown mate.’

‘I ain't criticizing kid..I’m impressed. Must a been hard forging new limbs in that environment..takes a lotta skill’

‘Yeah well, needs must.’

‘I'm guessing you lost them young..?'

Junkrat paused for a second, then continued his work. Ignoring McCree.

‘Sorry, im pushing. Y’know..Our doctor at base? She's highly skilled in cybernetic surgery. Probably the best in the world.’

‘And what mate? Not interested in seeing no doc. Just want Hog looked at.’

McCree looked at him for a few seconds him before shrugging. ‘Alright, your call. Id advice you get some shut eye soon though. We got a few hours before we touch land again.'

Two hours into the flight, Morrison walked down the stairs from the cockpit eyeing the two Junkers. Roadhog may have been out cold, it was near impossible to tell with the mask, Junkrat was leaning against him. Both legs stretched out over 2 chairs, his hood was up, apparently sleeping. He stopped by McCree, both feet still on the table, his cowboy hat covering his face. He cursed as Morrison gave him a kick to his side.

‘Christ Jack, can't a man rest his eyes?’ He complained.

‘If we blew up mid air i’d blame you first..’ Jack replied.

‘Hell Jack, he aint gonna do nothing. You might wanna consider yourself lucky Rutledge got hurt. I don't think he’d do anything to jeopardize getting Angela to help him.’

‘I still think we should of restrained them.’

‘I still think that's a dumb idea.’

‘Hmm…’ Morrison did not want to argue that point so he changed the subject. ‘What you said Jesse? He seemed to listen, even though it was exactly what I had said to him.’

‘Was it now?’ McCree replied, smiling slightly. ‘Maybe I saw myself all those years ago being spoken to like I was in god damn school. It don’t work. Shame you had to butt in.’

‘We needed to leave before civilians arrived. In hindsight my interrupt was very beneficial’

‘That may be, but I dont think your approach with him is gonna work. Not if you want him to cooperate. He’s got a criminal career sticking it to guys like you.’

‘Is that why you seem to like him?’

‘Hell it's obvious he dont like you much.’ McCree replied, smirking. He tipped his hat back over his face and said no more. Morrison sighed, regarding the two criminal Junkers in his airship, hunted by Talon and enroute to his base. He momentarily wondered if he was making a mistake, but quickly dismissed it. He had made much worse mistakes for him to dwell on. He sat nearby, pulse rifle resting on his lap, mask still covering his face. He kept watch.

[reformedkingsmanagent]

A Werewolf in Vizima — Part 2

A/N: I decided to break up the last bit into two pieces, for my own sanity, otherwise I’d continuously edit and re-edit the same bits over and over again because I’m never satisfied. I really hope this is okay, and I promise, in the next one things will pick up drastically. Thanks so much for spending your time here, I truly appreciate it. Accepting any/all criticism and suggestions. Also, a friendly reminder, this is much less based on CD Project Red’s interpretation of Geralt and more focused on what I anticipate the new Netflix series will look like. AKA I really just like Henry, alright? There, I said it. Now try to enjoy.

[PART 1]     [PART 3]     [PART 4]

“And you’re sure she hasn’t been out?”

The matron looked horrified. “A young, ill woman like herself? Absolutely not. She wouldn’t have even made it down the steps on her own.”

Geralt had to admit, for all his theories on the way over, he didn’t smell dog. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if he’d just stepped into a completely different issue entirely as his eyes traced the runes carved into the inside of the wooden doorframe.  

He looked towards the various gifts and plates gathered around Johanna’s door, none of the items touched. “Well liked.”

“Yes. She has quite a few admirers, and good friends as well. This is a terrible thing to happen to such a lovely young woman. Everyone hopes she’ll pull through before winter comes.”

Geralt wasn’t listening anymore, he was looking deeper, vision swimming slightly with every subtle turn of his head, looking for something—

“Pleasemyheadissplittingmakeitstopmakeitstop—”

He could smell the antiseptic chemicals, the much softer iron leftover from cleaning her wounds. Not the werewolf he was looking for, but there was definitely something off about it all.

“She’s extremely ill,” he interrupted. 

“We’ve done all we can for her,” the matron insisted. “She just needs to rest and the fever will pass on its own.”

“I think if you let me take a look at her, I could help. She needs someone who—”

“I’ll not be releasing her to the care of some sorceress, or yourself, for that matter. Whatever you might think, Witcher, I assure you, there’s nothing more to be done.” The thinly-veiled insult fell off Geralt’s shoulders, as he was much more concerned with the suffering young woman on the other side of that door. With the woman standing in front of him so entrenched in the idea that she knew what was best for poor Johanna, Geralt knew he’d get nowhere himself.

“She is beyond your care.”

His pleas made no difference.

The matron crossed her arms over her chest, her impatience clear. “I’ve had enough of you nosing around. You can leave. Or shall I call for one of the guards?”

The busy streets offered Geralt a chance to clear his head. He zoned out briefly, the din of evening conversation filling his head as he thought out his next move.

Definitely still looking for a Werewolf, he mused, images of the disemboweled guards filling his head. Unusual to find one hiding so well in the city. Someone should’ve noticed its comings and goings.

The trail had gone cold just a few feet after turning off the main street, a problem the expert tracker wasn’t used to having, but such is the reality of trying to track footsteps in a city with paved streets. It didn’t help that the streets were absolutely filthy, a by-product of being at the center of all the major trade routes across the region.

Still, the captain of the guard had mustered up quite a large purse of coin to see this dealt with, before any more lives were lost. He needed to return to the scene, to try again to catch a scent, anything that would help.

“Help me.”

It was whispered weakly, but it reached Geralt’s ear anyway. He squeezed his eyes shut. This girl, something is very wrong here. Geralt couldn’t shake off the desire to figure this one out, even without the lure of coin, though the woman in charge was proving to be quite an obstacle.

Just then a laugh cut through everything, clear as day. There you were, crossing the street, large bag slung over your shoulder to hold the supplies you were surely taking home. Milla, the tavern owner, walked beside you, sharing your laughter.

Geralt had an idea.

***

“Can you believe the nerve of him? I almost whacked him over the head with the Erveluce, and what a waste that would’ve been!”

“I definitely believe it. Some people think they deserve the world—”

As you spread your arms wide, embellishing your mocking tone, a gloved hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you from smacking the new arrival in the face. 

“What—”

Your shock was short-lived as you locked eyes with the Witcher from before, the one who’d mocked your meager resources and left a sour taste in your mouth as you cursed him while cleaning up.

A firm stare-down later, he released your wrist.

A gentle hand met your shoulder and you turned to see Milla smiling, her meddling obvious to anyone who knew what to look for. “I’ve got to head back. You’ll see her home safe, sir?”

Geralt nodded. You watched her go, shooting her a ‘how dare you’ look until she was a good distance away and the quiet was uncomfortable.

“I need to ask you a favor,” Geralt began, sounding hesitant.

Good. A chance to counter with all the words you’d been stewing over throughout the day.

“Is there pay involved? Much like you, Witcher, I now only work for coin, and as you are well aware, I possess but a pittance at the moment.”

The words cut the way they were meant to, but Geralt recognized that there was less malice in your voice than just genuine hurt, as much as you tried to hide it.

“I’ve offended you.”

“No, no, certainly not.” It was difficult to hide your grin as his expression changed to register that this wasn’t going to be a simple ask. 

He sighed, moving in front of you to prevent you from continuing on past him. “This is important, I need your help.”

He sounded serious enough that you briefly considered giving up on your crusade. Briefly.

“My help? What on earth could I help you with, Witcher?”

“Geralt,” he muttered, eyes glancing skyward while he tried to shake off the annoyance that rose in him. It shouldn’t bother him that much, but there was something about you calling him ‘witcher’ that felt wrong, as if you too thought of him as the mud and shit caked on the bottom of your shoe.

“What?”

“My name. Geralt. I’d rather you didn’t—”

“Call you by your profession? What, like barmaid?” You stepped around his imposing figure, interested in getting home before dark, especially as you didn’t expect he’d actually walk you home. Besides, did he forget? There was a monster on the prowl.

“I didn’t realize you were so easily bothered.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault, is it?” As you glanced over your shoulder, you were startled to realize he was right behind you.

“You are…”

“What? Difficult? Obstinate?”

“...different.”

You didn’t have a good response for being called different, and you weren’t sure if it was an insult or a compliment. Almost sounded like a compliment. Fortunately, you were relieved of the need to come up with a witty answer as he fell in step beside you. 

“It’s about Johanna,” he finally explained. “I think there’s more to this.”

“Are you done thinking she’s a murderer?”

“Of the guards in the square? Yes. Can’t rule her out completely though, not without your help.”

“Why me?”

“You’re the only access I have to her.”

“But I don’t have access. That woman forces me out if I linger too long. I won’t be allowed in.”

He stayed quiet for a good while, following dutifully beside you as you took the winding way home. You noticed all the stares and harsh looks he was receiving, along with people giving him—and you, by extension—a very, very wide berth.

“The only thing I’m sure of is if things stay as they are, she’ll be dead inside of a few days.”

“What’s wrong with her?” You felt a bit lightheaded at the news. Johanna, dead? In days? He had to be wrong.

“Not entirely sure, but it’s beyond traditional healing. Her sickness, I don’t get the sense it’s entirely natural. There were some carvings in the doorframe. Could be nothing, but…”

“Could be something?”

“Is something. Just not sure what. And that’s what I need you to find out for me. I’m still on a hunt, and I need to take care of it before someone else gets gutted in the street, but if you could trace the runes, give them to me, I can ask someone for help.”

“Another Witcher?”

“A sorceress. You’ve probably already heard of her—Keira Metz.”

“Advisor to Foltest himself? How on earth do you have such high friends?”

“Done a few favors for Foltest in the past.”

“Not favors though, you got paid, right?”

“No matter how much he pays, he always expects something more in return. It’s the risk you take, doing work for a King.”

“What sort of favors would a king need?”

“The kind I’m not quick to talk about,” Geralt answered, shooting you an amused glance. Still, the message was received and you kept quiet, mulling over the news about Johanna.

As the path home wound higher up the hill, you redoubled your grip on the bag slung across your chest, grateful for the supplies, but cursing having to carry them.

“Need some help with that?” 

He held out a hand to you, and while you detected no catch to his offer, you still declined, shaking your head.

“I’m fine.”

He let out a chuckle, and the smile that spread across his face was visible even in profile. You forced yourself to look down, pretending it had anything to do with not stumbling over your own feet.

It’s nothing, put it right out of your mind.

His earlier words echoed in your ear. ‘It’s something.’

“Do you usually take the long way around?” he asked. 

Your face burned. He knew, of course he knew. He’s probably been up and down these streets a million times before.

“Just wanted to be able to yell at you for a little while longer.”

“Feel any better?” He stopped on the corner, forcing you to turn around to face him. 

The last bit of sunlight reflected in his amber eyes, his slight squint only adding to how disarming he looked for the moment. With the top half of his hair pulled back out of his face, he looked much less intimidating.

“Not sure. Somehow I think you might’ve got off easy…”

You trailed off as a scream filled the evening air. You didn’t know why, but it sent your pulse racing. Geralt took only moments to process it before running towards the end of the street, in search of the source. After his monster.

You followed him.

[sometimesrosy]

1. So, there’s a music-less version of the Other Side hug scene floating about, and after watching it, I noticed a few small things that added so much depth to B/C past and present. First, idk if you could see Bellamy mouth something else to Clarke after he says, “I heard about Abby,” or not, but I’ve always thought he was saying, “I’m -“ as in, “I’m so sorry,” but cuts himself off. The musical-less version confirmed it as you can HEAR the ‘I’m’.

2. People were saying B didn’t care about Abby or C because of him only saying, “I heard...” but that small dialogue shows there WAS more, that he WAS empathetic (though I think his facial expressions did a fine job of conveying that). No one has ever talked about it and the way he just cuts himself off, like he’s swept up in Clarke’s pain as she starts to cry. Just wanted to get YOUR thoughts on why he cut himself off/what you think of the conversation and the “emotionless” dialogue claims.

3. Last bits: you can also hear the breath B takes when he buries his face into Clarke’s neck. It’s deep and shaky, like he’s releasing tension. It’s a ‘thank God’ breath. Relieved. Grateful. Like he hasn’t been able to really breathe until he physically has C in his arms, sees she’s safe. Breath can communicate nonverbal things (like a loud sigh when one’s bored), and that breath made me think that’s what B/C have always done regarding each other: hold it in.

4. B/C have DEEP feelings, but to be the heroes/leaders they need to be, to do what ‘has to be done,’ they bury them. In their world the stakes are too high, and it’s the ‘only choice.’ People thought B didn’t care about C during the Sanctum battle, but that breath proves otherwise. I love when their feelings leak out in eyes/looks/breaths. The subtlest bits have so much depth with them. What do you think about the Bellarke subtleties? What do you think of their Hero Mode/suppressed feelings?

I don’t know what Bellamy was about to say, and it almost doesn’t matter. He had more to say than he was able to say. I think I agree with your interpretation.

I don’t think I agree at all with the interpretation that Bellamy is “emotionless” in that scene. I’m not sure where they get that concept because that isn’t what was on screen. When they hugged, they both ran into each other’s arms, he held onto her tight. That isn’t emotionless. He asked about Abby, not the battle, showing he was concerned about HER feelings, not the battle or what happened with him. This wasn’t platonic leaders checking in on what happened. This was Bellamy Blake connecting with Clarke Griffin, and it was all about Clarke.

You can’t say definitively what emotions are inside of characters. Even if they say the words, there’s no guarantee that you can take those words at face value. Emotions are almost always a subjective interpretation-- if you’re trying to come down to the exact emotion a character is feeling-- especially if you’re trying to read looks and sighs. Emotions are abstract things in the first place so trying to pin them down is hard. 

The way I look at it, you have to look at the whole scene, not just the actors, because the characters aren’t real people so it’s not just how an actor plays a scene, but also how they are written, how they are filmed, the music. The scene is FULL of emotion. They run together and hug each other tightly. The breathlessness and wordlessness you are talking about. The music. The buttery light that is beautiful and romantic and soft and comforting. How close they are standing, how they don’t break eye contact. 

Bellamy takes her in his arms, talks to her about the most important things. Abby. Their intention to do better. She says she tried to do better, and she says “I.” Meaning her alone. Meaning her isolated, bearing the weight, and the loss. He says “WE” did better. Meaning she was not alone, they did it together. 

I do not know what emotions the complainers were looking for. Bellamy was there for Clarke. Clarke needed him. They have both known loss and pain and horror at their own actions. She needed a steady heart to ground her in the loss of her mother so she could deal with it. Bellamy was there to remind her who she was, who they were, that she was not alone and they were together, that they did this together and that it was about something bigger than themselves and that she succeeded, that THEY succeeded. It’s also important to remember that this was a call back to the s2 finale outside of Camp Jaha where se couldn’t bear what she did and he said “what we did.”  It wasn’t enough last time. This time it was what Clarke needed. And she needed him to hold her. And he did.

I think that the complainers were looking for melodrama and histrionics. This show has enough drama, and we don’t need the characters wailing and rending their clothes. Sometimes it is better to step back from dramatics and present a more subtle scene. Because you’re right, Clarke and Bellamy put their responsibilities ahead of their feelings and personal needs. They lead. They fight their battles. They do what’s right. And Bellamy acknowledged this and that it sometimes means they are hurt.

I don’t think they complainers are right and I think we should remember that just because someone has an opinion does not mean it’s a GOOD opinion. Too many people don’t know how to interpret a thing outside of their own bias, or have an actual agenda that they are trying to push with their statements and will, on purpose, twist canon to support their agenda. And because they think their opinion is more important than canon, it doesn’t bother them to outright lie about what’s on screen. I think too many people think of shipping in an antagonistic manner, and if it isn’t being against the opposite ship it’s being against anyone else’s interpretation of your ship-- including the canon one.

People’s feelings and how they feel about a show are important, but those feelings are not canon and not necessarily a reflection on the story. And that means that if we don’t agree or don’t like the opinion, we are free to discard it completely, and not respectfully agree with bullhockey. You do NOT have to take into account interpretations that make no sense and don’t fit with canon. You do NOT have to have the same fanon as someone else. You do NOT have to want the same outcome as someone else. You do NOT have to agree. You actually have come up with your own evidence to dispute their interpretations. Trust yourself. (But be aware that if you do trust yourself and your interpretation and your evidence that people will call you names, because they don’t like their unreasoned interpretations questioned and their freedom to assert bad hot takes as deep wisdom curtailed. I have been called arrogant by a lot of people who are so arrogant that they think no one is allowed to disagree with their ideas, who think their theories are unassailable facts that are more important than canon. People who think they can’t be wrong HATE people who think they’re wrong. It’s very egotistical to think no one can disagree with you.)

The scene was FULL of emotion. Bellamy was Clarke’s rock. Which was what she needed so she’d understand that she did the right thing and not run off again to bear it on her own. If fandom wanted some other scene with “more emotion,” (I’m not sure what that means, tbh, what that would look like, did they want him to kiss her? That would be inappropriate. Or say sorry? Why? That word is not a magic pill and Abby’s death was not his fault,) then they wanted a story that wasn’t being told. They wanted fanon. If they didn’t find that scene satisfying to them, that’s fine for them. Ok But I’m not sure what WOULD satisfy them. 

I suspect nothing. 

Why listen to people about what should happen when they would NEVER like ANYTHING that happened. When all they like to do is complain and say Bellarke sucks and JR is a bad writer and The 100 is trash.

Like. Really. You have permission to ignore bad opinions. Just because someone says them does not mean they are an accurate interpretation of the show.

[phobiadeficient]

any fem mercs (if you like that idea ofc)

heavymedic time based exclusively on the fact that there’s that one like canon concept design for fem!heavy that looks like a black rosie the riveter with a really sick gun, and cards on the table? she’s real hot. and yes the fem!soldier designs are also hot but i could literally never choose between them and that heavy design won favorite by a landslide. that said their appearances are left largely up to interpretation in this and they’re still german and russian because i didn’t wanna make outright OCs. anyways

-

It brought Heavy an awful lot of joy, seeing Medic like this. The usually crisp and professional doctor, there in her pressed coat and clean glasses, not a single hair in her bun out of place, reduced—elevated—to such a complete mess.

Her face flushed, and her eyes foggy, and her mouth open and gasping.

There was the misconception that Heavy’s size somehow related to her ability to do finnicky, precise work. That was not the case. She spent much of her time fine-tuning massive weapons, where even the smallest misalignment could send bullets careening wide or barrels spinning out of place and breaking the entire gun. She knew very well how to be careful, how to be precise. And she used that skill to its fullest on her Doktor, the love of her life.

One massive thumb circling her clit in gentle motions, two fingers buried deep and moving in slow rolls and curls that made Medic keen, worked up and oversensitive and somewhere treading that fine line between desperate for more and desperate to be free of sensation. Heavy’s other hand mostly moved to soothe her, rubbing circles against her stomach, up her arms, occasionally cupping her breast when she started to drift to draw her attention back to the moment.

“One more,” Heavy said softly, leaning in to kiss at Medic’s thigh a few times. “Doktor has one more.”

“I can’t,” she gasped in return, even as her hips bucked, her knees shook and trembled. “Heavy, Gott, I can’t—!”

“You will,” Heavy replied firmly, curling hard, squeezing one breast at just the right pressure to make Medic arch, her lips parted in a lovely “o” shape. “Just let go, Doktor.”

She sped her movements as Medic started rolling joltingly against her fingers, paying better attention to her clit as she drew closer, and it wasn’t too much longer before Medic came one more time with a soft, halting gasp.

Maybe one day Heavy would get her to let go fully, to vocalize and moan to her heart’s content, unashamed. Already she was making progress—it wasn’t often that Medic would let Heavy lay her down and pamper her like this. Usually she was the one taking control, leading the scene, hooking Heavy up to all sorts of different things and watching her with no small amount of delight. Heavy loved it, obviously, she loved every second, but it was refreshing to have a change of pace.

When Medic was done, Heavy gently drew her hand away, wiping it off on the towel she’d placed nearby. Her fingers had gone a bit pruny, but that was to be expected. She spent a few moments giving Medic a cursory wipe-down, making mental note to do a more thorough job later.

Medic murmured something in German, still dazed. A few seconds later she repeated it in unsteady English. “That was incredible, Heavy, thank you,” she managed, breathless. A pause. “Would you like me to…?”

Heavy shrugged. “Is not big difference,” she said. “Is about Doktor tonight.”

Medic sat up with great effort, and it became that much more obvious how much disarray her hair had fallen into, hanging around her face, sweaty and messy and, in Heavy’s opinion, beautiful. The mascara had smudged at the corner of one of her eyes, and it made Heavy smile. “I make you feel good because I like to, meine Bärin,” she said, still a bit short of breath but recovering by the moment. “I enjoy it.”

Heavy smiled. “Then enjoy yourself,” she invited, spreading her arms.

Medic leaned forward, drawing Heavy in further with heels at her hips. She pushed her shirt up and off, gently holding onto Heavy and starting to kiss across her skin, getting a feel for what Heavy wanted just then.

“And I’ll admit,” Medic hummed, gentle into her sternum, “I have been dying to try out a new project I‘ve been working on. Off record.”

Heavy had learned to be excited whenever Medic brought up a project she’d been working on off record. So she moved to help Medic to her feet, and Medic took a moment to steady and reorient herself before moving over to her sets of various boxes and cabinets, rummaging through one for a few seconds before producing something and walking back over.

“If you would strip and get on the table, please?” Medic asked, sounding a little smug. Heavy did so without question, spreading her legs to allow Medic between them and leaning back to get comfortable as Medic turned to one side and briefly wiped the thing down with some sort of cleaning thing she had on the tray with other medical implements. “Would you mind if I restrain your legs, meine Schatz?” she asked.

Heavy gestured for her to go ahead, albeit frowning with mild confusion. “Why is this?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Well, I tested this on myself, of course, and the reaction I had was, er…” She searched for the right word. “…Significant.”

Finally Medic had her restrained, ankles secured to the corners of the table. She then promptly glanced over the little thing in her hand for a few moments then moved to position it over Heavy’s clit. For a moment she paused, glancing around for some kind of lube, before just shrugging and dragging two fingers up through where the majority of Heavy’s slickness was settled, making her hum happily. Once Medic seemed to be satisfied, she worked with eager yet clinical hands to position everything just so.

“Ready?” Medic asked, her eyes twinkling.

“Of course,” Heavy said.

Medic turned the thing on, and Heavy’s world went white.

It took maybe ten seconds for Heavy to come, every muscle going taut, rocking in desperate motions against the powerful, delicious suction that seemed to be trying to pull her soul out of her body. Medic pushed her over the edge all the faster as she slid two fingers in and crooked them just right, and Heavy, for a moment, was worried that she’d blacked out. When the stars stopped dancing in front of her eyes, she was left shivering, panting, ankles aching, and fading back into view was the grinning face of Medic. Belatedly, playing over the previous minute or so in her mind, she realized her aching ankles were a result of her legs jerking hard, hard enough that she was sure she would’ve kicked Medic if she hadn’t been careful. It was no longer on her, and she stared at Medic with wide eyes.

“What is that?” Heavy panted, first in Russian before correcting to English, torn between extremely aroused and a bit terrified.

“I’ve yet to decide on a name,” Medic said, tone breezy and casual. “But I think it’s safe to declare this test a success.”

Heavy nodded absently, shaken to her very core.

“You got me off, what, four times?” Medic asked idly, tracing a shape against Heavy’s inner thigh with slick fingertips. “I think I’ll get you to a nice, round six, hmm?”

Heavy just nodded again mindlessly, lying back, the conflicting mess of emotions settling into simple yet powerful arousal as Medic went to set the toy up again, grinning like a manic.

Her hair was still a mess, and it made Heavy smile for the moment before her world became nothing but sensation and breath.

[edwardslostalchemy]

Thoughts on the Todoroki family members? I know you love Shoto with a burning passion (pun intended), but how would you rate the others? *Roast Endeav*r good for us*

Oh God they’re all my children (except the burning garbage bastard, fuck him). I think they’re all 10/10 would recommend, and the garbage man is -100/10. But just to break it down, let me give you my honest opinion on them:

Shouto: My precious baby bean sweet angel son. If there is anyone who doesn’t know that I adore Shouto with my entire existence, then this is the post that tells you I would die for him and want to see him happy. That’s my favorite kid. He deserves the entire galaxy, holy shit. *chef’s kiss* I see him anywhere and I scream “HE’S SO PRETTY, LET ME ADOPT HIM.” He is my main perspective when I write fics because I can easily self-project onto him. He is relatable despite he and I being super different (as you can see….I explode like a firework and I am more like Izuku who just won’t sit still the fuck), and I want to protect him from the abuse and the trauma. When he gets the flashbacks, that shit feels too real fuck fuck fuck abort abort mission. And when he bursts into flames, I ascend!!!! ANd when he helps Izuku and Tenya fight Stein holy fuck!!! Beautiful!!! Elegant!!!! When he wants to throw hands with the chief of police!!! Bring down the government you stupid bitches!!!! He is not afraid of anyone. He was raised by endeav*r and went through so much abuse he doesn’t give a fuck anymore. Nothing surprises him. He’s done with everyone’s bullshit. He is 15 and he has seen so much in his life. Good luck sneaking up on him. He’ll just glare at you and ask you if you’re done so he can roast the living fuck out of you. Him during the provisional license exam?????? I am struck through the heart. I L O V E him, he is fantastically flawed and he learns from his mistakes and has so much fucking GROWTH. And when he tells Izuku it’s okay to cry???? Man I sob. I S O B like a little BITCH. And during the remedial arc, he’s such a babe. He is so good. Fuck me up with that fire and ice usage!!! He’s just such a great character. He’s also great for expressing myself, too???? Because it’s fun and easy and I can imagine him sitting next to me and just silently judging my actions like “Cook a little faster, you’re starving yourself on purpose.” ANd I’m here like don’t call me out like that. I can’t speed up the stove cooking time. And believe me he always wins. “You can if you’re not a coward.” Fuck he’s right. I have a lot of fun with Shouto. I feel a personal connection to him even if our trauma was different. I just really fucking love Shouto. I don’t know how else to say it other than wow he is just the best character to hit me since….like Edward Elric….he’s also a red head, a fire type character, and has a resting bitch face, which are all characteristics I adore in a character because I, too have a resting bitch face, and I really like fire and red heads. I could go on forever about Shouto if you let me. I didn’t even touch on him being a pro hero. I can write a book on him. 

Natsuo: Oh my God, we stan a king. We don’t get enough of him!! Horikoshi is depriving us of one of the best characters in the entire series. He called out his abusive dad on his bullshit and it was so satisfying. He’s so aggressively passive-aggressive it makes my entire being warm with love for this absolute unit of a bastard child. I hope he gets happiness!! He deserves it!!

Fuyumi: Initially, I really liked her. She was passive and looked to be nervous, but supportive of her brother. And I really like that she was concerned for Shouto!!! She really cares about her family. I resonate a lot with her because I want for my family to be closer, but we do have a few issues that we need to work on. Not as bad as hers, though. During the pro heroes arc, I had the impression she wanted for everyone to just forget about the abuse/neglect endeav*r put them all through, but now I know that isn’t the case. I absolutely love her. She is so cute and sweet and she is the boss of the Todoroki household. The men do what she wants and I think that’s amazing. We stan a queen. 

Dabi/Touya: I’ve loved him since the beginning. When I saw him, I was like aight he cool. A little crazy, but he’s good. And then he used his quirk and I saw his eyes and I was like bro…..he’s Shouto’s brother……holy shit my guy. We are learning so much from so little information we are getting and I think that I have appreciated the limited food we’re fed by Horikoshi, but we been knew. I just can’t fathom the pain and suffering this baby went through as a child at the hands of endeav*r. Whatever we get shown in the future about the abuse, that’ll only add to how irredeemable endeav*r is and how valid Dabi is being a villain, even though it’s wrong to be part of the LoV. I also love fanon Touya. The interpretation of everyone is just the best gourmet food out there for my Touya loving ass. 

Rei: God I cry so much for her. When Shouto goes to visit her, I break down and become a sobbing mess because it’s such a good scene. Whens he turns around and we see her face and Shouto looks like he could cry? Poetic cinema, my dudes. She deserves the entire world and happiness and God, I hope that she can live in a world where she can have some fucking PEACE because she also deserves that. I want for her to be around to watch her son become an amazing pro hero and influence him the way she did when he was little. I just want to take her in my arms and protect her from her awful husband. I can’t stress this enough, Rei was a victim and was not abusive. She is a loving and caring mother who reached her breaking point at an unfortunate time. But she is doing better and I am so happy for her. 

endeav*r: Burn in hell, you fucking bastard. He doesn’t deserve redemption. He has done so much damage to his own family for YEARS. He is abusive, negligent, self-centered, and doesn’t care about them. He only cares about his stupid ass unrealistic obsessive goal, and it led him to hurt his entire family. For years. He deemed 3 of his children failures and favored his youngest as the golden child, and he didn’t even see Shouto as a person. He saw him as a tool, he called him his masterpiece as if he were a work of art or some shit, not a person with feelings and emotions and thoughts of his own. He punched a five year old in the stomach to ‘toughen him up’!!! Shouto was throwing up, crying, and curling in pain on the floor and he still wanted him to get up and fight him, a grown ass man that was like 10 times his own size. As if it weren’t enough, he bought Rei to marry her. And hit her if she got in the way of his ‘trining’. He drove her crazy. He had 3 kids before Shouto and pushed them aside. He drove one of them to villainy. How do you fuck up a child so badly that he becomes a villain??? Holy shit!!!! Fuyumi and Natsuo hate him (just because Fuyumi is a sweet angel princess that did nothing wrong doesn’t mean she doesn’t hate her father. She is just trying to salvage what little she can to meet her own happiness) because he didn’t care about them and he abused their sibling and mother in front of them. He is an asshole. He is a horrible person who took way too fucking long to realize what he was doing was wrong. He is what we say in Spanish, a maniac. Maniacal. Insane. He is the one that deserves to go to jail for all of his bullshit. He deserves all of the disrespect he gets because he’s earned it. I don’t care how amazing of a hero he is. He is a terrible human being that should burn in his own quirk. Fuck him.  

[xwaterice]

“Gray and Juvia” episode final thoughts

I wanted to make a video review but I do not have time for it so I’m gonna write it instead haha anyway... I LOVED THE EPISODE.

“Gray and Juvia” as the title was a blessing. I didn’t expect it tbh because I was sure they’d choose “Fire and Ice” instead... I am so glad I was wrong! SO GLAD. An entire episode focused on Gruvia just like the manga chapters... amazing.

Before commenting the actual episode I’d like to say that, yes, I had high expectations but I also kept in mind that the new season of fairy tail is... sloppy? in terms of animation and adaptation. The pacing is too fast, things get resolved too quickly and I barely felt the “hype” each time the focus was on a huge fight or moment (I mean, when the balcony scene was animated I didn’t even have the time to flutter my eyelashes that it was over already 😂 ). Another negative note is the “still frames” which are very annoying. We definitely aren’t here to see the coloured version of the manga lol but somehow the animation studio has a thing for still frames.... -_- I was also worried they would completely censor the suicide... this to say that I didn’t watch ep 307 expecting something better than manga (that will never, never happen) nor something terrible.

The previous episode about Invel’s introduction and the first part of his fight vs Gray hyped me so much though, I was over the moon because!! THE BLIZZARD!! THE SCENERY! I LOVE IT! It looks so epic, so violent, so DYNAMIC, everything was completely frozen and compared to the previous spriggan fights it looked to DIFFERENT. I felt like it was a completely new world! The OST they played was on point as well!

It just screams “WINTER IS HERE” lmao I loved it. I could talk about this iced background for hours, hahaha if you notice it’s also different than the bg in 499 (Mashima used snow + ground, not actual ice for the floor) and it’s epic. I say it again... EPIC.

Moving on to the actual episode, I was extremely moved when we saw Invel’s portrayal of Gray’s dark side and I think it was a nice extra, scary lol, but surely nice because Gray’s darkness is something we’ve seen building up ever since Ur’s death (“I will seal your darkness”) and now someone is using JUVIA to unleash it.

Gray vs Juvia was good. I like focusing on details and I must say they did a good job in animating water and ice and their respective attacks, as they did with the most important part of the episode: the suicide.

They could have censored it. They really could have. Yet we saw: Juvia’s water blade piercing her (SIDE NOTE: totally love that it starts as ordinary water just to change its properties and harden as Juvia gets ready), BLOOD, more BLOOD, Gray piercing himself, Gray coughing BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD!!! Bloodiest FT ep (and chapter lol)

I think the animation was good; the pacing was ordinary in my opinion. I know that lots of people said it was too fast but I honestly don’t really think it was?... I actually had the time to flutter my eyelashes this time. It could have been slower and that would have been better to build the pathos and make it more dramatic but it wasn’t thaaaaat fast or “rushed” as many say. I think we are too used to the manga that we forget how anime actually is, it’s my problem at least, but I firmly believe this has something to do with the way we perceive this last season.... I take lots of breaks when I read the dialogues to focus on details, and I cannot do this when I watch the anime as it goes on its own. That’s something I forgot because I hadn’t seen the anime in... years lol so yeah I understand where people are coming from, but they spent 12 minutes to anime 499 which is HALF of the episode and the other 10 to animate 500 which was longer than usual and it counts as two chapters in one. 307 was really all about “Gray and Juvia” and all the frames were beautiful drawn.

There was a debate about Invel’s chains years ago and the anime made it clear that as he dispelled the blizzard he also undid Ice Lock freeing Gray and Juvia (lmao he literally miscalculated everything and even helped the enemy... to go after him :))) ). The blizzard is gone and so is the epic scenery, sadly. The still frames from now on... ugh. The random people talking without moving their mouths got me laughing lmao that was so awkward... but... thank god we have Gray and Juvia’s voice actors!! GIVE THEM AN OSCAR PLEASE, Gray’s scream was AWESOME. BREATHTAKING. It was so moving that the still frames weren’t so still anymore, it truly was divine... and I have chills remembering it. I wish they had animated the way Gray got closer to Juvia’s body and held her in his arms more clearly... it wasn’t even shown :/ it’s just still frames and the dynamism is gone. Same for that big Juvia panel, it’s just still while she talks and I didn’t like that... it didn’t need to be still. Anyway, Gray’s va saved this with his broken yet soft “Juvias”, such a beautiful interpretation.

^ this one frame broke me, just saying.

I will say a very unpopular opinion now but I’m honest: I didn’t like the flashbacks. Some were unnecessary (the butt touch one) and lasted too much (413 days) but I won’t complain about those because as many blogs said they wanted to show us how Gruvia’s dynamic has changed over the time from being comedic to romantic (416, 453) and they also confirmed that THIS IS GRAY’S ANSWER. Gray and Juvia went from enemies to lovers and seeing their first encounter was a must imho, but I get why they didn’t add scenes from the oldest season.

Last but not least, I liked Gray kicking Invel’s ass better than in manga lmao Gray looked even SCARIER and more violent imho it was so satisfying to watch. We all know that Invel would have died killed by Gray’s owns hands if he hadn’t to reveal END’s identity. This bitch is in prison now. ;)

That’s all. Enjoy and remember: Gray loves Juvia!

[se-ono-waise-ilia]

I hate it when you leave me unattended

Summary: Ino contemplates her unsatisfying intimate life at a bar packed full of couples experiencing the opposite perspective, much to her frustration. Yamanaka week 2021 submission!

I drafted this before I knew this week is Yamanaka Week 2021! Fun timing, I've never participated in a themed week before. This fic doesn't follow any of the prompts, but it's from the perspective of our darling Ino! So I think it counts for free day :)

Pairings: Ino x Sai, Temari x Shikamaru, Sasuke x Naruto, Sakura x Kakashi, Tenten x Yamato, Hinata x surprise! (hint, features some cloud nin)

Heads up: This is a story of our beloved shinobi enjoying adulthood, and ignores the existence of the Boruto universe.  

Warning: Rated M for suggestive/ smutty themes, alcohol, and a few curse words.

Title from the song "Pretty Please"

Read here on ff.net

Ino couldn't stop listening. Did the content of Temari and Shikamaru's sex life intrigue her? Repulsively so. But did it also make her want to weep in champagne problems despair? Absolutely.

The former Suna nin took another long dredge of her tall glass of sake that wasn't meant to be served in a portion that big (Ino concluded that Temari had simply filled a water glass with sake - which was a fantastic idea), and continued to boast to Ino about the delights of her devastatingly erotic sex life. The telepathic kunoichi was simultaneously transfixed and infuriated.

Recently, the sexual aspect of Ino and Sai's marriage had been... unsatisfying. She was 27 and had been married one year. It was a great marriage. No, it was a wonderful marriage, dammit! The two leaf nin were supportive and loving partners to one another. They were best friends, made each other laugh, had incredible teamwork as roommates and shopkeepers and ninjas. Most importantly: they were in love.

But ... Ino slouched further into the booth of the cozy and dimly lit basement bar... their sexual chemistry as of late had been ... on different pages, to say the least.

As Temari continued to shamelessly drone on about Shikamaru took her against their bedroom wall the other night (Ino simmered in her jealously, it's difficult to have good sex at a vertical angle. How did Temari get so lucky?!), Ino tried to distract herself from envious feelings as she gazed around the bar of familiar friends.

It had been ten years since the ninja war ended, and the whole world was celebrating with numerous festivities for the month. Yes, a whole month. It was incredible to celebrate at this capacity.

On this particular night of celebration, many Konoha jonins, the Hokage and foreign friends had all ended up in the basement of a sake brewery in the trendy night life part of Konoha. Leaf nin had spent the day hosting part one of a showy games tournament featuring prominent war shinobi, and now they were here.

Much to the dismay of the internal turmoil Ino was experiencing, almost everyone in the goddamn bar was oozing sexual chemistry with their partner.

The most blatant example was the infamous war heroes and star crossed lovers, who were playing what should have been a very simple game of trivia with the Hokage and forehead. Evidently, the teams were Kakashi & Naruto vs Sakura & Sasuke. When Sakura asked Sasuke a question, Naruto attempted to sabotage his dark haired lover with publicly inappropriate neck kisses and ear bites. Sasuke appeared to know the answer to the question, but couldn't seem to voice it through clenched teeth.

Ino stared slack jawed at the unfolding steamy scene. Temari had seemed to stop her rambling to also watch, "How's Hokage-sama going to sabotage Sakura with his mask on?" she bit her glass afterwards because that's a thing drunk people do.

The answer presented itself when Sasuke shoved Naruto off of him, spoke (more like yelled) the correct answer, and asked Sakura some sort of question regarding the history of the senbon. All too casually, their esteemed Hokage wrapped Sakura's pink tresses around his fingers and gave a slight tug. Sakura seemed to melt in response, yet was able to answer correctly whilst melting (to the irritation of Sasuke and delight of Kakashi).

Ino looked to her own long blonde tresses, a generous length that could be easily pulled with sensual intent. She wanted Sai to pull her hair. She would have to tell him to do so.

And that was the root of their recent sexual incompatibility: Sai needed to be told what to do.

At the beginning of their relationship about three years ago, Ino didn't mind this quirk one bit. She relished in being assertive and directive in the bedroom. It made her feel in control and empowered. Sai gladly bent to her every whim and want. She knew exactly how she wanted to be satisfied, and how she wanted to satisfy her man, and it was amazing. All she had to do was tell him what she wanted.

But recently, Ino wasn't as satisfied. She wasn't interested in directing every aspect of their sex lives. She wanted Sai to take initiative. To know her wants without her telling him. To openly lust after her. To kiss her neck and bite her ears with cruel and pleasurable intentions. To tug her hair with the confidence and sensuality.

Alas, he didn't operate like that, and their sex life had suffered for it. Ino had gradually stopped telling him what to do in bed after she got them started, which had them moving in the same position until Sai came, and Ino did not. It was ironic that Ino wanted him to read her mind, knowing he couldn't (he could barely read body language cues when naked for kami's sake), then she would get frustrated at both him and herself while he was inside her, which resulted in an unsatisfying night in bed. These past few weeks, that should have been full of post-party drunken banging, Ino had stopped initiating sex altogether.

Evidently Sai interpreted his wife's lack of initiative as Ino not wanting sex.

Which she desperately did!

Watching her best friend melt at the touch of her older lover's clever and commanding fingers in only her hair was the essence of Ino's recent fantasies.

Huffing in frustration, the telepathic nin chose to get herself a drink and find her man and wack him in his stupid expressionless face with her ponytail.

At the bar, Tenten was waiting for her drink with Darui from Kumogakure. Ino perked up at the idea of spending time with the head strong weapons master who was in a new relationship with Yamato. Knowing Tenten's strong will and the captain's bashful sweetness, Ino figured Tenten's presence would be cathartic. Surely they also had a similar dynamic in the bedroom?

As she got closer, she realized Darui must be unaware of Tenten's relationship update. While engaged in an animated discussion regarding the senbon trivia question, he was leaning towards her with an obvious vibe that he was interested in more than just senbons, yet respectably keeping his hands to himself.

Ino ordered her drink close to Tenten and was about to do the classic your-boyfriend-is-looking-for-you tactic, but Tenten's actual boyfriend did it for her. With much less tact.

Yamato had his scary shadowed face on as he appeared quite close to his new girlfriend, "Darui-san."

The cloud nin immediately noticed the proximity as he realized their status and leaned away, "I apologize Tenten-san if I made your uncomfortable. Good to see you Yamato-san, can I buy you both a drink?" Casual and cool as always, even when in an awkward faux pas. He didn't seem affected by the implication of Yamato's interruption.

The shadows left Yamato's face as he nodded in polite thanks and wrapped an arm around Tenten's waist. She didn't seem to mind the masculine possessiveness, as she kissed her new boyfriend on the cheek. Yamato reacted by taking her bar stool and placing her on his lap while gushing with the prior-war general about how they were a new couple. Darui lifted his cup to them.

Sai never placed Ino on his lap, she always sat there on her own accord. Ino sighed as she took a long sip of her fresh drink. She now bet that Yamato didn't need to be told what to do in bed. Suddenly she was imagining the sweet man, who called so many of his peers sempai with a bashful blush on his face, railing into Tenten against a wall.

Ino shook her head in shame with her jealous explicit fantasies of her colleagues who were right next to her. She took her drink and continued to look for her not-possessive husband who was quite unlikely to brush off flirtatious encounters with territorial drive.

She passed by the trivia game again, which now included Shikamaru and Temari. It was the disgruntled nin's turn to answer Kakashi's question regarding the most ideal way to negotiate a deal with Iwakagure to encourage artisans to move to Konoha. It was obvious to everyone except a very drunk Temari, who was leaning over her husband's shoulders and licking his cheek, that Kakashi was milking the strategist's presence for work purposes.

"Troublesome trivia question Kakashi," the shadow nin eyed the Hokage knowingly, yet he quickly generated a response...while sensually stroking his wife's calf with only one finger. He added another, and Ino couldn't help but storm off to the opposite side of the bar.

She finally found Sai ... with Hinata and Omoi? Ino felt a sense of dread as she approached the trio and comprehended the word's coming from her out-of-touch husband's mouth, "Omoi-san, notice how Hinata-san flushed when you told rambled about how fireworks could somehow lead to a misunderstanding that could cause the break of the alliance between the cloud and the leaf? You two are cute together," he made that neutral smile towards the two anxious nin, who clearly only amplified each other's insecure quirks.

Ino rushed over to shove her clueless husband and save this catastrophic set-up, "Omoi-san, I believe Darui-taichou wanted to meet Hinata-chan? Seeing as he's being groomed to be the next Raikage, it's important to have a continued positive relationship with the Hyuga clan."

Hinata looked to the bar, blushed (the way she used to at Naruto, indicating she found the cloud nin attractive), and pulled at her long hair nervously, "I-I-I don't think now's the time for me to meet Darui-sama. We should h-h-have a more formal meet-"

Omoi seemed contemplative at the idea, "If Hinata-san and Darui-taichou meet at a bar, what if he buys her a drink? Then, what if they flirt and have good chemistry? Then Hinata-san will bring Darui to the Hyuga clan, who will undoubtedly speculate his intentions for her. But Darui-tachou is an honorable man, and will prove his love for the Hyuga princess with..."

Ino was surprised to find herself enfolded with Omoi's romantic tangent. Darui's calm nature would be good for Hinata, his status of decorated war general and upcoming Raikage was worthy of the heiress's stature, and (if they made it work) the match could be a beautiful symbol of forgiveness and peace between the two village's violent history. Although Ino's spontaneous idea of an introduction was quick thinking of how to salvage the awkward chemistry between anxious nin, this was a fantastic opportunity.

While Omoi continued to ramble about how Hinata would adjust to life as the Raikage's wife, with his ever present lollipop somehow staying in his mouth, Hinata's breathing intensified and she started to fan herself. Ino took her now sweaty hair out of the nervous nin's fidgety hands to style it in a thick side braid, modeled how to breathe slowly, all the while nodding in approval of Omoi's outrageous fantasy that was very romantic and actually a really good idea.

Ino curtly told Omoi to shut it, folded his arm to formally hold Hinata's in the crook of his elbow for a proper escort, and shoved them in the direction of the bar. Ino also told Hinata she could only fidget with the bottom portion of the braid.

Sai was about to say something, when Ino covered his mouth with her hand in shushing manner. Although she had been looking for her oblivious idiot of a husband all night, she was now invested this potential pairing, and for the first time tonight her sexual frustration wasn't at the forefront of her mind. She grabbed Sai's hand to pull him closer to the trivia game so she could watch from a better view.

Darui was quick to notice Hinata's approach, as he quickly stood with uncharacteristic alertness. He bowed quite formally, Hinata bowed back and also greeted Tenten and Yamato (who took a hint, excused themselves, and took Omoi with them). Damui offered the shy beauty his bar stool, asked her a question to which she bashfully answered without making eye contact, and he ordered her a drink. Ino couldn't hear them, but she was quick to deduce that the war general was quite taken with the angelic Hyuga princess. A few Hyuga also present at the bar noticed the exchange with the prominent cloud nin, and were quick to put themselves on duty standing by Hinata's side in a chaperone/ bodyguard manner. Damui was unfazed as he greeted them respectfully and ordered them drinks as well. Hinata seemed to appreciate this courtesy as she gazed at the captain with admiration while fiddling with the bottom of her braid.

Ino was so involved in the romantic spark struck at the bar she almost didn't notice Sai's hand was gently caressing the back of her arm with his knuckles. It took several moments for Ino to register the touch and look up into her husband's eyes in confusion. He had never pulled that move on her before, let alone any moves of this nature.

His almost expressionless face conveyed something sincere that Ino couldn't put her finger on. Yet she relished in this gentle moment of intimacy, leaning into him and nuzzling his tall and lean form as he put his arm around her and rested his chin on her head. The future romance of Hinata and Damui didn't seem too important anymore. Sai was holding her, and nothing else mattered.

It was then she noticed that right in front of them, Kakashi was brushing the back of Sakura's arm with his knuckle, and Sakura was looking into the Hokage's eyes as if all her dreams had come true. Kakashi then leaned in to whisper something into her best friend's ear.

Sai lifted Ino's chin so he could do the same, "I miss touching you, Ino," he whispered into her ear. She looked up to meet his hooded eyes and observe his gorgeous oval face.

Heat pooled at Ino's core as her husband made her wet in the first time in far too long. How tempted she wanted to say something sly like "Kiss me like you miss me," and jump into his waiting arms. She almost did, so they could once again be that shameless couple who blatantly made out in public. Such fond memories.

It was so tempting, but it struck Ino that in all their relationship, Sai had been learning how to be intimate solely from her cues. She looked to the various styles of physical flirtation happening at this steamy trivia table. Perhaps Sai should start learning from others...

She eagerly leaned up to whisper into her artist's ear, "Then touch me like they touch their lovers," she then blew into his ear to get him in the mood, and dragged him to the trivia table.

It was Naruto's turn to answer a question about the political process of appointing a feudal lord. Instead of answering, he was glaring at Sasuke who was sitting smug with his one arm resting on the back of his chair, "Teme, you're supposed to...you know...sabotage!"

"The game implies you only sabotage if you know the answer, which you don't, userantonkachi," the arrogant nin responded with a knowing smirk. Naruto banged his head onto the table in disappointment.

Temari cackled at the fox-carrier's misfortune, and then prompted the new players, "Sai-kun! Your question is..." Ino excitedly prepared to sabotage her man as she sat closer to him on the bench. Should she use her fingers, lips, breath, hair...so many choices! It had been weeks since she felt hopeful at the thought of touching her lover, "Name the second Mizukage's summoning."

Ino started dancing her fingers on Sai's thigh when he answered all too quickly, "Giant clam."

The would-be temptress wanted to smack him. Sai didn't get the point of how to really have fun with this game! She was about to remove her hand, when he grabbed it. She glared at him, willing him to know what was wrong without her having to spell it out for him, but then she noticed his vacant expression. That meant he was trying to understand.

"So when it's Ino's turn, I'm expected to sabotage her if she knows the answer?" He looked to his friends, "How?"

"Like this, Sai," Naruto was all too enthusiastic to explain as he attempted to again assault Sasuke's ear, but the raven-haired nin quickly shoved his hand into Naruto's cheek to block him.

Sai continued to stare with his vacant expression, "Molest your partner against their will?"

The table reacted with vigorous "no no no" and head shakes.

Temari whispered something into Shikamaru's ears. He sighed, "Such a drag. Sai, pick a card and ask Temari a question. Notice what I do."

Sai obeyed and picked a card, "Temari-san, which hand symbol is most commonly used by sensory type nin." Ino had to bite her lip from blurting out the answer. Sai gave her a knowing look, and she couldn't help but peck her cute husband on the cheek.

The wind user's eyes brightened, "Oh, I think I remember this one," but those same eyes quickly grew hooded as the shadow user pulled down the shoulder of her dress and placed featherlight kisses upon the newly bared skin. Sai nodded his head in understanding.

"Time's up," Kakashi chuckled after about 10 seconds. Temari didn't seem to care as she leaned into her husband with a drunken smile.

Shikamaru smirked at his beloved then looked back to Sai, "By sabotage, it means distract your partner with attention of a sensual nature to prevent them from answering."

Sai nodded, "So who's winning?"

He received a variety of shrugs. Sakura giggled, "Naruto and Kakashi have a consistent losing streak."

Naruto growled as Sai looked quizzically at the Hokage. Said leader of the village shrugged with a closed eye smile, "Sakura's public displays of affection interest me more than answering a trivial question correctly."

Sakura stopped giggling, "I knew I shouldn't have bothered when you claimed to not know any demonic illusion genjutsu hand symbols!"

"The things your hand symbolized on my leg were a much more tantalizing way to capture my imagination and enjoy the game," his eyes fixed on Sakura's.

She stared right back at him and bit her lip, "Well I expect you to be creative with your hand symbols tonight."

"When am I ever not?" said the nin with confidence as he pulled the medic nin onto his lap and nuzzled her neck. Sakura blushed while laughing at the tickling sensations. From what Sakura shared with Ino during girl's night, all of those years of Kakashi reading porn resulted in quite an adventurous sex life. Ino had never been more jealous of forehead in her life.

Ino looked to Sai with hopeful eyes. Perhaps she and him should start reading erotic literature? He nodded in partial understanding, with that expression he always makes when he's learning something new, and pulled Ino onto his lap. The blonde excitedly moved her long hair to her opposite shoulder and prepared herself for the delights of nuzzling, but instead she felt Sai simply press his face into the crook of her neck.

It wasn't a playful act, Ino noticed as his arms tightened around her. It was an act of ... longing. She was beginning to realize that Sai missed being intimate with her as much as she did with him. She crossed her arms to also wrap them around his, tightening the embrace as she leaned into him.

"Sasuke, are you OK?" Naruto asked his boyfriend, who looked repulsed by the scene in front of him.

The raven haired man pointedly looked away from his ex-teacher and teammate to pick a card from the pile, "Ino, this question is for you," she and Sai perked their heads up. She wanted to get excited to see what Sai would do, but she also didn't want to get her hopes up. Should she just put Sai's hands where she wanted them to control her pleasure, as she used to? But she really wanted him to take initiative...

Ino let out a breath. She already told Sai she wanted him to observe and replicate, and the rest was up to him. He was in learning mode, he could figure this out. She believed in her husband.

"What is the clan symbol for the Tsuchigumo clan?"

Ino had no idea.

Sai lifted her wrist and started to draw a design above her pulse. It felt lovely, but it wasn't affection at the same level as the other couples. Then she realized he was making the symbol.

Her beloved had yet to grasp the fun of the game, as he was actually helping her win as he drew a spider on her pulse. She sighed in acceptance. Was her husband as sex-driven as the other males at the table? No. But does he support and care for Ino? Always. When Ino reflected on it, that mattered more in their marriage.

As she was about to announce the answer, she was interrupted by an accusatory forehead, "That's cheating!"

While at the same time, Kakashi suggested, "Sai, use your tongue."

The moment Sai heeded the Hokage's recommendation to draw a spider on her pulse with his tongue, Ino lost the ability to speak as she tried to hold back her whimpering. She never realized how sensitive a wrist could be before.

"Time's up," Shikamaru announced with a smirk.

Ino paid them little attention as they moved onto the next question, for she felt Sai growing hard against her lower back and shift his hot mouth to her ear.

"Can we please make love tonight?" he whispered. If she wasn't mistaken, there was a rare hint of yearning in it. Ino hadn't been this turned on in months.

She stood to reverse her position and straddle him, "That depends, my love. What have you learned tonight?"

Sai was taken aback, but he concentrated, "Use knuckles to caress skin, kiss your shoulders, put you on my lap," at that thought, he used his hands to grab her ass and bring her closer to him. Ino cursed as her skirt rode up and they were connected at an extremely intimate position for a public bar.

Her husband continued with a less focused face, "place my face into the crook of your neck," which he did, "and lick you in unexpected places," which he also did, and experienced her collarbone being licked for the first time in her life.

Ino felt need pulse between her legs.

"And pull her hair!" Temari joyfully recommended, almost falling out of her husband's lap.

"Grazing skin with your teeth will get a reaction too," Naruto proudly chimed in, much to the embarrassment of Sasuke.

"Pick her up and be creative with your environment," Kakashi winked.

"Don't just wait for her to tell you what to do. Take initiative," Sakura directed, the best friend in the world that she is.

Sai dutifully nodded to all these recommendations. As fun as it would be to stay, it had been too long and they were both about to burst with desire, "Take me home, Sai."

Following Kakashi's suggestion, Sai stood straight up, lifting Ino with him. As she tightened her legs around him so he could make the proper symbols for his transportation jutsu, she looked to Sakura and Temari and mouthed 'thank you' to them both.

"Have fuuuuuun," Sakura winked as the Hokage gave them a thumbs up.

"Fuck her brains out, Sai!" Temari squealed as Shikamaru asked Naruto to get them water.

And then they were home. And then they were naked. And then ... oh ... Sai was a dutiful student.

---

A/N: I actually played this steamy sabotage style of trivia at a house party when my partner and I were a new couple. It was super fun. But the game only works if every couple wants to play it that way. We realized that when some of our friends in less affectionate relationships were super uncomfortable lol...

Anyone else into the idea of Hinata x Damui?