#I love seeing these anecdotes about his competitive nature

[ikram1909]

Catalunya Radio invited the famous la masía driving teacher and asked him who's the player he had to step in for the most or slow him down for a stop etc

García: "let's see, by character you can guess"

Literally everyone: "el Gavi" 😭😭

García: "by character, yes. that is to say, it's about going 30, 25... for a street, he'd be like "only 30 here? everyone else was ahead of us" holding him back was difficult." 😭😭

[giamee]

🥣 ᯓ★୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ animator!welt x apprentice!reader

request ؛ ଓ @gonuclear do you think i could request welt yang with a reader that’s working as his apprentice (whether it’s a modern au or not is up to you! i don’t mind either way :) ) and he ends up starting to fall in love with them? maybe he even confesses 👀 up to you! thank you so much!! 💖

gia's notes ؛ ଓ haii thank u for requesting welt i loved writing for him!! unfortunately no confession because i am a sucker for pining 😔 it's also kinda short sorry

word count ؛ ଓ 0.8k ( + pining, fluff?? no warnings, kinda weird perspective changing cos its kinda from your pov at the start but from his later idk )

WELT'S A GOOD TEACHER. he's good at his craft, well-versed in tips and tricks and adequate enough to not only tell you about them, but ensure that you fully understand him too.

it's a pleasure to watch him work, too- a master at his craft, though he'd shake his head and chuckle in denial if you were to ever say it to his face. his face a perfect picture of concentration, velveteen voice narrating his actions as you watch on in awe as if he makes life itself sprout from the screen before him, as the sequence begins to take cohesive form.

it was that tiny screen that connected the two of you as well, two separate frames now working in tandem, many late nights spent trying to reach a deadline in time drawing the pair of you intangibly closer to each other.

so really, welt should have anticipated his feelings for you transitioning from a mild fondness to... something more profound.

it creeps up on him gradually, of course.

you're quite the talkative type, as opposing to the more reserved nature of welt. you can't help but share little tidbits about yourself, anecdotes about you and your friends, or little facts about yourself that welt surreptitiously makes a mental note of.

he can't help himself, either. he'll find that aspects of you bleed into his life away from work, too. even after he leaves the building so late, bidding you a good night that you cheerfully return, the next morning he'll be brushing his teeth, eyeing his weary reflection in the mirror, shuffling around his modest apartment until he catches something that brings his mind back to you, and he'll stop for a second to wonder just why he's thinking of you, his apprentice.

some point along the way, all the forced proximity with all of those late nights, you had ever so sneakily been promoted in his mind from an apprentice to something else altogether.

your eagerness, your determination- the passion with which you spoke and the way peals of laughter left you are not the first things that should be coming to mind when he thinks of you. the way you're like a breath of fresh air to him, how soft your hair looks, the bright shine in your eyes- no, welt mustn't think about it for too long.

and despite his reluctance to admit the true nature of his feelings- to break apart his forced ambivalence- your conniving self managed to sneak through anyway.

the realisation hits him one particular late night. it was just the two of you in his dingy office, though it was no deadline that caused the two of you to be the only ones left within the building. instead, it was a rather special occasion.

you had been making fine progress whilst being his apprentice, your own talent for animation beginning to really hone itself- to the point where he was confident in encouraging you to enter a competition.

and when the announcement of the winners rolled around (a date that he definitely had not written in his diary), he had the joy of seeing your beaming fave as you bounded into his office, telling him all about how you had won first place.

and then you had procured two containers of takeout from behind your back- saying how you wanted to say thank him for his guidance and celebrate with him, waving him off as he stammered out some flimsy excuse of not wanting to keep you here later than necessary.

nonsense, you had told him. besides, you liked spending time with him.

that sentiment had him sitting up straighter in his chair, allowing an indulgent smile before he half-heartedly schooled his expression into one of neutrality again. his heart was beating a little faster, he noticed, his silly physical response to you making him feel like a schoolboy with a crush.

but it's not until he opens the takeout box in front of him to see his favourite meal- you had asked himeko what it was to get it right- and your beaming face watching for his reaction, did it truly hit him.

he realised just how much he had fallen for you. how strong the fondness for you has taken root within him, how light his soul feels when he returns your smile with an approving nod of his own.

but for every reason he finds to love you, he can't help but continue to bite his tongue, to remain restrained and merely smile and nod along to what you say instead of offering more of himself to you.

maybe one day, he tells himself. the half-promise leaves a bitter taste on his tongue.

but it doesn't change the fact that as of right now, he's more than content just basking in your company, a mere planet orbiting the bright sun that you are, revelling in the brightness and warmth that comes with you.

IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY ... because love can burn like a cigarette

hsr men as your high school crush

alternatively, you can find my hsr masterlist here! ୨ৎ

[cityofmeliora]

kinda late but here is the Terzo childhood headcanons AKA new yorker Terzo post. for @plaquerat <3

ok so. i don't really have a solid interpretation of the lore, and my headcanons aren't very detailed. i'm open to floating a lot of different ideas. here are some that i like:

i've liked the idea that Terzo was primarily raised by his mother ever since i first saw the interview where TF (as nameless ghoul) suggests Terzo may be nicer than Secondo because "he seems to have, i dont know, a kinder mother?" and then i found the official instagram post mentioning Terzo's mother attending his concert in New York, and i was like 'oh! maybe she lives there. maybe Terzo used to live there with her.' it got me thinking...

Terzo was born in california and then moved to new york with his mom after she and Nihil split.

seeing the skyscrapers in new york for the first time was a really formative experience for him. that sense of awe he felt eventually inspired his interest in art deco and futurist art. new york became the base for his imaginary city of Meliora. (this is partly inspired by my own experience as a native californian because we don't really have tall buildings in california and i FREAKED OUT when i visited new york and chicago and saw REAL tall buildings.)

Terzo's mother was an artist and he spent a lot of time in the studio with her and her artist friends. their apartment walls were covered with Terzo's own art.

art and music and culture have always been at the center of Terzo's life. he and his mom would always be listening to music or viewing art galleries or watching movies together. i think Terzo's dynamic with his mother was very much like this anecdote from Carly Rae Jepsen:

My mom and I would sit and meticulously go through Leonard Cohen and Joni Mitchell lyrics together. Even from a young age I remember her being like, “I’m playing this Leonard Cohen song called ‘Famous Blue Raincoat,’ and when it’s done I want you to tell me what’s going on in it.” She would give me like a fake glass of wine when I was 8, and I would listen and be like, “I think there was an affair.” Pitchfork - Carly Rae Jepsen on the Music That Made Her (2019)

Terzo turned out to be a gifted child. super smart and naturally talented at a lot of things, but he particularly loved to build with lego / blocks and play piano.

Terzo had a great relationship with his mom. she always supported him and encouraged him to pursue his interests and to do his best.

Terzo missed his dad though. his parents had been together long enough for Terzo to remember him. he was just a kid. he didn't know any better.

when Ghost debuted and Nihil became an internationally famous one-hit wonder, Terzo developed this idealized image of Nihil as a cool rock star cultural icon in his head. idolized him a bit.

after this, Terzo decided he wanted to get serious about becoming an entertainer / musician. started doing piano recitals and competitions. youth theater. film club. all the things.

if anyone asked Terzo why he wanted to become an entertainer, he'd tell them it's because it's what he's good at. and he's always wanted to be famous. which was true, but...

what he wouldn't tell them is that a part of him was trying to emulate [his idea of] his dad and secretly hoping that if he shared that interest / became famous his dad would want come back into his life.

he knew his mom was always there supporting him, but every time he went onstage he would look out into the audience hoping his dad might be there to surprise him. (he never was.)

Nihil was the first of many many disappointments in Terzo's life.

oops! i made it sad.

anyway here's a doodle of kid Terzo getting a postcard from his dad... he didn't hear from his dad again for a very. very long time after that.

there are a lot of details i haven't square hammered out, but it's okay because these headcanons are mostly for me to like, frame Terzo's character development over time. might post more later :)

[bookishlilcorner]

A Kiss under the Never Ending Sky

Gwynweek2022 Day 6: Romance & Ships

A Gwynriel short fanfiction

If it wasn’t obvious already, I love the idea of Gwyn and Azriel being endgame (and most likely mates)!

Although I think both Azriel and Gwyn have to go through their healing journey (especially Azriel, he needs to get his shit together), I honestly believe they might have one of the best romances in the ACOTAR universe. The potential is there and is so sweet and cute!

I love how Gwyn brings out a side of Azriel we have never seen before. He’s much more relaxed, smiles and laughs with her. He doesn’t shy his hands away from her gaze and is out of his head (and self-loathing). He seems much more radiant and himself around her. And I love how Gwyn is so comfortable around Azriel as well. She doesn’t mind being alone with him not only during Solstice, but also during private dagger lessons. She is competitive and talks back to him when he gets cocky. Their interactions feel so natural! And we certainly didn’t miss the slight romantic coding between them. ;)

I made a little piece of Gwyn and Azriel sharing their first kiss on Starfall. It’s all fluffy and warm! Enjoy!

Word Count: 3k

@gwynweek2022

______________________________________________________________

Tonight’s Starfall was the most animated one Azriel had ever seen since Rhysand came back from Under the Mountain.

He could see it all through the large window of the dinner room at the House of Wind. Faes of all kind, clad in suits and dresses of all colors, iridescent under the street lights, were dancing in Velaris’s open air centre. Stations of food were displayed in front of the different stores and restaurants surrounding the centre, the warm scent of their spices enticing and delicious. The wind carried the Night Court’s signature scent of jasmine and lilies around, hitting Azriel’s face with softness like a gentle caress.

His shadows surrounded him, whispering things about what was going on. Apparently, Cassian had tripped over a step while showing Nesta the city centre’s decorations and was sprawled out on the floor while Nesta laughed at him. Feyre had gently pushed Rhys after he made another dirty joke. Elain and Lucien were by the river, talking about things he couldn’t hear. They seemed to be getting along pretty well these days. And Mor was with Amren and Varian, laughing with a glass of wine about some anecdote Varian was telling them.

A small smile spread across his face. He couldn’t wait to go down there with everyone, with Morrigan, Emerie, Elain, his brothers Rhysand and Cassian and their mates, Feyre and Nesta, Amren and her... Varian. He wasn’t sure what they were exactly. And of course, with Gwyn.

Gwyneth Berdara and he became friends. Close friends even, although he wasn’t sure now if what he felt for her was truly platonic. He couldn’t take his eyes off her whenever they were together, either during training with Cassian and the other valkyries or when they were hanging out by the river or in the House alone. She was always on his mind at night, and not in a steamy kind of way. He kept thinking about what he could do to make her happy and smile the way it made his heart bounce at every occasion, about how warm, comfortable and just right her hugs were, about her coppery brown hair that light up in strands of gold and red under the sun and about how her teal eyes sparked every time they look at each other, bringing back the sparks he felt inside since that Solstice.

She made him feel things he never did before. He felt a little thing for Elain before and he thought he had been in love with Mor, but whatever it was with them didn’t even come to the feet of what he was feeling for Gwyn. 

But maybe that is because they’re best friends, right?

Rhys and Cassian were rolling their eyes when he said that, the night before. 

“Az, you’re in love. Stop with the excuses and face it.” Cassian said.

“You’re describing the exact same things I feel for Feyre. You’re gone for her, brother.” Rhys added.

Although his pathetic excuses made them want to roll to their graves, they were overjoyed. Not only did he open up and came to them for advice, but they also noticed just how relaxed and happy he was. He no longer looked shrouded with envy and self-loathing. He no longer stayed in his corner with his thoughts. He no longer had that icy rage burning in his eyes.

And it wasn’t entirely because of Gwyn. They could sense it. The shift that made him want to become better, to be at ease with himself, started before he began to feel more for her than friendship. They didn’t know exactly what caused it, but it must’ve been quite big for him to snap out of his misery. A rude awakening indeed.

He didn’t hear the footsteps coming up. His shadows didn’t bother telling him anyways. Gwyn stood in front of the room, about to step into the threshold.

She stared at the Shadowsinger’s figure by the window looking down outside, the wind blowing through his made up hair. Wearing a black, neat cut suit with slits for his Illyrian wings, the blazer beautifully crafted with small intricate details of dancing silvery swirls, his cobalt blue siphons glowing lightly, he looked like the angel of Death with his shadows swirling around him, bringing out his sharp angular features.

Beautiful, lethal, almost dangerous to touch, and yet Gwyn felt the urge to run her fingers over his sharp jawline, his strong eyebrows, his tall nose, his soft lips. She felt the air constrict in her throat as he softly smiled at the gathering outside, and the sight of him made her all hot and nervous.

He was her closest friend after Nesta and Emerie, and she was irrevocably in love with him.

She licked her lips, composing herself. She didn’t want him to know how much he affected her.

“Lost your head in the stars?”

He turned his head at the feminine voice, sweet yet deep and mystical, and he felt the air knocking him out of his balance at the sight of her.

Gwyn stood at the threshold with a confident gaze, a hand on her hip and the other on the doorframe. She wore a gown of a deep blue almost identical to the cobalt siphons on his person, reflecting the light of the city on its smooth, silky material. He caught shine on the dress. The tissue had been encrusted with a few small crystals here and there, less in number than the one Feyre wore during her first Starfall. The straps of the upper bodice was held onto below her shoulders by a silvery adornment on both sides, and a deep sweetheart neckline showed a bit of her cleavage. She wore silver bracelets on her wrists with details he couldn’t tell, and a crystal headpiece on her head with dropping strands of silver gems on top of her hair, the resulting effect being a harmony of gold, red, brown and silver blue.

His shadows danced at the sight of her as well, following a music he couldn’t hear, but feel. He was finding it hard to breathe.

Mother above, he thought, she‘s putting the stars to shame. She’s so beautiful.

Look who’s sprouting poetry now, his shadows seemed to say.

“Your mouth’s hanging open.” She teased, walking towards him.

He closed his mouth at the statement, his face turning hotter. He meant to take a step towards her, but his legs felt weak, so weak, that he stumbled on his feet. Gwyn’s laugh echoed in the room.

“I’ve made the Shadowsinger of the Night Court stumble on his feet. That must earn me some respect, and rewards.” She teased with a wide smile.

Now that they were standing close, he noticed gold and silver sparkles on her eyelids, her long eyelashes coated with darkness, bringing out the blue in her irises. Her smile became softer, her plumb lips coated rosy nude.

He stared at her lips a little too long, because his shadows suddenly seemed to tell him to look away. He smiled at her and said, “You’ve dolled yourself up pretty nicely.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Looks like I’m not the only one.” She reached her hand towards his shoulder, tracing the silver swirls.

“Rhys insisted I dress up for the occasion.” The lie came out smoothly. In truth, he went to Rhys for help, but no way would he ever admit that out loud.

“I didn’t think I’d see you without your Illyrian leathers and weapons.”

“I’m not unarmed.” He answered, showing his dagger, Truth-teller, under his blazer. He never was.

“So am I.” She smirked. She pushed the fabric of her gown aside, the slit showing her two daggers strapped to her thigh.

He wasn’t sure if the weather went warmer or he did.

She started to take her hand off his shoulder, but he caught it in his hand, dropping his head to press a slight kiss. Barely a brush of his lips grazed her skin, and yet he swore she held her breath at the touch. He smirked, feeling satisfied with himself at how affected she was around him even with her best efforts to hide it. He looked at the bracelets on her wrists, catching the details depicting designs synonymously Illyrian.

He lifted his head, his gaze turning from tease to seriousness. “Y-you-“ He cleared his throat. “You look really beautiful tonight.”

She blushed, but held her chin high. “I’d hate to add to your cocky ego, but I must say you’re pretty handsome yourself.”

He laughed, his shadows swirling around their locked hands. “Let’s join the others, shall we?”

The stars were falling. Specks of green, gold, teal and white floating in the sky over the crowd of Faes drinking, eating and dancing the night away.

Gwyn was seated with Emerie, Nesta, Mor, Elain and Lucien. Emerie and Mor, drunk, were playing some sort of game, their shoulders touching. Elain and Lucien were in a debate over which court had the prettiest flowers between Day, Dawn and Spring. Lucien seemed to be winning so far as his travels all over Prythian gave him an advantage over Elain and her books on flowers. Gwyn and Nesta, by themselves, were discussing smutty books they’ve been reading recently.

Azriel, at the other end of the open air centre, was in the middle of a challenge with Cassian. The loser had to babysit Nyx while the other would go with Rhys to Illyria for some court business. He would’ve easily won had he not been so entranced by Gwyn’s mesmerizing laugh that echoed all the way to him despite the loud sound of the crowd. He didn’t understand how he could hear her, but he did. This thing between them was something else, something he could never explain. It glowed inside whenever he and Gwyn were having a good time, and went tight whenever something was not right with her. He felt connected to her, and strangely didn’t mind it.

Rhys and Feyre were dancing under the falling stars, their eyes softly staring into each other. He smiled at them, at the love they had for one another. Amren and Varian were nowhere to be seen, but he suspected they went somewhere else for more privacy.

“Just ask her to dance.” Cassian’s voice broke his trail of thoughts.

He turned his head, shadows resting by his shoulders. “What?”

“It’s obvious you want to. You’ve barely paid attention to the game, which you lost by the way. Have fun babysitting Nyx tomorrow. Two years old and his powers are already threatening to blast Rhys’s town house.” Cassian snickered, taking a sip of his wine.

Azriel groaned. Fair. “She’s already comfortable with Nesta. I don’t want to-“

“Shut up.” He interrupted. “She was comfortable with Nesta, but I’m about to ask my mate to dance. Also, Gwyn would not reject a dance from you, unless you pissed her off. Did you?”

He shook his head. Their interaction at the House did not indicate any sign of Gwyn being pissed at him.

Cassian put a large hand on his back, laughing. “You were the one making fun of me complimenting Nesta five years ago, but look at you now. Anyways, I miss my mate. See you.”

He took two steps before turning back. “Oh, and make it romantic.”

Azriel glared at him half-heartedly. “We’re just friends.”

“Sure you are.”

Azriel, now left alone, contemplated how to ask her. It should be simple, no? Just ask her. Why was he so damn nervous about such a simple question?

Gwyn, now alone after Cassian took Nesta away, stared into the crowd. Cassian, ever the awkward, but surprisingly good dancer, laughed at some insult Nesta threw him, but she could tell by the soft eyes and smile on her face that it wasn’t anything mean. She smiled at them before catching movement by the corner of her eye.

One shadow curled in front of her, disappearing as quickly as it appeared, and she laughed. Azriel must’ve sent it to her. She stood up, passing by Lucien and Elain, the latter holding the handsome red-head’s hand.

Azriel wasn’t at the place he was with Cassian when she saw them earlier. She looked around before finding a pair of Illyrian wings by the bridge standing over the river. There was only a few other people there. He stared at her with a soft smile, the light of the stars above illuminating his face parts of his handsome face while leaving others in the dark. She could’ve sworn her heart skipped a beat at the sight.

She reached to him, resting her back on the balustrade. “Your shadow sent me word that you wanted me here.”

He stared at her. “My shadow? I didn’t send it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sure you didn’t.”

He adjusted his collar, seeming nervous. She noticed. “Is everything alright?”

He nodded. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I was wondering if- do you want to dance? With me?”

She stared at him before deciding to tease him. “Hm, let me think. Do I want to dance?”

A silence fell. He looked at her. She was making him even more nervous as he stood there waiting for her answer.

She noticed it as well and couldn’t help but smile, taking his hand in hers. “Of course I want to dance with you.”

The smile that spread across his face shone so brightly it could put Rhys’s to shame. He pulled her closer to him, his arm circling her waist slowly, “Is it okay for me to touch your waist?”

She nodded, his touch leaving tingles all over her body. “Yes.” She breathed.

They danced like this, the stars falling over their head, with the sight of the mountains behind the Illyrian spymaster’s wings and the river illuminated by green, silver and gold starlight. Having her so close to him, her scent clouding his mind, made Azriel feel so at ease, so relaxed, so happy. This night was perfect beyond words.

“I like Starfall. It’s different from seeing it from the library’s windows.” Gwyn said, looking up. “The crowd is so lively, the food is exquisite, and I love being surrounded by my friends during such a beautiful night. But most of all, I get to spend it with you.”

He stared at her, stared as her teal eyes shone with starlight. Damn, he thought. I’m in love with her.

Rhys and Cassian were right. He was such a dumb, blind fool.

“With me?” He whispered, his hair catching a strand of her hair and placing it behind her delicately arched ears, slightly touching the crystals on her hair.

She looked into his eyes, swirls of honey and green specks. “Of course. You’re important to me, Az.”

He felt his heart warm up at the words, and he wrapped his arms around her, his chin resting softly on her head. He closed his eyes, whispering, “You are important to me too. You have no idea.”

She wrapped her arms around him, closing her eyes as she breathed him in. He smelled so nice, a blend of wood and jasmine. Their bodies moved side to side at the slow song playing from the city’s centre.

She unwrapped her arms first, wanting to stare into the eyes of the male she loved, but instead her eyes fell on his lips. She didn’t know why, but she wanted to kiss him so badly. She did for awhile, but tonight felt particularly stronger.

She unconsciously bit her bottom lip, but Azriel noticed. He noticed her stare as well, what it was looking at, and his heart started beating faster. She wanted to kiss him. He could tell. And he knew he wanted to kiss her as well, wanted to get lost in her scent, her touch and her taste.

He began slowly lowering his head, hers immediately raising to close the gap. Resting their foreheads against each other’s, he looked at her face, her closed eyes, and asked, “I- Can I kiss you?”

She nodded. “Yes, please.” She sounded eager, as if she had been waiting for this moment for a long time.

He grinned, closing the gap between them as their lips touched. Sparks lit up between them, his shadows swirling around them, as if dancing and singing to a song only they could hear. He put his hand by the side of her neck, tilting her head up as he deepened the kiss. She rose her arms to his chest, bringing herself closer to his body. He felt so warm, so nice. She couldn’t get enough of his touch.

They were so deeply engrossed in their kiss under the falling stars that they didn’t notice eyes staring at them. Cassian and Nesta were grinning, telling Emerie ‘I told you so’, the latter laughing and suggesting ideas on how to torment them during training. They walked away from the very platonic couple, giving them some privacy, and joined the rest of the crowd.

They laid their foreheads against one another after their kiss, laughs leaving their mouths. Gwyn pulled back to stare at the stars, a beautiful smile on her face. “This Starfall is really one of a kind.”

Azriel, who was totally looking at the sky, said, “Yes, it is.”

She looked down to see him gaze at her. She playfully hit his chest gently. “Oh, shut up, shadowsinger.”

He laughed, tightening his grip on her hand. His shadows curled around their hands. He looked behind her, noticing some movement. “I see Rhys and Nesta calling us. Do you want to join them?”

She looked behind at the crowd, at the ambience and the life it exuded. “Do you?”

He nodded. He felt particularly sociable tonight strangely enough, as if Gwyn’s kiss revived some energy deep inside him. They made their way to the crowd.

The rest of the night went smoothly. Azriel had fun with Rhys and Cassian, making up silly games the drunker they got, and the women would challenge them whenever they would get cocky and think they could win against them.

The night was memorable, one that everyone would cherish for a long, long time.

Indeed, this Starfall was one of a kind.

[hopeandvolleyball]

hi! can i request a pt 3 to insecure boys (w any haikyuu character you feel like writing for!)

i love your writing btw! hehe 💖

insecure boys pt. 3

genre: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

w/ akaashi, oikawa

a.n. ah!! thank u so much i appreciate u :)

pt.1 pt.2

akaashi keiji

boring. 

that’s what he consistently felt he was. boring. boring. boringboringboringboring. would you leave him? there were so many people more fun than him. he saw the way you laughed with bokuto at his antics, or giggled at konoha’s overly competitive nature, or the few times you laughed with kuroo. god did you like them more than him? did you think he was boring? would you leave him. all the words on the pages of the book he was reading began to jumple, fuck. fuck. 

“bubba i’m home!” you called from the entrance of your apartment. taking a deep breath with a hiss, akaashi forced a smile onto his lips and nodded up towards you. he marked the book and set it down. seeing this as an opening you jumped into his lap and snuggled into his thighs with a giggle. he tried to make himself smile but the intrusive thoughts prevented it from happening. he swallowed thickly and began to run his fingers through your hair. 

“you’re home early,” keiji noted. really? that’s all he could say. could he be anymore-

“yep! got all my studying done early. finals can’t kick my ass,” you giggled, puffing up your cheeks. that got a soft laugh out of him. “what about you, kei? how’s the book? you look almost done with it.”

“it’s good,” was all he said. he didn’t want to bore you with the anecdote. you didn’t care about what the book was about. no one would. you wanted someone more fun. more interesting. god. when were you going to leave him? couldn’t you get it over with-

“just good?” you sat up, petting his thigh gently. “usually you tell me about what you’ve read. any new updates on the book?” he shook his head, turning away from facing you. “bunny. what’s going on? this isn’t like you. are you okay? did something happen in class?”

rip the bandaid off, keiji. get it over with.

“do you find me boring?” he asked meekly, cracking his fingers avoiding your gaze. your brows furrowed.

“what? no. i could never find you boring,” you confirmed, rubbing his arm comfortingly. 

“never?” he asked with a crack in his voice. “you just seem more happy and excitable with people like konoha, bokuto... and i feel like i’m not enough for you.”

“baby,” you cooed, fully sitting in his lap. “you aren’t boring. i’ve never found you boring. you can talk about things i never understand and i’m so enraptured by everything you say! the way you can analyze books and stories and make multiple meanings of them is incredible. i like how analytical and calm you are. sure you aren’t a bundle of energy like bokuto, but i like the calm you bring into my life. i love you. you aren’t boring my love.” keiji felt the beating of his heart calm and he smiled softly down at you, kissing your forehead sweetly. “so tell me about the book, darling.”

oikawa tooru

you sat on the bench listening to the sound of a volleyball hitting the floor for what seemed like the millionth time in the past hour. practice ended an hour ago and oikawa was still there. practicing. running himself ragged. he was panting, bent over with hands on his knees, body craving water, glistening with sweat. he was supposed to come home with you an hour ago. he called you for a ride an hour ago. and here he was. still practicing. impatiently you tapped your foot against the bleachers.

“tooru.”

“one more.”

“tooru.”

“i said one more.”

“you said one more half an hour ago,” you grumbled.

“i need to get better,” he mumbled, picking up the ball and spinning it in his hand. with a frustrated twitch of your brow you stood up and walked down to him. he didn’t even notice you and continued to practice his jump serve. panting he winced. you noticed. swallowing thickly, he walked back over, chocolate eyes widening at you standing in front of the balls. “move. move y/n.”

“no.” you handed him a water bottle. tooru sighed and gently took it from you, drinking it like he hadn’t had water in months. sighing once the water was done, he wiped his mouth and collapsed onto the gym floor. he pulled his knees to his chest, rubbing and massaging his thighs. you knelt in front of him, pushing his sweaty locks out of his face. “tooru take a break.”

“i can’t,” tooru’s voice broke in his throat. “i can’t, y/n. i can’t be a failure again.”

“you were never a failure, tooru. if you were you wouldn’t be here,” you cupped his cheek, running your thumb across his cheekbones. you felt the tears begin to fall. “you aren’t a failure. just you pursuing your dreams like this makes you a success. you should always be proud of yourself. i’m proud of you. okay?” he didn’t respond, which scared you. “tooru? baby? honeybee?” he started to sob, hiccupping as he pulled you into a tight hug. cooing you rubbed his back, kissing his sweaty temple. “i’m so very proud of you, tooru oikawa.”

“i love you so much, buttercup,” tooru hiccuped, wiping his eyes. “you mean everything to me. thank you for your support i couldn’t ask for more.” you smiled. 

“lets go home. you need rest.” you stood, pulling tooru to his feet, shaky from muscle overuse. 

“can we get ice cream on the way back?” tooru asked with a twinkle in his eyes. 

“of course my darling.”

[reinvent-and-believe]

Hi :) Dialogue prompt 44, Eskel + Geralt?

Dialogue prompt 44 - “I still remember the way you taste”

Wow anon. You get me. You really get me.

Firstly, what a perfect prompt. Secondly, sorry it took me 2+ months to actually write it! And thirdly...I added Jaskier. I’m sorry, I know you didn’t ask for that, I can’t keep him away. Geralt/Eskel is still the primary focus here, but in the context of established Geraskier and with Jaskier still very much involved. This accidentally turned into something like 7.5K of Jaskier and Eskel soft-domming the hell out of Geralt. So, uh...enjoy?

CW: rough sex/soft feelings, undernegotiated kink, nonexplicit references to teenage sexuality, brief discussions of internalized homophobia

—

“Really should be playing for coin.” Geralt grins as he clears his cards after his second victory of the night and shuffles his Nilfgaardian deck.

Eskel curses under his breath.

The witchers sit in a pair of ancient wingback chairs with worn, faded upholstery that might have been crimson in a former life, drawn close to the hearth, a small end table between them holding their Gwent cards and pints of mead. Jaskier sits perched on the arm of Geralt’s chair, his legs draped casually across his lover’s lap as he brushes soft white hair through his long fingers, humming softly to himself.

“Wiping the floor with me like that is its own reward.” It’s a grumble, but a good-natured one. Most everything Eskel does is good-natured, from what Jaskier’s seen. He appreciates that about the witcher.

It’s a fairly usual night at Kaer Morhen.

Well, as usual as a night at Kaer Morhen can be. After years of only vague, grunted acknowledgements of wintering in the mountains, Jaskier had been shocked and delighted at Geralt’s unexpected invitation when beset by an early first frost traveling through Kaedwen. “Winter’ll come before you reach Oxenfurt,” he’d justified brusquely, mindlessly tracing circles into the warm skin of Jaskier’s back as they huddled together on the inn’s musty straw pallet, but when the bard kissed him softly and told him he’d be delighted to see his home, the deep wrinkles on his forehead relaxed into something open, peaceful. They arrived a few weeks later, just before the snow drifts made the mountain pass nigh unbreachable.

Just being in these cold halls, rich with history and joy and pain, feels akin to the unsettling mystery of watching someone observe a religious sacrament, something Jaskier can only view from the outside, can never truly understand. But after upwards of a month sequestered in the remote keep, they’ve established something of a routine. Vesemir retires to the library after dinner most evenings. Every four or five days, Lambert gets restless and disappears into the surrounding mountains to hunt for a few nights.

(The first time Jaskier had been mortified, sure that he’d driven him away. “It’s just Lambert,” Geralt reassured him. “Bastard’s not well socialized.”

“And you know it’s bad, coming from Geralt,” Eskel added, but there’s nothing but fondness in his genial smirk.)

So most nights it’s the three of them whiling away the hours before retiring to their chambers. Jaskier finds he doesn’t mind; while Geralt clearly cares a great deal for Vesemir and Lambert, it’s only when they’re alone with Eskel that Geralt’s guard seems to vanish entirely. They catch up on jobs they worked throughout the year, drink together, occasionally reference shared history, although always briefly. In his years of friendship with Geralt and the years of something more, Jaskier has always been the one to keep the conversation going, an unending prattle that Geralt rarely interrupts, but here, Jaskier finds himself listening more often than not, observing the quiet, unassuming intimacy between the two witchers. Here within the walls of Kaer Morhen, here in Eskel’s warmth, Geralt is loose and comfortable and safe in a way Jaskier has rarely seen him in over a decade spent together on the Path.

Jaskier smiles at Eskel, a little too brightly, perhaps, but he doesn’t mind. He’s far from drunk, but between Geralt’s arm wrapped around his waist, the easy comfort of Eskel’s presence, the roaring fire before them and the honey-sweet mead, he feels pleasantly warm all over. “Eskel,” he starts as the witchers draw for another round, “you’ve known Geralt longer than anyone else in the world. Well, Vesemir excepted, of course.”

He hums in affirmation. “S’pose so. What about it?”

“That being the case, I think it only fair that you indulge me in some dirt.”

Eskel looks at him blankly.

“Come on, dirt! You must have plenty, you’ve known each other for, what, at least five hundred years now?”

“At least.” Geralt snorts at Jaskier’s obnoxious shit-eating grin at the exaggeration and plays a third spy card in a row, easily blocking the punch Eskel aims at his arm.

“Come now, Eskel, please? I’m sure you must have loads of dirt you’ve just been dying to, well, to unload! Let’s unlock those memories, boys, and tell me the greatest Kaer Morhen scoop of the past century.”

Eskel’s smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not sure you really want those memories unlocked, bard,” he says gently.

Jaskier’s breath catches. The last thing he wants is to spoil the relaxed evening with whatever cruelties spark the haunted looks he’s caught a few times during his stay. “No, no, of course not those kinds of memories,” he amends. “None of the witchery sort. The fun things, silly things! Come on, it can be anything. Embarrassing stories, charming anecdotes, stupid pranks you pulled on each other, youthful indiscretions—wait, no, what did I say?”

Both witchers suddenly seem preternaturally focused on their Gwent cards.

A delighted grin slowly creeps onto Jaskier’s face. “Youthful indiscretions?” he repeats, noting how Geralt looks almost sheepish. “I was joking about that one but by all means, I love a good scandal! I simply must have all the details, the tawdrier the better.”

“No scandal,” Eskel answers easily. “There’s nothing…”

“Oh ho ho no, my friend, I’m afraid I’m a bit too well acquainted with Geralt’s non-expressions to let this pass quite so easily.” He’s practically bouncing with excitement in Geralt’s lap, which earns him a glare, but not a very heartfelt one. The most delicate shade of pink has taken up residence in the tips of Geralt’s ears, the apples of his cheeks. Jaskier kisses him lightly on the nose. “What youthful indiscretions, Geralt?”

Geralt rolls his eyes, but his lips quirk upward. “Nothing as obscene as you’re dreaming up,” he mutters drily. “Dumb kid stuff.”

“Just a little healthy competition in the training yard.” Eskel’s smiling, but he’s watching Geralt carefully. “Everybody loves an incentive.”

Jaskier leans in conspiratorially. “Incentive?”

Eskel shrugs, placing a commander’s horn to double his ranged combat cards. “You know, loser jerks the winner off, that sort of thing. ‘Course, you dose up a bunch of horny teenagers with a couple times the regular helping of hormones, and, well, things tend to...escalate?”

“Of course.” Jaskier shifts and inadvertently rubs against the line of Geralt’s cock, which seems to have taken a distinct interest in the conversation, no matter how disinterested its owner tries to look behind his cards. “So, to the victor goes the handjob, eh? A noble endeavor.” He squirms again, very advertently rolling his hips in just the right place this time. The heavy arm around Jaskier’s waist slips down to stroke casually at his thigh. He stops himself from preening at the unexpected rift in Geralt’s composure, but only barely. “Was this all the young men in your—class? Cohort? Uh, battalion? What do you call it?”

“Hands caught on with some of them,” Eskel acknowledges. His eyes, all blown-wide black pupils rimmed with thin rings of gold, track every minute movement of Geralt’s hand on the bard’s thick thigh, straining beneath deep indigo satin. “But a few of us progressed to mouths. Thighs.”

“I’m sure that was delightful,” Jaskier breathes. He threads his fingers into Geralt’s hair, tugging gently on a lock. “So you partook in these escapades, did you, darling?”

Eskel snorts. “Partook,” he parrots, eyes flickering teasingly to Geralt. “Like he wasn’t the one casually suggesting it every time we hit the training yard.”

“Oh please, do tell.” The fire crackles in the hearth before them. By all the gods, there’s nowhere Jaskier would rather be than here, caught in this sparking current between the two witchers.

“Geralt’s the best fighter.” There’s a hint of a growl in Eskel’s gentle voice Jaskier’s never noticed before, low and hot and dangerous. “Always been the best with a sword since the first time he held one. But once we started messing around, didn’t take long to notice I was winning more than usual. After a few weeks I was beating him just about every time we fought.”

“Gods,” Jaskier breathes.

Eskel licks his lips. “Don’t act surprised, bard,” he says softly. There’s a new, intoxicating heat in his gaze. “The whole castle’s heard you two. You seem pretty familiar with Geralt’s taste for cock.”

Geralt’s arm slips tight around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him harder into the ever-more insistent press against the bard’s arse. He palms brazenly at Jaskier’s cock, but his eyes don’t leave Eskel, his face collected, calm. “Still remember the way you taste.”

“Fuck, Geralt.” Eskel’s hand drifts to mirror Geralt’s, grinding roughly against his codpiece.

Jaskier plants a hand on the chair’s back, twisting around enough to pull Geralt into a heated, messy kiss. “Gods, you’re stunning, you know that?” he moans against his lips, tangling a demanding hand into that long white hair. “Gorgeous, shameless thing, throwing fights you were perfectly capable of winning just to get a good dicking, was that the way of it, love?”

Geralt’s eyes flicker closed, accompanied by an aborted, keening noise in his throat.

“Which was all fine, until Vesemir called him out for holding back in the middle of the training yard.” Some of the teasing quality drains from Eskel’s voice. “You know Geralt. Being berated in front of the whole school by your mentor for your piss poor performance is devastating anyway, but for Geralt?”

“I’d forgotten about that,” he admits quietly. “That was a shit day. Halfway through his lecture I swore off sex forever. Nothing kills the mood quite like Vesemir’s disappointed face.”

Jaskier kisses his temple. “Glad that didn’t last, love.”

“Didn’t last long at all,” Eskel chuckles. “Pretty sure you had my dick down your throat in the back of the stables twenty minutes later.”

Geralt’s wry grin serves as confirmation. “It’d been a rough day. Sometimes you need a little consolation.”

Jaskier looks between the two, looks at the soft smiles on both of their faces. The sheer eroticism that was all-consuming a moment ago lingers, shifting into a background pulse as this gentle, familiar openness emerges.

They love each other.

Jaskier feels an overwhelming rush of relief, suddenly, of gratitude, to know that even with all the cruelties Geralt has faced over the past century, he’s had this easy warmth to come home to nearly every winter.

But love isn’t something readily acknowledged, let alone expressed, for Geralt—if anyone knows that, it’s Jaskier. So he smiles disarmingly and goes to work.

“How right you are, Geralt!” he says brightly. “Everyone needs a consoling touch now and then. What about after you left training? Any consolation during chance encounters on the Path? Or when you returned for the winter, perhaps?”

Jaskier doesn’t miss the way Geralt stares at the floor, nor the hunger that flashes in Eskel’s eyes before he looks away, too. When he speaks, it’s measured again. “It didn’t continue past training.”

“What a shame. Well, during training, then, what about fucking?” he asks blithely.

Geralt’s the first to find his voice, a defensive grunt. “Wasn’t like that.”

Eskel leans back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “Well, it was, of course,” he says slowly. “A hand or a mouth in the dark you can write off as just getting your rocks off. You start talk about fucking…” He shrugs stiffly. “It starts to mean something. Starts to say something about you.” He’s quiet for a moment, staring into the fire. “You get told a lot of things when you’re a kid. Think we all understood pretty clearly how it’d be if anybody found out. So you start coming up with reasons why it’s not like that, why you’re not like that. To make it easier.”

Geralt hasn’t spoken, but he clings a little closer, leaning his head on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Takes time to sort through it all,” Eskel muses. “I think most of the stuff they taught us, Vesemir and the others...most of it came from a good place. They wanted us to survive, and part of that means not making yourself any more of a target than you already are. Doesn’t mean it didn’t fuck us up even more, though.” He leans forward in his chair, elbows on his knees and eyes fixed on Geralt. “I’m proud of you, Wolf,” he murmurs, a little sad smile on his lips. “Never thought either of us’d get to have this.” He gestures briefly at Geralt and Jaskier entwined in the chair, a twinge of something that might be yearning flashing through his eyes before he looks away, taking a drink.

Geralt plants a small kiss on Jaskier’s shoulder, holds him a little tighter. He wants to comfort Eskel, the bard understands suddenly, showering Jaskier with all the tender physical assurances he doesn’t feel he can give Eskel. And Eskel, with his sweet, melancholy smiles, his gentle percipience, his quiet understanding...he deserves everything Geralt wants to give him and more.

“It seems to me,” Jaskier begins in a delicate singsong, “that we have some unfinished business here.”

“How do you figure?”

“I feel this competition has not been followed to its logical conclusion. Not reached its full potential. You’ve played for hands, mouths, thighs. It seems that the natural progression should be playing for arse next. Winner takes the loser, as it were.”

Silence.

Jaskier wonders, briefly, if he’s made a mistake; but, he reasons, nothing ventured, nothing gained. He barrels on. “I think that the two of you want each other, quite a lot. Now, now, we’re being honest, Eskel just made that lovely speech, so save your protests, both of you. I think you want each other but you don’t know how to have that without the competition.” Jaskier gesticulates widely to emphasize his conclusion. “So compete.”

Eskel’s quiet for a moment, taking a deep breath as he meets Jaskier’s gaze. “Wouldn’t ask that of you,” he says finally. “The pair of you’s got a good thing here. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that.”

“Oh, darling.” A surge of affection rushes through him as he takes in the Witcher’s concerned eyes, the hesitant posture, the look of astonishment at the endearment directed towards him. “I don’t think Geralt will love me any less for having loved you,” he says softly, leaning forward and placing a steady hand on Eskel’s forearm.

“We fuck other people,” Geralt adds helpfully.

Jaskier squawks in indignation, and Geralt’s mouth twitches in silent laughter. “Yes, Geralt, thank you for that ever so romantic assessment. So there you have it, Eskel! We fuck other people, no conflict there.”

Eskel’s looking back and forth between them, a small, slow smile breaking through. “It’s a little late for a sparring match,” he says. It’s not much of a protest.

Geralt shrugs casually. “Up for another game of Gwent?”

Golden eyes lock, a challenge. Eskel wets his lip and reaches for his cards.

Geralt gently steers Jaskier back onto the arm of the chair with a quick kiss to his shoulder, reaching to pull the forgotten box of his various decks into his lap. He packs his Nilfgaardians away carefully, muses over the cards, then reaches for the forest green deck.

And Jaskier may be no expert when it comes to the intricacies of Gwent strategy, but he’s watched Geralt play enough to know that Scoia’tael is his most neglected deck, the one he’s least likely to use in tournaments, the one he’s spent the least time building up.

Fuck.

From the way that Eskel’s gaze trains on Geralt’s big hands shuffling the sparse deck, a hungry, wrecked gleam reflecting in his golden eyes, he’s noticed, too.

It doesn’t take long, this Gwent game.

Geralt isn’t playing poorly, not really, he isn’t blatantly throwing the match, but the low-powered deck can’t compete with Eskel’s Northern Kingdoms and its unstoppable siege cards, its seemingly endless supply of spies. Even after Eskel passes the second round in a show of sportsmanship, there’s no real suspense.

Anticipation, on the other hand…

Jaskier drapes himself over Geralt languidly, tucking his chin over his lover’s shoulder to watch the game. “Geralt,” he coos, “it’s looking as though you may lose this one.”

“Hmm.”

“What a shame, I know you must be dreadfully disappointed by the prospect of taking his cock.” He’s staring shamelessly now, eyes running over Eskel’s sinewy arms, wide shoulders, broad chest, muscular thighs. “Gods, I bet he’s proportional, isn’t he. Big all over.” His breath is a warm tickle on Geralt’s ear before he begins lightly kissing the sensitive skin of his neck. “I bet he’s bigger than you, isn’t he, love?”

Geralt looks up from his cards, considering. “Girthier,” he concedes lightly.

“I can only imagine.” He sighs, musing with the tiniest of pouts. “You know, if you’d told me when we arrived at Kaer Morhen that one of us would wind up in bed with the gorgeous Eskel before winter’s end, I never would have dreamed you would be the one with that honor. Actually, I’d have put good coin on it being me.”

Eskel drops a scorch card in surprise that knocks out his own 24-point ballista.

“That counts.” Geralt shoves the card towards Eskel’s discard pile. “And you’d’ve lost your coin, bard. He never would have fucked you.” He shrugs off Jaskier’s offended whine. “Would’ve seen it as betraying me, even if you’d explained.” He’s studying Eskel carefully. “He felt guilty enough already, and all he’s done is look.”

Jaskier follows Geralt’s gaze, taking in the deep flush, the heavy breathing, the slightly abashed expression. “Have you been looking, dear Eskel?”

Eskel wets his scarred lip. “Looking respectfully,” he clarifies with the smallest of grins.

Jaskier laughs, delighted. He’s been uncharacteristically modest in his dress since arriving at Kaer Morhen, adjusting the biting chill of the drafty halls, but between the fire, the inferno of Geralt beneath him, and the strong rush of arousal, he’s plenty warm now. He slips his doublet off casually, dove gray shirt open halfway to his navel. “Look to your heart’s content, darling. Respectfully or otherwise.”

Eskel obeys, eyes raking over the bard’s flushed neck, the dark curls on his chest, the taut trousers doing little to disguise his erection. When he speaks, his voice is husky, grating. “If I win, will you be joining us?”

The breath catches in Jaskier’s throat.

He glances down at Geralt. They’ve always been welcome to take other lovers; it’s only practical, since they sometimes travel apart for months at a time and both have a few long-standing arrangements they’re loath to renounce. But they’ve never welcomed someone else into their bed, explored another lover together. Shared.

Geralt’s staring up at him, eyes questioning, hopeful.

Jaskier flits out of his embrace to situate himself easily in Eskel’s lap. “I thought you’d never ask.” He brushes a dark lock of hair out of the witcher’s eyes, tilts that strong, square jaw toward him with a single clever finger. “May I?” he asks, and when Eskel nods wordlessly he draws him into a soft kiss.

Eskel’s lips are slow and gentle, his kiss courteous, restrained in a way that threatens to break Jaskier’s heart. “Relax,” Jaskier whispers against him, “you’re not the first big scary witcher I’ve encountered.” He plants a teasing peck on the corner of his mouth before pulling away and shifting to take stock of the cards in Eskel’s hand. “So how is it looking? Oh.” He giggles helplessly, glancing across the table at his lover’s somewhat dazed expression. “Oh, Geralt, you are fucked.”

Their matching groans at his word choice are nothing short of intoxicating.

“Finish him off, darling,” Jaskier purrs, a hand drifting down Eskel’s sturdy chest. “Then we can play.”

--

Jaskier drags Eskel unabashedly into the bedroom, kicking off his boots as he goes in a practiced maneuver that might have otherwise proven disastrous. He tugs off Eskel’s padded jerkin, leaving him in a thin cream-colored shirt that Jaskier balls his fist in, pulling the witcher towards him in a breathless, giggling kiss.

Geralt trails slightly behind them, taking off his boots in silence. Jaskier can feel his eyes on the two of them as they part, not jealous, not upset, but unsure. Never one to shy away from tension in the bedroom, Jaskier reaches a hand toward his lover, beckoning him close, close enough to touch, and then he steps back to watch the moment unfold.

As if by instinct, Eskel moves to the side in an evasion of Geralt’s approach, where a sword would glance off him, had one been swung. Golden eyes lock as they circle automatically. It’s a dance. A witcher’s dance, dangerous and calculated, each move precise, graceful, deadly. It’s the most arousing thing Jaskier’s ever seen in his life.

And then Geralt shoves Eskel.

It’s just a light push to one shoulder, no real weight behind it, but the effect is instantaneous. Eskel pins him to the cold stone wall, the full weight of his body pressed into him, his hands trapping Geralt’s wrists tight. They’re both panting, hard, and when Eskel shoves his leg roughly between Geralt’s thighs, he’s met with Geralt rocking savagely against him.

“Like a bitch in heat, huh, Wolf?” Somehow, the words aren’t demeaning in the warm gravel of Eskel’s voice; instead, they’re fond, appreciative. Reverent.

Geralt bucks against him again, a cut-off, desperate growl from the back of his throat, and Eskel buries his face at the juncture of the neck and shoulder and bites the scarred flesh.

Geralt immediately goes limp and compliant against him, capitulation written into every line of his body. He stays that way as Eskel releases his bite, nipping lightly then nuzzling into the skin.

Jaskier lets out a shuddering breath at the sight of his lover so docile, so malleable. They’ve certainly explored such games before, power dynamics and what have you, and he’s known Geralt to drift into a gentle haze of submission on a handful of occasions when he felt particularly safe, but he’s never seen this immediate, intentional surrender. It’s breathtaking.

Eskel releases Geralt’s wrists, still kissing at his neck as he slides his hands down his sides. “Good,” he murmurs against skin, “being so good for me, Wolf. Don’t worry, gonna take care of you.” He tugs the black shirt from Geralt’s trousers, slips a big hand to stroke the bare skin at the small of his back. “Gonna fuck you so good. That what you want, sweetheart?”

“Fuck, Eskel.”

“Tell me.”

“Fuck.” His eyes flutter shut as Eskel’s hand moves to pull him forward by the curve of his arse, grinding their hips together roughly. “Want you to fuck me.”

“Mmm.” Eskel pulls the shirt over Geralt’s head and tosses it aside. “What about your boyfriend? What do you want from him?”

Geralt’s eyes shoot open, casting about frantically for a moment as though disoriented. “Jaskier?”

“I’m here, love,” he says, rushing to his side and pulling him into a soothing kiss. Geralt relaxes again in Eskel’s arms.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Jaskier continues, running his thumb reassuringly against Geralt’s cheekbone. “Do you want us to take you to bed, love? Let us work you over between the two of us, wring out every drop of pleasure we can?”

Eskel still supports Geralt’s weight, but he’s shifting, opening towards Jaskier, creating a space for him. Geralt pulls the bard in, kissing him desperately and tugging off his shirt, and Jaskier clings to them both.

He drinks in the sight of Eskel in the firelight, lips red and parted, eyes hooded beneath dark lashes. He cradles his smooth cheek with a gentle hand. “My, but you are just unreasonably handsome, aren’t you?”

Eskel freezes for a split second before flinching away from the touch, turning his scarred face to the safety of the shadows.

Before Jaskier can react, Geralt places a hand on the back of Eskel’s neck, drawing him in and massaging the flesh lightly. “He’s not mocking you.” His voice is soft and steady. “Or lying.”

After a moment, Eskel meets Geralt’s gaze, holds it silently for a moment before his shoulders relax, a rueful smile twitching on his lips. “Just got shit taste, huh.”

Geralt returns the grin. “He is with me.”

Jaskier splutters with indignation that’s only partially feigned. “Well, excuse you both, I happen to have exquisite taste, thank you very much!” He reaches out, his hand hovering over the scarred skin, a question in his eyes. Eskel takes a breath and turns his face into Jaskier’s touch.

He runs his fingers lightly over the hardened scar tissue, mapping the uneven terrain in caresses. Eskel’s eyes flutter shut. “I can’t speak for the rest of the world,” Jaskier murmurs. “I can’t imagine how cruelly men have treated you. But I do think you’re beautiful, Eskel, truly.” He pauses, glancing at Geralt. His gaze is fixed on the pale fingers and scarred flesh, concern writ large in his golden eyes. Jaskier wonders, not for the first time, how he ever thought his witcher inexpressive. “And I do believe Geralt thinks so, too.”

Geralt startles at the mention, but he leans in, resting his forehead against Eskel’s.

The intimacy of the position strikes Jaskier. Wasn’t like that, Geralt had immediately defended at the slightest implication that there was anything more than the occasional illicit orgasm between them. It’s not the first time he’s seen his dear witcher deny himself affection, connection, especially when it comes from another man, so he can’t help wondering how deep that denial may have run. “Geralt,” he asks softly, “have you and Eskel ever kissed?”

Geralt shakes his head, his eyes shut.

“I think you should.” It’s barely more than a whisper.

A moment of stillness stretches between them all, the two witchers looking at each other wordlessly. Eskel is the first to move. He carefully cradles Geralt’s face, eyes searching before he leans in, capturing his lips gently. It’s slow, hesitant, a meticulous exploration before Geralt moans against him, big hands threading through dark hair and pulling him in harder.

Jaskier moves deftly, slipping behind Eskel and threading his arms around the witcher as he plants reverent kisses down his neck, hands roaming luxuriantly across the hard body. Nimble fingers find the laces of Eskel’s trousers, untying them but making no immediate move to remove them, drawing the roughspun cotton of his shirt from the loosened pants so he can slip beneath to bare skin. He worships every inch of that broad torso with callused fingertips. Eskel is every bit as muscular as Geralt but built differently, thicker and wider and more pliable beneath Jaskier’s curious hands. An appealing layer of fat cushions his hard abdominals like a gambeson; strong, flexing pectorals have the give of flesh beneath his grasp. It’s an altogether delightful body, Jaskier thinks in warm contentment, belonging to an even more delightful man who Jaskier would be delighted to be absolutely railed by.

But that isn’t tonight’s objective; no, not with Geralt panting so beautifully, head thrown back against the stone wall as Eskel sucks a blood red mark on his collarbone. The finesse between them has vanished, replaced by the desperation of a century’s delay. Eskel paws at Geralt’s waist, nearly ripping the buttons from the fabric in his haste to get a hand down the front of the tight black pants, his other hand bracing him on the wall beside Geralt’s head.

Geralt is quick to return the favor, freeing Eskel’s cock from the codpiece, shoving the trousers roughly down his thighs, sinking to his knees.

Jaskier tries in vain to enjoy the sight from over Eskel’s shoulder, but the cream-colored shirt billows loosely enough around his body to veil Geralt. Yanking the offending garment off, Jaskier tucks his chin over the witcher’s shoulder and watches as his lover pumps Eskel’s cock in a pale hand, leaning in to lap greedily at the head before stretching his lips obscenely around the ruddy flesh.

When he speaks, Eskel’s voice is a hoarse wreck. “Isn’t that a sight for sore eyes.” Geralt growls in the back of his throat and takes him further down. “Fuck, Wolf.”

Jaskier snakes a hand down Eskel’s hip to his groin. He circles the base of his cock in a sure grip, grasping the thick shaft and moving in concert with Geralt’s shallow bobbing. Eskel inhales shakily, reaching the hand not buried in white hair back to anchor himself onto Jaskier by the back of the neck, arching into the bard’s embrace.

Jaskier pulls him into a messy kiss. The careful restraint has evaporated into something rough, strong, unleashed. Jaskier loses himself in the kiss, the racing tattoo of his rushing blood making the groan from Eskel something he feels more than hears.

Geralt bats away the bard’s hand jacking Eskel, and when Jaskier glances down he sees Geralt sinking down the thick shaft until his nose is buried in the dark hair at the base.

Eskel rips away from Jaskier’s kiss, breath ragged. “So good at that, shit.” His head falls back on Jaskier’s shoulder, eyes closed. “Used to choke on me when you tried,” he grunts. “Remember? Almost got us caught with your coughing a couple times. But you weren’t ever satisfied unless you tried.”

Jaskier massages at his chest, relishing the little gasp as he rubs a nipple. “He’s had plenty of practice since then. Haven’t you, love? Love swallowing cock, don’t you?” Geralt’s hands grasp Eskel’s hips roughly. “He wants you to fuck his face,” Jaskier says, planting a kiss on Eskel’s temple. “You wouldn’t deny him, would you?”

“Fuck.” Eskel complies, releasing Jaskier to anchor both hands in Geralt’s hair. He pistons forward experimentally, shallow. Geralt tugs at his hips until he’s set a brutal pace, the muscles in his thick body straining as he fucks him with abandon until there’s nothing else, nothing but slapping flesh, labored breathing, and pleased, desperate, muffled moans.

Eskel pulls abruptly back, holding Geralt off him by the hair.  “Fuck, Geralt, enough. Don’t wanna come yet.”

“Want you to.” Geralt’s voice is a raw rasp, his eyes red-rimmed. He nuzzles at the juncture of his thigh and groin, sucking at the sensitive flesh between words. “Want you to come fucking my throat. Come again later.”

Eskel pushes him away firmly, discipling his voice into something deep, reproachful, but with a surprising touch of tenderness cutting the sting of his words. “Listen, little cockslut, I said not yet.”

Geralt whimpers, but he withdraws, sitting back on his heels and awaiting further instruction, eyes fixed on the other witcher.

Eskel steps back from both of them, shoving his trousers the rest of the way down and stepping out of them before he looks at Geralt. “Up, Wolf.”

Geralt scrambles to obey.

Eskel pulls him into a kiss, praises spilling out against his lips. “So good,” he says. “Pants off.”

Once Geralt’s naked Eskel pulls him close, hoisting him easily into his arms as strong thighs wrap around Eskel’s waist. Eskel kisses him, holding him effortlessly. It’s a rare thing, Geralt not being far and way the strongest in a room at any given time, and to see him so evenly matched, see him carried about and manhandled as though he weighs nothing at all, is quite an alarming, appealing experience.

“Wanna take you to bed.” Eskel nuzzles against Geralt’s neck, his words barely audible. “Wanna be inside you, Wolf.”

“You did win the game,” Geralt grunts.

Eskel’s brow is furrowed when he pulls back. “Fuck the game, Geralt, wanted this as long as I can remember. It’s not just a game.” He carefully smoothes the messy white locks away from his face. “Wasn’t ever just a game.”

Geralt nods slowly. He holds Eskel’s gaze as he tilts his head, closing the space between them to brush his lips again Eskel’s. “So take me to bed.”

And he does.

Eskel lays Geralt out with an expression of sheer reverence. He crawls between his legs, slotting their bodies together, taking them both in a firm grasp before he leans down to capture Geralt in a sensuous kiss.

Jaskier observes the writhing pair silently as he makes necessary preparations. He rids himself of his trousers and smallclothes. Folds the discarded clothes and sets them neatly on a chair. Retrieves the oil from the chest at the foot of the bed. Stalls.

Because they are beautiful together, their touches familiar yet entirely new. There’s an unmistakable sense of scale between them, a history that Jaskier is loath to disrupt, a tale spanning a century in which Jaskier is barely a footnote.

“Jaskier.”

They’re still entwined, all muscled, scarred limbs curving around each other like one flesh, but they’re both looking at him. Eskel’s face crinkles into a crooked smile. “It’s a big bed, bard. Plenty of room.”

And there is. So much room in Geralt’s outstretched arm, curling immediately around his lover as he slips in bed beside them. In Eskel’s astute gaze as he runs a hand down Jaskier’s back and squeezes his hip reassuringly, pulling him into a nigh unbearably sweet kiss. In the way the three of them move together, exploring, discovering, building a gentle rhythm all their own.

“Have you ever fingered him?” Jaskier asks, his words nearly lost in the velvet-soft skin he’s thoroughly lavishing.

Geralt’s breath catches, though whether it’s at the question or the warm mouth on his balls is anyone’s guess.

“No,” Eskel says, his hand carding through the bard’s hair. “Show me what he likes?”

Jaskier reemerges to kiss them lightly, first Geralt then Eskel. “I’d be delighted.” He sits up on his heels, pulling Geralt with him. “Up, love.” He turns to Eskel as Geralt turns over to settle wordlessly into place. “Hands and knees is best for opening him up. He tends to get overwhelmed otherwise, don’t you, darling?” He kisses Geralt’s scarred shoulder, petting his arms, his back, his sides, nodding with a bright grin when Eskel’s hands join his in their caresses. “You can open him up when he’s lying on his back, but only when he’s absolutely relaxed and he’s already gotten off once. Otherwise he’s self-conscious, can’t lose himself in the sensation.” Geralt is already—perhaps unconsciously—rocking his hips ever so gently back towards him. A wave of warmth spreads through Jaskier as he rubs at the small of his lover’s back. “Eager for us, aren’t you, Geralt?”

A breathless grunt is the only answer.

“It’s all right, love, we’re going to take care of you.” He uncorks the oil, leaning down to nip lightly at the swell of Geralt’s cheek as he pours some into his palm. Cold. He warms it in his hand, rubbing vigorously. Eskel’s eyes track each movement. Silent, the bard holds out his lubricated hand. Eskel hesitates for a second then swipes his fingers through the mess until they’re dripping, coated thoroughly.

“Touch him before you touch him there.” It’s a rush, hearing the professorial tone of his own voice, seeing the witcher scramble to follow his instructions. Using his dry hand, Eskel pets the expanse of skin, running his fingers indulgently through the pale hair on his thighs, his arse. “Good.” Jaskier’s voice resonates deep in his chest, a low, soothing murmur. “Acquaint him with your touch. Let him know where you’re headed. Then when you’re both ready…” He takes Eskel’s wet hand by the wrist and guides it. “Just a finger. Start up here, down, down and past, and then up again. Again. Circle his rim, give him some lovely pressure, get him nice and wet but not in, not yet, not until…” He laughs as Geralt cants his hips back toward them with a desperate moan. “There we are. Now you can press in, just a little—oh, you’re being so good for us, love, taking his finger so well. Thicker than mine, isn’t it? What a treat.”

It’s too much, too arousing and too heady and too intoxicating, seeing hefty sword-callused fingers prodding carefully at the flesh Jaskier had seen stretched around his cock only this morning. He reaches out, an oiled finger lightly stroking the taut rim before slipping in effortlessly alongside Eskel’s.

A keening sound almost like a sob is muffled as Geralt rests his forehead on the bed, a full-body shiver running through him.

Eskel pats at his thigh. “Your boyfriend’s back here trying to kill me, Wolf.” He shoots a look of wonder at Jaskier before he leans forward, kissing the slight dimple at the small of Geralt’s back. “Hadn’t even thought about how good you’d look speared on us both ‘til right now.”

Geralt shoves back against them hard, pants as he fucks himself back on their fingers until Eskel adds another. “Not tonight, though,” he growls. “Tonight that hole is mine.”

“Gods, Eskel.” Jaskier pulls him into a breathless kiss. “He’s perfect, isn’t he?” he murmurs against scarred lips. “The way he can’t help seeking out more. Fuck, but he’s going to look so stunning on your cock. How do you plan to take him? Like this, let him whine and cry and shove himself back on your prick as hard as he can? Or have him ride you, watch him desperately take his pleasure as he stuffs himself full of you? Or…”

“Fuck, Geralt, does he always talk this much?” Eskel’s other hand shoots to the base of his own cock, giving himself a few rough strokes.

“Always,” a muffled rumble confirms. “It’s hot.”

Jaskier beams.

He slips his finger nimbly from Geralt’s stretched hole, drizzling a little more oil where Eskel begins to tease a third before Jaskier reclines on the bed, lying his head on the pillow where Geralt’s buried his face. Gently, he tilts the witcher’s chin toward him, taking in the wrecked breaths, the serene, softened gaze. He runs a warm thumb over Geralt’s lips before following it with a tender kiss.

He runs a hand over the muscled abdomen, down the sharp angles of the juncture of his hips, the pale coarse hair at his groin. Geralt’s softened some in the excitement of penetration, as he’s wont to do. Jaskier cups that lovely, familiar cock, rubs against him with just the pressure he knows his lover needs to coax him gently back towards hardness.

A breathy, high-pitched whimper that barely sounds like it could come from the same throat as Geralt’s usual guttural utterances breaks through the hazy atmosphere. “He’s ready for you,” Jaskier murmurs softly, reaching to squeeze Eskel’s unoccupied hand.

Eskel drapes his body over Geralt’s, covering his back and shoulders with fiery kisses as he rocks against him soothingly, fingers still buried deep as they rut together. He turns his face toward Jaskier, a heady desperation in his eyes. “Can I take him on his back?” he begs. “Don’t want to...to overwhelm him. But…”

Jaskier plants a reassuring kiss on Eskel’s cheek.

Geralt whines piteously as fingers slip from him, but he follows the gentle hands guiding him onto his back.

“Love,” Jaskier whispers, soothing fingers massaging his scalp, “are you with us?”

Geralt takes a breath, as though opening his eyes to meet Jaskier’s takes tremendous energy. He nods.

“You’re doing so well, darling.”

Geralt leans into his hand at the praise, eyes fluttering shut again.

“Stay with me, Geralt. Do you need a break?”

“Need Eskel.”

Eskel, kneeling between his legs, surges forward to capture Geralt in a careful kiss, gripping his shaft as he lines himself up. “Oil?” he pants, and Jaskier slips a wet hand between the two bodies to coat the thick, twitching cock liberally. “I’ve got you, Wolf,” Eskel whispers, sinking slowly into the pulsing tight heat, Jaskier’s oiled fingers lingering, anointing the site of their union.

The electric energy swells, inundating them, sweeping them into its current. The rough, slow grind as the witchers find a rhythm. Meandering callused fingertips dancing across scarred skin. Oil and precome and sweat mingling as they slide together. The earthy, sharp smell of the fireplace meeting musk and heat and desperation. Goosebumps covering warm flesh against luxuriant soft furs.

Geralt comes with a harsh cry from nothing but the movement within him and the insistent rub of Eskel’s abdomen against his cock.

Eskel fucks him through the aftershocks gently, bringing himself to a stuttering halt as Geralt trembles beneath him. He pants against Geralt’s neck. “Fuck,” he swears, kisses messily at the sensitive skin, “so beautiful, Wolf, feel so good under me.”

Geralt lets out a long breath.

“Had enough?” Eskel whispers against him.

Blissed out, relaxed, all loose limbs and satisfaction written in every line of his body, Geralt grins, his eyes suddenly clear, kissing Eskel as he rolls his hips pointedly back onto his cock.

And with this second wind it’s different, Geralt’s haze melting into something far more vocal, more demanding. “More,” and “fuck, Eskel,” and “hard,” and “won’t break me, Eskel, fuck,” and movement and manhandling and Geralt back on his hands and knees, Eskel burying himself hard and fast and too much, it’s got to be too much, Jaskier’s sure of it until “don’t hold back, please, please I can take it.”

A hand reaches out to grab roughly at Jaskier’s hip, dragging him in place before Geralt, his back against the headboard. “Please,” Geralt moans, mouthing frantically at the base of his cock, his drawn-tight balls, “need you too.”

He threads his fingers through sweat-damp white locks as Geralt hungrily sucks him down. The harsh, accelerating thrusts from Eskel rip through Geralt, slamming him further onto Jaskier’s cock and it’s so much, the delicate arch of Geralt’s back, the loud slapping of skin against skin, the strange unifying sensation of the three of them melding into one, the tight fluttering of Geralt’s throat milking the head of his cock, the way Eskel’s whole body seems to convulse, the choked-off howl as he chases his climax, the way he shakes as he collapses forward onto Geralt...

The adoring light in those stunning amber eyes as Geralt looks up at Jaskier through thick lashes, the way his hand sneaks up to hold onto his lover’s as Jaskier’s breath hitches, coming with a cry as Geralt swallows around him.

They topple gracelessly into a breathless tangle of limbs. Geralt groans piteously as Eskel unsheathes himself, leaving the bed swiftly, and Geralt hates feeling empty while he’s still coming down so Jaskier finds himself trailing long fingers to his messy hole, pushing the escaping come back into him, massaging and plugging him gently and running a soothing thumb over the stretched rim as they trade languid, exhausted kisses.

Eskel watches them from the beside with a look that might be wonder. “You two are a handful,” he chuckles softly. He climbs back onto the bed, wiping away drying spend from Geralt’s stomach with a warm, wet cloth that drags down, down between his legs, down to where Jaskier extracts himself one finger at a time, cleaning him with attentive care.

Geralt smiles up at Eskel lazily before pulling him down into a quick, filthy kiss, nipping at his lower lip. “You like us, though.”

“Hmm.” Eskel pulls away enough to grab a cup of water, tilting it to Geralt’s lips, careful not to spill. Then he offers it to the bard, reaching over to pet his hair with unexpected tenderness. “Thank you, Jaskier,” he says. “For sharing him with me tonight.”

“Should be me you’re thanking,” Geralt yawns, shifting around until he’s nestled comfortably on Jaskier’s chest, ear pressed soothingly above his heart. His eyes flutter shut as Jaskier traces aimless patterns on his warm skin. “Arse you were fucking happens to belong to me.”

Eskel snorts. “You sure about that?” He blocks the sleepy, playful swat aimed at him, taking the cup back from Jaskier and setting it carefully on the bedside table. He looks down at Geralt, already halfway to sleep on the bard’s chest, and rolls his eyes fondly. “That didn’t take long.”

“Well, in his defense, you did work him over pretty thoroughly,” Jaskier murmurs. He reaches out, tracing the muscles in Eskel’s scarred upper arm gently.

He leans into the touch, looking down for a moment. When he meets Jaskier’s gaze, his eyes are unspeakably bright. “Thank you. For tonight.” There’s a reverent rasp in his voice. “And for being good to him.”

Geralt’s breathing has evened out as Eskel slips out of bed, rifling through the discarded clothes.

“Bloody witchers, gods save me,” Jaskier sighs, flopping a dramatic hand to his forehead. “Geralt always used to try to slink off into the night after sex, too.” He catches Eskel’s gaze and extends a long hand towards him. “It’s a big bed, darling.”

They stare at each other in silence for a moment, something like awe blooming on Eskel’s exquisite, kind face as he nods, climbing back into the bed and molding his body carefully against Geralt’s back, a square hand finding Jaskier’s and squeezing.

And though it’s the dead of winter, Jaskier doubts Kaer Morhen’s ever felt quite so warm. He drifts into a peaceful sleep.

[wirewitchviolet]

A Little Horrifying Primer on Transphobes

Some time ago, I put together a Little Fact Checking Primer on Trans People, as a basic resource for disabusing people of some of the many completely ridiculous yet absurdly widespread beliefs about trans people that simply have no basis whatsoever in reality. And wouldn’t you know it, every single lie exposed in that primer is not only still widely believed, but is presently being used as a basis to sign some absolutely horrific human rights abuses into law. So it’s high time I follow that up, in this case focused more on who keeps actively spreading these lies and why. I’m going to try and keep things as light as I can here, but we’re going to be looking at the most monstrous side of human nature, so apologies in advance if this is a dark read.

First, let me just note that there are two things I don’t plan to do in this piece. I’m not going to waste time debunking the arguments of the people I’m highlighting (much of this is already covered in my earlier primer, others have done the work in cases where I haven’t, and frankly these people’s claims should be self-evidently utter nonsense to begin with). I am also going to be very selective in what I link to, or even share related images of, as I would frankly not like to fill a post on a blog I generally try to keep safe for all audiences with media directly dealing with, for instance, child sexual assault, and much of the relevant information also involves stochastic terrorism against innocent people, and I would prefer not to throw more fuel onto such fires.

Transphobes lie constantly, about everything.

To some degree this is obvious. We’re talking about people who scaremonger about the possibilities of trans women dominating competitive sports and assaulting people in restrooms, despite the status quo already reflecting the conditions they insist would make these inevitibilities for decades and centuries respectively, and their grim visions never once having come to pass, and also constantly insisting that the woman in the photo below is actually a man, going further to say this is evident to anyone giving her the merest glance.

It goes beyond that though. There’s at least a little plausible deniablity in claims like this, or that “science is on their side” if they were simply uninformed about the world they live in, never actually looking into what laws exist, what science actually says, and never actually meeting a trans person or even seeing a picture of one of us. I’m talking really bold lies here. Like wholecloth fabricating a story that a convicted murder was trans, including anecdotes about wigs dresses and a planned name change, in a major newspaper. Or to cite an old favorite of mine, the time a pack of bigots walked up to a crowd of people peacefully picketing a transphobic legal proposal, started roughing them up and taking closeup photos of members of the crowd to stalk online when they got home, got sufficiently riled up for one to straight up assault an innocent person half her size, filmed the whole thing, uploaded it to youtube, and used stills of that assault as acomanying photos when they went home to write articles about the assailant being a “grandmother” attacked by rowdy trans women. And yes, they did monkey’s paw my wish to see that specific image on newspapers. Interesting side note, when it came to real public light that J.K. Rowling endorsed this sort of hatred, it was because she accidentally pasted some profanity laden rambling about how the imagined moral character of the other party in that incident, years after the fact, into a post praising a child’s fan art of her work.

To be a little less niche, transphobes can’t get enough of spreading the lie that the young fellow in this photo is a girl. Specifically a trans girl, providing proof that all their scaremongering about the dastardly threat of trans girls in competitive sports has finally come to pass.

To be fully clear, that’s a man (or a boy if you want to split hairs about him being 17 in that photo). Mack Beggs. A rather insidious choice for this sort of story, considering the actual context for that photo. See, Beggs attended high school in Texas, during a (still ongoing as I write this) period wherein that particular state had caved to this exact sort of propaganda, and in order to head off a wholly imagined wave of trans girls competing on girls’ sports teams, and enacted a law mandating that in all such competitions must compete under whatever gender is stated on their birth certificates. And as it happens, the first, and to my knowledge ONLY time this has come up was with Beggs here, who again, is a man, as no one with a grip on reality could argue against, has “female” on his birth certificate. Which is another way of saying he is a trans man. The guys in the same boat as trans women who we talk about a whole hell of a lot less because their existence is extremely inconvenient to the majority of transphobic propaganda. Case in point. And this is all information it is really impossible to come across if you’re coming across this photo in any sort of respectable source. Take this story, which is as unambiguous about this as you can get. And yet, in the very comments section of that story, there they are. Carrying on like this story about a trans guy, forced by a transphobic law to compete as a girl, which he absolutely did not want, and received horrific threats over, using phrases like “female to male” and bringing up that he was assigned female at birth and is on testosterone-based HRT, is about a trans woman cheating the system. Or to quote word for word, “Now also transgender female want to be male also compete in female sport. biological born“ That’s not “being confused,” that’s standing next to you in a white desert and complaining about being adrift in a black ocean, bald-faced, not even trying to be convincing just make a power play, lying through one’s teeth.

I could spend this whole article on just this point. Lying about who they are, various people’s falsified credentials, whole websites full of “anonymous parents of children who think they’re trans” turning out to be one single woman documenting the abuse of her very much trans son, or of course the people behind the whole “bathroom bill” panic candidly admitting it was all based on utter fiction. I do have other points to cover though.

Transphobes are firmly entrenched in the media.

It is extremely difficult to find oneself in a position of having to explain to people that a particular group of people is effectively in control of press outlets, as that is rather classically a claim conspiracy theorists absolutely love to toss around at various marginalized groups (including trans people hilariously enough, but of course the most common and lingering version of this is the antisemitic variant). I really can’t get around it here though. Specifically in the U.K., you honestly can say that transphobes control the media. I already touched on this with the assault case I mentioned above and the fabricated story about the murderer, but this is a pretty well-documented situation. I mean, even The Guardian calls out The Guardian on this, and that’s the outlet that gets the most attention because it’s the one with the most otherwise respected name, but every paper in the country has been running transphobic propaganda pieces on a weekly if not daily basis for years now, and while they do get reprimanded by watchdog groups and have mass walk-outs over the worst of it, it’s not like there’s some governing body with the authority to step in about it. Meanwhile the BBC is constantly inviting diehard zealots like Graham Linehan to news programs where he compares being trans to being a nazi, and hosting debates where someone just sits down and repeatedly chants the word “penis” at a trans woman.

Things are better in the rest of the world, but we still have right-wing creeps like Jesse Singal both writing horrific propaganda pieces (we’ll get back to that one) and blackballing trans writers out of covering trans issues ourselves (and personally stalking the hell out of those of us who try). We’ve got our Joe Rogans and Tucker Carlsons out there (no way in hell I’m linking videos here, have a real information link and a still).

The line between diehard transphobes and straight-up nazis basically does not exist.

What even is there to say here? You can easily poke around havens for nazi activity for yourself and compare the particular unique vocabulary used there to the primary bastion of anti-trans hate speech on the internet (the “feminism” section of what was originally a site for parenting tips before violent fascists took the forums over) or just peruse the follows of the thousands of people I’ve blocked on social media and see if you can sort out a clear division in the networks of channers with frog avatars and the accounts with names like GoodieXXrealwoman, or you can read up on Gab and Spinster, the two twitter alternatives that are just different portals to the same server, set up by the same guy. Maybe do some research into “the LGB Alliance,” or WoLF but any way you slice it the only real difference to be found is the general purpose nazis take a little time off now and then to watch borderline pedophilic anime and the really dedicated transphobes think to use language that sounds vaguely well-educated and left-leaning. I mean, this came from the “feminist” side of the fence:

And not to belabor the point here, but the ones claiming to be a bunch of “feminist mums” sure do let the mask slip any time they’re confronted with the fact that “women” includes black women, and oh just have a whole thread about all the weird conspiratory theories these people have about how trans people’s whole existence is some sort of Jewish plot for world domination. I swear a few months ago they were all passing around a story about some bank having an above average number of trans employees and they were all just “and we all know who controls the banks, right?” about it.

Transphobes endorse an awful lot of people who are openly pro-pedophila.

This is the part where I am really loath to link the many many specific examples I have on hand. Or to talk about this at all for reasons of good taste. Or, for that matter, to talk about this in a tumblr post when there’s an ongoing problem of people with backgrounds strongly tied to this site making baseless accusations of pedophilia against every queer person they can find, so let me be very clear just what I’m talking about while avoiding anything too graphic.

That’s James Cantor. Transphobes love him for being one of the closest things they have to a scientist on their side. And I am featuring him in a screenshot here showing that he is followed by current queen of the transphobes J.K. Rowling, while speaking to both another big name in transphobic circles, Debra Soh, and based on their names, what I’m guessing is at least one straight-up nazi. And in case you think “the P” he’s talking about adding to LGBT (or “GLBT” as weird anti-queer bigots who also have issues with women often write it) might stand for “poly” or “pan” he’s all too happy to clarify that.

This is the entire thrust of Cantor’s work and life. He is the world’s biggest pedophile rights advocate. He wants it declassified as a mental disorder, all stigma on it removed, and tirelessly pushes forward the idea that the majority of.. people who feel compelled to sexually assault children are good people who present no potential harm to anyone and should in fact be lauded.

I am not generally one to claim that someone with a PhD is spewing out questionable garbage with regard to their field, but the reason I am aware of Cantor at all is that other transphobes keep trying to hold up a particular post on his blog as "a study” (which it is not) that offers “proof” (in the form of a blurry jpeg of basically some random numbers) of some ridiculous quackery about how trans kids will “grow out of it” if exposed to conversion therapy (another way of saying torture), which Cantor himself seems to be pushing, so I am somewhat skeptical of his academic chops. And I am, of course, REALLY suspicious that all these other bigots gravitate to him purely because they’re that desperate to find anyone with a PhD in anything that backs them up against literally every scientist in a relative field, to the point that they merely forgive his particular advocacy they are plainly all aware of, particularly when such a common fig leaf used by transphobes is “keeping children safe from sexual deviants.”

And of course, Cantor is most often invoked when coming to the defense of Kenneth Zucker. This Kenneth Zucker.

Those are separate papers. Zucker isn’t controversial though for organizing panels to discuss how attractive people agree small children are (at least not exclusively). Mostly, he’s known for running a conversion therapy center which subjected gay and trans children to various sorts of torture in an effort to “fix” them, which at least for those trans "patients” I have spoken with involved a fair amount of having them strip completely naked and talking a lot about their genitals.

Zucker is something of a controversial figure with the transphobic scene, as they are extremely on board with his sexual torture of queer children, but he does actual work (for some value of the term) involving trans people and thus is not able to commit as fully as they would prefer to making life horrible for trans people, due to a professional obligation to acknowledge reality now and then. As an aside, the similarly positioned Ray Blanchard, while not to my knowledge particularly interested in the attractiveness of children, lives in a similar purgatory of trying to reconcile his career, bigotry, and sexual hangups, yielding compromises like this:

Of course, that’s just looking at the straws transphobes grasp at when looking for scientific credibility. Real leaders of the movement include Germaine Greer, author of The Beautiful Boy, which is about what you are afraid it might be, and features a very young child in a cover feature he did not consent to posing for. Or Julie Bindel, who among other things is rather infamous for writing whole articles on subjects like whether a teenage girl she came across maybe has a huge penis you can totally see if you really squint at her skirt. Again, I will not share a link to go along with that one.

Transphobes terrorize and attempt to defund charities and other unambiguously good organizations.

Graham Linehan, previously best known for cowriting some sitcoms and possibly spending a year angling to get into my pants so awkwardly I didn’t pick up on it is now best known for trying to pull the plug on a children’s charity, in a story that somehow also involves Donkey Kong. Well, and the interview about nazis. And possibly the other interview about “defending me from nazis” until it got into his head that I might not be as young and hot as he imagined. Rather not link to a far right extremist youtube channel though.

There’s also a current effort to replace Stonewall (an organization named after the location where a pair of trans women kicked off a riot which is generally agreed to be the start of the LGBT+ rights movement) as the UK’s primary LGBT+ rights organization with the “LGB Alliance.” The hate group mentioned above, with the skull face and the rifle. Closest I can find to an article on that effort on short notice that isn’t propaganda.

Transphobes paper areas in truly disgusting propaganda.

I don’t want to directly link to grown adults skulking around children’s playgrounds and bathrooms plastering surfaces with mass printed stickers of crudely drawn penises, but would encourage you to read this very long post, being sure to load all the images, to really understand how deeply strange this behavior gets.

Finally, I cannot stress this enough, this really extreme behavior I’m citing, and the specific people involved in the examples I’m giving, these aren’t random cranks on the fringe of things. The people going on televised panel discussions, writing up news stories, and testifying before lawmakers in efforts to pass horrifically discriminatory if not literally life-endangering laws (there is a major ongoing effort to legally end all medical care for trans people, and I don’t just mean care directly relating to being trans) are literally the same people involved in the sexualization of children, nazi collaborations, and roving gangs assaulting people in the street. At a bare minimum I urge people, when booking guests and handing out writing contracts, to do background checks and see if they’re platforming actual terrorists. If we could actually bring legal consequences to bear against the worst of this, that would be great too. As things stand though, the whole world is just consistently citing a bunch of racist, woman-hating, serial liars with no real credentials, and questionable attitudes towards the sexual abuse of children, as “trusted experts” and refusing to seat actual trans people or people who have legitimately committed lifetimes to academic and practical work with trans people any seats at the table.

[blueeyedrichie]

I feel like the fandom is split on this issue so I need to know your thoughts~ with Reddie who do you think can cook and who is a kitchen disaster?

OKAY so honestly? I think Richie can cook (but is also a kitchen disaster ofc, it looks like a tornado came through every time) and Eddie cannot (at least not for a while, he does learn tho) and here’s why (also I’m sorry I got a lil carried away bc I loved this) (also one of my fav hcs is that Richie and/or Maggie teach Eddie how to cook so that’s the vibe uwu):

There’s no chance in hell that Sonia lets Eddie near the oven/stove/lbr prob not even the microwave because it’s not safe, Eddie bear; let mommy do it for you. So instead, Eddie is always stuck setting the table and doing the dishes, but never getting to cook. Eventually he just assumes this is normal, even though on TV sometimes he sees kids helping their parents make dinner, but TV isn’t real life, and Eddie knows that. So he kind of just stops thinking about it after a while. He’s sure he’ll learn how once he gets older and has to cook for himself.

It’s not until he has a sleepover at Richie’s house that he sees for the first time Richie helping Maggie in the kitchen. Went was the one to let Eddie inside the house, telling him to find Richie in the kitchen. Eddie assumed that Richie would be seated at the table, waiting for his mom to finish up, just like Eddie did when he was at home.

Instead, he finds Richie stirring the spaghetti sauce in a pan at the stove, with Maggie next to him, buttering the garlic toast. Eddie watches in awe for a moment, trying to quietly take a seat, but the chair scraping against the tile gives him away, and Richie whips around, a splatter of sauce on his cheek.

“Eds! You’re just in time; dinner’s almost ready!”

Eddie smiles, not saying anything other than, “You’re a mess, Rich.” 

Richie gives him a confused look, and Maggie laughs when she glances up. She gestures to her own cheek to indicate what Eddie is referring to, and rather than grabbing a napkin or a towel, Richie wipes his face on the shoulder of his t-shirt, to which Maggie and Eddie both react with a groan.

Normally, Eddie can’t stop talking when he’s at the Tozier’s. He loves it here, and he feels more comfortable here than he ever has in his own home. Maggie and Went always encourage him to go on, and Richie adds in his own little jokes and anecdotes throughout. But Eddie stays relatively silent tonight, and while Richie and Went take care of the dishes, Maggie nudges his shoulder gently.

“What’s the matter, Eddie? Did Richie’s cooking make you sick?” She teases, and Eddie giggles softly, shaking his head.

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

He debates making something up, but the earnest look in her eyes reminds him of Richie’s, and the overwhelming feeling of trust pushes the words up from his chest.

“I always wanted to try cooking. But my ma won’t let me. It just looked like you guys were having so much fun.”

Maggie doesn’t even ask why, and Eddie knows that she knows how his mom is. At least, enough that this isn’t a surprising discovery.

She gives him a thoughtful look, and Eddie’s sure she’s going to say well, don’t worry. You’ll learn when you’re older!

Instead, she says, “How about you help me with dessert then?” And Eddie’s eyes light up, and he wastes no time hopping up from his chair and bumping Richie out of his way with his hip anytime he tries to steal a taste of the apple pie filling that Eddie makes with gentle instructions from Maggie. She even lets him lay the crust and place it in the oven, and calls him back downstairs from Richie’s room - where they’re surrounded by a mess of comics - to very carefully remove it and place it on the stove.

“Wow, looks like you might have some competition, mom.” Richie mumbles around a mouthful of warm apple and cool vanilla ice cream, and Went hums his agreement from his place across from his son. Eddie blushes, but his heart lifts when Maggie offers him a soft smile from across the table.

“He’s a natural.”

From then on, it kind of just becomes routine. Eddie sleeps over on the weekends, and Maggie always asks what Eddie feels like making. Sometimes, she’ll even let Richie and Eddie do everything themselves, only interrupting when they get too rowdy and too distracted covering each other in flour or garlic or whatever else they’ve decided to destroy Maggie’s kitchen with. 

And years down the road, when they’re finally together, living in their own home, they take turns cooking for each other, and Richie buys Eddie new recipe books all the time. And sometimes they still can’t help but slap each other’s bottoms and leave flour-covered handprints there like they used to do playfully when they were kids. Only now, it’s followed by a kiss.

[dopescotlandwarrior]

Sinners & Saints-Chapter Two

                  Special thanks to @statell​ for all your help

Previous chapters on AO3

Chapter Two

Claire emerged from a taxi in a tight black pencil skirt and black high heels as she walked into the upscale restaurant. She knocked on a door with a “espace de rangement” sign on display. The door opened to a nice looking man, impeccably dressed, and she could see her Godfather standing to greet her. He held his arms out for an embrace.

“My darling Bear, it is so good to see you alive and well.” He kissed both of her cheeks and looked her over for bruises. “Quite a scare you gave me yesterday.” He looked into her eyes, “did you arrange for the explosion? The news is reporting natural causes, a gas leak I believe.”

“Certainly not. I wouldn’t put the art at risk like that, besides, I could have done it in my sleep.”

“The news had video of you being rescued, quite terrifying. Do you know the man you were trapped with?”

“Yes, James Fraser. For twenty hours I laid on top of Jamie Fraser and found him to be quite charming and attentive.”

Javier Charvet laughed from his belly and looked at his men enjoying the humor. He pulled a chair out for Claire and sat down next to her. Someone spread a white cloth in front of him while Claire pulled a rolled canvas from her purse. Javier put white gloves on and carefully unrolled the painting where he could examine it under a high powered magnifying glass. He sat up and signaled to his man who left the room, presumably to initiate the transfer of the deed for the Italian property.

“Little Bear, what in God’s name is the Senator doing? I’m talking about his bid for governor announced today.”

“His what?”

Javier looked up with compassionate eyes. “You didn’t know. Has the bastard even called you yet?”

“Yes, yes, I got a call from Mary this morning.”

“And all this time I thought his name was Frank.”

“Mary is his secretary, like his right hand.”

“I know Bear, like I know what grades she got in middle school and that she is a lesbian. I was being sarcastic.”

Javier could see the pain on Claire’s face and backed off. “You must go, I understand. I will have the deed delivered to you in a few hours. Go out through the kitchen, Joseph is waiting to take you back.”

Javier Charvet was a best friend to Claire’s father until the day he died, along with her mother, in a car crash. He tried to get custody of little Claire, but her Uncle Lamb was a blood relative and the courts awarded custody to him. Javier continued to fight for her through the years they were in Egypt and South America, arguing it was no place to raise a young lady. Finally, when Claire was fifteen, the court let her decide where she wanted to live and she chose France with Javier.

Claire did not want to hurt Uncle Lamb, but she was ready to get out of the dirt and sleep in a regular house with indoor plumbing. The warm love and attention she received from Javier was an unexpected bonus and she blossomed under his care. Whenever he saw her, his face would light up and he would call her Claire Bear which was shortened through the years to just Bear. She stayed with Javier through graduate school, leaving for America when she was hired by University of Chicago. That was three years ago.

Claire sat back in the front seat and sighed. She was reeling emotionally after hearing Frank had announced his bid for governor. He never talked to her about it, come to think of it, he never talked about anything. Their relationship felt settled and comfortable from day one, like couples who had spent thirty years together. She couldn’t remember either of them doing anything romantic for the other and suddenly felt like crying her eyes out. What she needed was a day to be selfish and pretend she was someone else who wasn’t saddled with a flatline relationship. She directed Joseph to the retail district and blew him a kiss promising to find a safe way home. She wanted to be free for the next two days and that started with something fun and funky to wear tomorrow.

Javier assigned two of his men to investigate the Senator again. “Find out what projects have his support, who are the major players, who is backing his bid for governor. Find out what master he serves.”

The next day, Claire woke up excited to walk the Louvre. She straightened her hair and added some makeup before jumping into one of her new sundresses. She looked into the full-length mirror and giggled at the strange reflection. The top of the dress was fitted, connecting at the back of her neck leaving her shoulders bare. The skirt had yards of soft fabric that fell just below her knee and a studded belt. The dress was sunshine yellow with silver studs. Nothing could be farther from the tailored suits and conservative colors that filled her closets at home. She smiled and almost skipped out of the hotel to catch a taxi.

Jamie sat at the hotel pool sipping his coffee, and quietly losing his mind. The team spent seven hours yesterday pouring over every art theft attributed to Casper… again, and they had nothing. He took a deep breath and started making phone calls to those he served feeling like he would explode any minute. He had checked the airlines and knew there were no flights to Chicago until tomorrow, so she was still in town most likely. He exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. Fuck it, he thought, let's see if lightning will strike twice. He made his way to the Louvre.

Claire drifted happily through the museum walking close to the Virgin of the Rocks to examine the brush strokes. She jumped when someone spoke to her from behind.

It’s obvious there was a second hand, don’t you agree?”

Claire spun around to see Jamie Fraser smiling at her. There was initial surprise and happy excitement in her face which she covered quickly, turning back to the painting.

“I do not agree. I have always advocated a single hand and it’s the crazy conspiracy theorists who lead people down that road. You should know better than to comment on fine art, Mister Fraser.”

Jamie looked confused by her comment. “I beg to differ madam. I have an art degree after all.”

Claire giggled at the hurt look he concocted, “what kind of degree?”

When she turned back to him and looked up at his face, Jamie nearly forgot to breathe. “Nothing like yours and may I ask how you are allowed to walk the streets of an unsuspecting Paris? How many cars collided watching you walk down the sidewalk, hmmm?”

Claire was laughing at his charm and feeling flattered. “Suppose you do Paris a favor and walk with me?”

Claire looped her arm in his and they walked, admired the paintings, sat and discussed, joked and flirted for hours. Jamie’s knowledge of the masters was surprising and made for stimulating conversation. He had a profound appreciation for the art and artist, much like her own. After four hours they called it a day and went to find a sidewalk cafe for refreshment. Claire watched Jamie look through the three menus at the table and decided to be brave.

“Come on, handsome, this place is too boring.” She spun in the other direction as the wind caught the ample fabric of her skirt and teased it up until she could get a hold of it. They heard a loud crash as a driver struck a parked car and suddenly Jamie’s arm was around her waist pulling her along.

“I rest my case madam. Where is it we are going for more exciting refreshment?”

Claire was laughing at Jamie and feeling bad for the driver, “it’s close and you will love it because they have beer and volleyball outside. It’s quite popular in America.”

Jamie could not get the image of Claire’s legs out of his mind but dedicated himself to being less flirty with her. With a last look at her backside, he let his eyes follow the curves to her feet.

“I can’t believe you can walk the Louvre in heels.”

“I bought flat sandals for today but kept running into walls, so I went back to what I’m used to.”

“Thank God they don’t accentuate your statuesque figure, or perfect posture,” said rolling his eyes, making her laugh again.

She was so easy to talk to, and joke with, Jamie winced remembering her disarming banter in the Louvre that made him a slave to her enjoyment.

“Listen, Sassenach, I am sorry for the flirting, I lost my head with a very pretty girl, who is engaged to be married. I promise to behave like a gentleman while we have a beer and then see you home safely. Right after this…” He pulled her to him and stuck his nose against her neck breathing deeply and releasing her instantly with a happy grin. “You smell like heaven lass.”

Claire was stunned by the cascade of feelings elicited by Jamie’s hug and the feel of his skin against her neck. When he released her she almost fell over, reaching for his arm to steady herself.

“That’s quite alright, it is a lovely scent.”

They entered a dark bar with a rousing crowd who were drinking the afternoon away. The beer was reviving while they talked about their time under the rubble and the mouse that ran up her leg. He asked about her lecture, fascinated by her travels to bring the love of art to the masses. She had been in more countries than he had and entertained him with anecdotes. Sitting in a booth gave her the freedom to look at his face, shoulders, and arms. He was dressed casually in jeans and a polo shirt that did little to hide his massive biceps and chest. She was careful to look discreetly until the second beer arrived which made it harder to pretend.

“Let’s watch the volleyball for a while, Sassenach, then I’ll see you back to your hotel.”

The fresh air helped to clear Claire’s head and she chose a team to root for. The game was fast and fun and she lost herself in the competition, slapping Jamie’s leg at times when her team scored. She didn’t notice how quiet he had become.

True to his word, Jamie was polite and attentive for the rest of their time together. Inside, he went to battle with the part of himself that wanted a girl like Claire and would be ruthless to win her. His decent side won, and he dropped her at her hotel before kissing her forehead and thanking her for a memorable afternoon.

Claire smiled and waved goodbye. Her glass face always gave the observer a look into her true emotion and Jamie saw her confusion and her interest. He needed to get out of Paris, first thing tomorrow. Go home to Scotland and forget about this time with the Sassenach. It felt like he lost a piece of himself today, a piece that remained with her. It made him feel empty inside.

Claire ordered food in her room and sat on the terrace, thinking about Jamie, Paris, and Frank. If he had given her his cell phone number, she would have called him and talked about her crazy feelings and desire for him. He mentioned the name of his hotel several times that afternoon. She tried to resist the seduction that played on a continuous loop in her mind. If only…

Jamie opened his eyes in a dark room when he felt his bed move and was instantly awake. He smelled her perfume and rolled toward the scent as she turned on a light. She was removing her shoes and then her belt and looked like she might join him in bed.

“Your dress lass.”

Claire twisted the button under her hair and pulled the dress over her head letting it drop to the floor. He pulled her to him and kissed her like his life depended on it. The kisses were sweet and long, building the fire she craved. For the next hour, he felt each curve, tasted every part of her, and pushed himself into her wet softness when she begged him to.

Claire walked naked to his room refrigerator where she stashed a bottle of champagne and a bowl of fresh strawberries. She pushed pillows against the headboard so Jamie could sit up and then straddled him, handing him a glass and placing a strawberry in his mouth. The ground rules were unspoken yet they both knew not to ask or comment on what this was. It just was.

“How is it you move through my door, room, and refrigerator without making a sound lass?”

“I’m a cat burglar,” said with honesty

Later Jamie led Claire to his outside patio with the lights of Paris spread far and wide. He danced with her, naked, holding her close, with a promise of more. Claire was very aware she was dancing with the enemy. The man was obsessed with bringing her down and his life was dedicated to that pursuit. None of it was lost on her so she lived each second with him. They made love once more and he gripped her to him as they fell asleep.

Claire looked up at Jamie’s window before getting into her cab. She would not see him again unless she made a mistake and he caught Casper. She wondered if she could walk away from stealing art for a man like Jamie. The answer was moot. It was the only thing that made her feel alive.

Later, Claire walked to the front desk to check out of the hotel. On her way to the exit, she felt someone pull her back and looked into the eyes of Jamie Fraser. He reached into her purse and pulled her phone out, punching in his contact information. He kissed her soundly and stroked her cheek.

“I still owe you a life Sassenach, and as I said, I’ll be the first one there.” He disappeared into the throng of people leaving the resort and Claire dropped into a couch to slow her racing heart.

Landing at O’Hare airport did wonders for popping the pink balloon Claire was in. She looked out at the familiar sights of home and Jamie Fraser was reassigned to the distant memory file in her mind. Like so many Sorority nights in her past. She felt strong and ready to tackle the remainder of the semester. When she saw Geillis she quickened her step and hugged her friend like her favorite puppy. The two women chatted while waiting for luggage and then heading home. When Claire walked into her townhouse Paris no longer existed. She was back.

Jamie had to get out of Paris before he lost his mind. Another failed attempt to catch Casper and a stunning girl left her mark on him and then disappeared. He made haste getting back to his farm in Scotland where the demands of the land would pull him back to normal. He assigned his top man to wrap up the investigation at Sotheby’s auction house and the report was waiting in is outlook when he got to Scotland.

The explosion was caused by a gas leak, the vault video was disabled by some sort of bright light beam, there were no fingerprints unaccounted for, and the handlers were questioned but added no clues. One female handler said she left the vault for a couple of minutes with Professor Beauchamp to find the audio technician and heard the auto-locking door to the vault slam behind her. As usual, Casper left no leads to follow and disappeared with a Rembrandt worth thirty million dollars. He had nothing.

Claire and Geillis wrapped up the semester in the final month. There were graduate dissertations to evaluate, term papers to read, and final exams to grade. It was a busy month and both looked forward to a summer off. Geillis would spend two months in her pool by day and the clubs by night. Claire would be away most of that time, lecturing, appraising, promoting her book, and stealing art.

She knew she had been in the game too long. Statistically, she was on borrowed time as a thief and when she was caught, she would lose her freedom for the next twenty years. Aside from quitting, she took every precaution including secure communication, the best VPN, encryption security, and a code translator that was owned by Javier because he commissioned the program. There were no back doors installed in the programming, verified by the best security experts in France. He named the program Tom, and no one knew why. Tom was installed on Claire’s home computer and on Javier’s, no one else would use it, see it in action, or ask questions about it. Claire’s heart jumped when she saw the message and she sent it to Tom. Thirty-six seconds later she read the message from Javier and smiled.

“Easy Peezy,” she said out loud as she sent a coded RSVP and agreed to the terms, one point five million in gold. The compensation received for her service had been routed to several off-shore accounts in the beginning and her wealth grew at a staggering rate. Cash felt like an anchor that would sink her in an investigation so she switched to valued properties that would be harder to discover. The gold would be kept in a bank vault locally and used for catastrophic expenses in the future, like hiring a team of defense lawyers. It would cost her two or three hundred thousand just to get it to Chicago, but she would pay it.

Her cell phone played Frank’s ringtone and she felt a boulder in her stomach.

“Hello darling, just touching base about this weekend. Do you have plans for us yet?”

“No Frank, you have not been home since the break started so I will consider you still gone until I actually see you.”

“Alright, fair enough. I have been invited to a private island, owned by a billionaire. The people that are funding my campaign have asked me to go. It almost sounds like a rite of passage kind of thing.”

“Well, best of luck with the upcoming test of manhood, or whatever it is.”

Claire trapped her lip between her teeth and was grinding on it as Frank talked. She was so mad at him and hurt by his estrangement. This was the time of year he spent in Chicago but he was still in Washington with his high-powered new friends that filled his calendar with things to do and people to meet. She tasted blood in her mouth and went back to her packing. Her flight to Germany left in twelve hours and it would be a tense few days once she got there.

Claire paid the admission to the Johannisburg Castle, host to the Treasures of the Golden Pharaoh exhibit. She played with the micro camera hidden in a broach and pinned to her sweater, the remote was deep in a pocket of her trousers. With luck, she would have clear pictures of the employee badges, the security cameras, and the exhibit hall by dinner. Tonight she would finish her fake statue of King Amenhotep III, Tutankhamun’s grandfather who guarded his tomb for millennia before it was discovered and plundered by archaeologists in 1922. The statue would not stand up to scrutiny, but she just needed a few minutes to get out of the building.

Claire plugged a USB into the back of the pendant and downloaded the pictures onto her laptop while the last coat of gold paint was drying on the little statue. She launched her graphics program and got to work, creating an employee badge that would pass at a glance.

Claire noticed the incoming handlers would have their badges scanned before coming into the castle. When leaving for the day, they were scanned to ensure none of the treasures were going home with them. Each piece in the collection was tagged with a liquid that emitted a dose of radiation high enough to be outside the normal range but low enough to be safe. She would skip the scanner and leave through the ceiling, like she came. By midnight, everything was ready, by tomorrow night at this time she would be one and a half million dollars richer.

Claire laid in bed, but sleep would not come. She reached for her phone, launching her contacts. For the hundredth time since leaving Paris, she looked at Jamie’s name and brought the whole evening back to her mind. It was such a sweet sadness that filled her, and each time she did this Frank became less and less important. In her dreams, she slept in Jamie’s embrace all night.

[terrence-silver]

"Please don't let them take away your shine. Blind them with it. Force them to see the wonder you are." Do I even have to say who for anymore? It's always gonna be Terry now.

Terry liked a good project.

He never understood your reserved nature. In fact, it baffled him to a certain degree because he himself hasn’t felt a similar emotion for longer then he could possibly recollect. What kind of life did you lead to leave you in such a state? How many times did you get hurt emotionally? How many times did you get tricked? Abandoned? Replaced? He could read people, so he figured, more then once. As such, breaking you would be so comically easy it almost filled him with an odd sense of glee and endearment. Oh, poor sweetheart. Like stealing candy from a baby. All he’d have to do is enter your life and then promptly leave without even attempting to harm you in any shape way or form except simply performing the very act of showing some manner of interest and then removing it soon after, the minute you get your hopes up after so many disappointments and letdowns. That alone would crush you beyond repair. But, no - that would be no fun. Breaking someone already broken? That wasn’t Terry’s preferred method of playing around because it didn’t prove to be a competitive challenge and he was a sportsman by nature. Like in Karate, proceeding to stomp on someone who’s limbs he’s already broken previously isn’t nearly as fun and effective as doing the breaking itself. Just doesn’t have the same gusto. In that way, you reminded him of John at his lowest. Too much even. And he wasn’t sure he’d relish in toying around with someone who reminded him of people he harboured loyalty towards.

In honor of that, he decided on the reverse;

He was going to take you and fix you.

Make you better and worthy of himself.

Now that was a challenge and goal he could get behind.

After all, a man in his economic bracket (not that you knew shit about that, which was fine by him for now) deserved arm-candy as polished, prized and as pristine as he was. He wasn’t going to settle for someone terrified and traumatized by every aspect of life unless he wants them to be and now wasn’t the time for you to be terrified of him. Yet, anyway. He wanted you open, receptive and trusting enough to let him in. He was going to take you, make you like yourself, dress you up, clean you up, get you hooked on the finer things in life, show you to the world and you’re going to love him for it and you’re going to fear him for it too because he could take it away any moment he so pleased and reduce you back to your sad, sorry state from before. Yes, that sounded perfect. Terry could only smile at himself as he squeezed your hand during your humble and frankly quite dull poor man’s walk in the park in his poor man’s facade wearing his poor man’s clothes, spewing poor man’s anecdotes he’s made up on the spot. But, the complements aimed at you? Those he specially rehearsed and planned in advance. He wanted to hit you where you were the softest. Finding a long-lasting partner equal to himself was fairly impossible, so building one one flattering sentence at a time seemed like a fine idea. The lack of any genuine spontaneous aspect aside, Terry realized he was grinning for all the wrong reasons when he looked at you fondly and whispered, as way of artificial encouragement;

"Please don't let them take away your shine. Blind them with it. Force them to see the wonder you are."

Every good project had to start somewhere, after all.

Even a sappy one-liner will do.

And you snorted and blushed so he figured it worked.

[quicksilverlightning]

Number One In Our Hearts

It starts innocuously enough, with All Might being invited to run the yearly Quirkless course on Quirk Warrior.

“It’s been a rough course this year folks – only six runners have made it all the way through, but we’ve got one last contestant to go.”

“That’s right, Ken, and it’s the one you’ve all been waiting for. This year’s Quirkless Run has pulled out all the stops – the jump hang is longer, the wall is higher, and it’s all for this one last runner. Ladies and gentlemen, the one, the only, the legend, All Might!”

___________________________________________

 cinnadust

My favorite thing about All Might running the QLC is that he doesn’t run at all. He strolls through like he’s fucking bored.

 Staples083

his wingspan is enormous

 pipe-fingers

Petition for All Might to run the Quirk course #NumberOneInOurHearts

 GangOrg4n

look at him wave at the audience he’s not even tring lol Absolute Legend

 Red-Phone-Wire

please someone make these announcers losing their shit into a meme

___________________________________________

All Might’s appearance rockets the ratings to unseen heights; the full video goes viral and has over a million views before the weekend is over. It isn’t long before the agency is fielding phone calls from the usual suspects – reporters, journalists, talk shows – but also from some more unusual places.

Toshinori lights up when PR brings him the first batch of requests and immediately agrees to do them all. The second flurry of requests comes before the cooking show segment is finished airing and the floodgates open. Every reality show and competition is clamoring for All Might to guest star.

___________________________________________

Quirky Kitchen makes it an hour-long special. The first half is dedicated to some old American favorites; he chats with the host and audience while slicing tomatoes with charming ease. The audience delights in his culinary prowess, gained over long years of bachelordom, and laughs at his silly anecdotes. Which makes the second half all the more surprising.

With the burden of secrecy lifted, Yagi Toshinori can finally see his way forward. All Might can no longer be a pillar, but, perhaps, Yagi Toshinori can be a support beam. While the live audience munches on potato chips hot from the fryer, Toshinori pulls a simple hardback chair from the set, seats himself, and opens up.

___________________________________________

“Cooking… it’s a lot like my Quirk – my strength is gone, but the reflexes, the training, all of that is still there. I can’t eat what I’m making anymore, but I still know how to make it. And I can still share it with all of you.”

___________________________________________

 explendative

holy shit

 out-of-batt

damn, look at him flipping burgers @9:32 this man is perfect??

 h0m3b0dyJJ

Okay, guys, my dad had a gastrectomy a few years before he died and it’s seriously no joke. My dad lost 63 pounds just a few months after his; it’s hard to keep anything down and you have to eat little meals all the time and there’s just so. much. food. that you can’t have anymore. He was taking like a billion supplements and vitamins just to manage everyday challenges. I can’t even imagine going through that on top of being an active Pro.

 its-ibuki

we must protect All Might at all costs

___________________________________________

He laughs when his students gather round, babbling about the dance show. He ruffles Ashido’s hair fondly.

“You don’t get to Number One without some fancy footwork! Take that to heart, my young students,” he nods sagely, managing to extract himself before he’s late to the staff meeting. He heads down the hall, but not before tossing one last piece of advice over his shoulder.

“And learn at least one social dance!”

___________________________________________

Honestly? I don’t like the hero rankings. I’d prefer they didn’t exist at all. How do you rank acts of heroism? Why is saving one life worth less than saving a hundred? You can’t quantify someone’s worth down to a data point. What’s a hundred lives to a parent that’s lost their only child?

- All Might discusses the ranking system on Hero Discourse

 12,086 notes

 LoreleiFae

another day, another reason to love All Might

 FlipFlapItsATrap

you know, I never really got the hype around All Might. Like, I understood he was number one and super strong and all that, but I never got all the fervor around him. I started to get it after Kamino, but it’s really little moments like these that make me understand why he was number one. why he’s still number one, no matter what the ranking says. #NumberOneInOurHearts

 07ohseven

@FlipFlapItsATrap: I’ve met All Might twice, both before and after Kamino (humblebrag, lol), and he really is just the nicest guy. He never treated anyone like they weren’t worth his time, from teenagers hunting autographs to little kids that wanted a hug. I ran into him again a few months ago at the Mustafu Library – he’d tucked himself away into a corner with a few books and we talked a little about what he was reading (a biography and a fantasy novel, if you were wondering). He asked me to call him Toshi and gave me some movie recommendations.

 07ohseven

@FlipFlapItsATrap: I got off topic there, but what I wanted to say was that you’re right – All Might wasn’t number one because he was a good hero. He was number one because he’s a good person. All Might made me feel safe, but Toshi made me feel comfortable, like talking to an old friend. I hope I get to meet him again one day. #NumberOneInOurHearts

  ___________________________________________

Kizumi Takada @0Window0Knight0

@AllMightOfficial how many people have you kissed?

All Might @AllMightOfficial

@0Window0Knight0 None.

All Might @AllMightOfficial

@0Window0Knight0 But, many, many people have kissed me.

  ___________________________________________

 Peony-crowned

Next time on Hero Theory – is All Might asexual?

 Superxxchar04

@peony-crowned: OTP – All Might X Justice

 Hkoin

@superxxchar04: All Might X A healthy mind body and soul in a long life filled with joy and laughter FTFY

___________________________________________

He’s carrying a stack of grading in one hand and nearly throws the entire pile in the air when Present Mic grabs him in the hallway, begging him to be on his show. After a few moments spent calming him down, Toshinori manages to gather that his guest for the night has had a last minute cancellation. He offers an easy smile and agrees to fill in.

He wasn’t expecting Hizashi to open the phone lines up for questions, but what kind of hero would he be if he couldn’t roll with the punches?

___________________________________________

 Am I on the air?

 That’s right, listener! You are live and you’ve got a question for us?

 Yeah! Well, for All Might. Big fan by the way, you’re the greatest.

 Thank you kindly, young man!

 Right, so I was wondering – do you make more from your hero work, or from merchandising rights? I’ll hang up and listen, if that’s okay?

 Perfectly fine, listener!

 I don’t – didn’t – make any money at all from my hero work. Any bounties have gone to victims or to charity, and I’ve never sent anyone a bill for helping at a natural disaster. Merchandising rights more than cover the agency overhead – I’m not even the highest paid individual at my own company.

___________________________________________

 TexasSmashMe

I’m sorry to inform the hero fandom that Stain was 100% correct – there is only one real hero, and his name is Yagi Toshinori.

___________________________________________

 drrdrrdrrdrr reblogged from nessalee

 [gif set]

 [First image description]

 A young All Might flies through the air, cape billowing like a banner

 [Second image description]

 Silver Age All Might holds up a collapsing bridge pillar with one arm while the other gives a thumbs up.

 [Third image description]

 Golden Age All Might overlooks the city from a skyscraper, bangs ruffling in the wind

 [Fourth image description]

 All Might stands tall, battered and bloody, a single fist raised into the air

 [Fifth image description]

 Yagi Toshinori bounces at the front of the course, posture relaxed, waiting for the starting bell

 [Sixth image description]

 A toddler yanks on Yagi Toshinori's bangs as he smiles indulgently

 [Seventh image description]

 Yagi Toshinori sitting in the bleachers at Yuuei, beaming proudly at the field where his students compete

 [Eighth image description]

 Yagi Toshinori stands, battered and bloody, face turned away, pointing into the distance

 A Hero for Eternity

All Might / Yagi Toshinori

36,875 notes

 CoraBakes

get u a man that can do both

 la-la-lo-li

The one with the kid is so cute <3 Yagi-san would be a great dad

 kainnn9056

pft look at him casually holding up a bridge with one arm hes so extra i love it.

___________________________________________

He's just leaving the school when PR messages him with the request from Hero Monthly magazine. It's usually the kind of thing he would sign off on without a second thought, but his eye lingers on a single word - photoshoot. This wouldn't be like answering questions about his gastrectomy online, or explaining his injury on a talk show - this would be actively showing off the wound that nearly killed him.

Toshinori never expected to retire; hell, he'd never expected to survive. He assumed he would die as he lived - being a hero - and take all his secrets with him. But now...

Now he thinks of young Midoriya with his scarred hand; of his friend Todoroki, who couldn't hide his burn if he wanted to. He thinks of Iida's older brother, learning to walk again. He remembers Best Jeanist may lose his own stomach in the near future and the scar under Aizawa's eye. He remembers hospital wards full of children with amputated body parts and prosthetic limbs and dreams of heroism. He remembers being twelve and Quirkless and thinks again of young Midoriya, to whom Quirkless may as well have been a synonym for disabled.

___________________________________________

 [Image set]

 [Cover image description]

 Yagi Toshinori sits in a crisp white button-up on an angled couch, legs stretched over the cushions, looking at the camera over his shoulder.

 [First image description]

 Yagi Toshinori adjusts a cuff-link, grinning wildly at something off camera, suit jacket flared in the wind.

 [Second image description]

 Yagi Toshinori sits on the edge of a bed, hands together between his open knees. His white shirt is unbuttoned, revealing a  skinny chest and hints of spiderwebbing red.

 [Third image description]

 Yagi Toshinori looks away from the camera shyly, one hand rubbing the back of his head. His scar is viciously red, stretching the full length of his torso before disappearing below the hem of the dark slacks clinging to his skinny hips.

108,792 notes

 vedran-oligarch

All Might looks like someone punched a hole through him and I'm still lusting over his fine ass hot DAMN

 i-am-a-blank-page

@vedran-oligarch: it's the eyes - they're always the same and they're always so intense

 vedran-oligarch

@i-am-a-blank-page: point, but those beautiful hipbones aren't hurting my lady-boner

 IrisEvergarden

I really, really love the last picture. His expression is so sweet and unsure and humanizing - the whole set is, but that one really does it for me <3

 paperclipped-wildflowers

his hair looks so soft

 IrisEvergarden

I just want to give this man a hug, he's so good and pure and brave

 ExpectingDelay

okay, but how how no one mentioned the interview part?!

 If I saved one person when I lost my stomach, it was worth it. If I brought one child home to their parents when I crushed my lungs, it was worth it. If my words have helped someone through a rough patch, if I inspired someone to do better, be better, it was all worth it. There are a great many regrets in my life, but helping others has never been one of them. There is nothing I wouldn’t break; no sacrifice that would make me hesitate.

 That's what heroism is - it's taking these hits so that no one else has to.

this man is incredible.

 flowwithit54

@ExpectingDelay: I'm fucking crying rn we don't deserve All Might OR Yagi Toshinori

___________________________________________

It's almost nine when Ishiyama finds him lazing on the teacher's lounge couch, idly scrolling through his own tag online. In the past few minutes alone, he's found post after post from individuals finding strength from last week's magazine shoot. A teenager with an arm mangled in a villain attack; an office worker embarrassed by needing a wheelchair; a boy with an annoying twitch thanks to an accident with his electricity Quirk. Thousands of messages of love and support, admiration and inspiration. It's almost enough to make him wonder why he'd been so worried about the inevitable. Ishiyama hands him a cup of tea.

"You look happy today, Yagi."

He closes the phone and takes the offered tea with a smile.

"Yeah. I guess I am."

[vixey-chakraborty]

The Investment [Part One] & [Vixmus]

In which Vixey reaches out to a family friend for an investment...[takes place: late June, 2021]

@apennywasted

[tw -- none]

VIXEY: While Vixey trusted Jun’s judgement, she was still nervous to meet with Seamus MacTunnag. Even if she did know him through her parents, it only put more pressure on her to come off well. Since this meeting would reflect on them too. If he said no, she wasn’t sure where she would go next. Probably to InterPride. That was her next stop anyway, as she had to discuss the lease agreement. Or maybe this would just be a dead end. Vixey was still waiting for all of this to fall apart on her. Even if she did feel slightly bolstered by her various friends’ encouragement.

She had called Mr. MacTunnag and arranged to meet him at Hatter’s. It was a nice day, so she bought herself an iced coffee and sat out on the patio. When she saw him approaching, she stood up, reaching out a hand for him to shake.

“Mr. MacTunnag,” she greeted him with a smile. “Thank you so much for meeting with me. I really appreciate you taking the time. Can I buy you a coffee?”  [outfit]

SEAMUS:  Seamus had a visitor today, and it was one he knew fairly well, through her parents. They lived close to one another, their properties while not sharing a border fairly close, and he’d become fairly friendly with her parents after a bit of time living in Besydus. Rather than meet her on her farm, however, Vixey had asked him to meet her at Hatter’s for a discussion regarding her shoppe. 

While he was all too happy to oblige her, he needed to know what she was asking him, specifically, to invest in. 

Arriving a bit earlier than intended, Seamus had wanted to get a seat but had discovered that Vixey had beat him to Hatter’s already. He offered her a small smile when she stood and offered her hand for a shake. He took it, shook her hand firmly, before dropping her hand, unbuttoning his suit jacket, and sitting across from her. 

“Ah, that'd be lovely Ms. Chakraborty, thank ye kindly. Jus’ a regular coffee is fine, nothin’ fancy. But, I s’pose we should get right tah th’ point, aye?”

VIXEY: “Great,” Vixey said with a smile. “I’ll be right back and we can get started.” 

Vixey didn’t really want to “get right to the point,” but maybe that was just how she grew up. If you had a favor to ask someone, you started with pleasantries and worked your way towards asking after a long and meandering conversation. Vixey asking about Seamus grand-nephews (I know they have a birthday coming up!) Seamus commenting on the farm (It looks like you have a good crop of strawberries this season.) 

Seamus was a businessman, though. It made sense they were going to “get right to the point.” 

She grabbed the coffee and made it back to the table in just a few minutes. A few minutes that had filled her with jittery anxiety as she handed Seamus his coffee and took a seat again. 

“Right, so, I don’t know how much my mama has told you…” Vixey started and wondered if that was a good place. Maybe not. Maybe she shouldn’t assume anything. Her fingers fiddled with the cardboard cozy on her drink. 

“I am looking to open up a shoppe here on Main Street. A thrift shoppe.” 

SEAMUS:  He knew that it was not how people in Swynlake did business, getting right down to the heart of the matter. That was the way of businessmen in New York and Japan, people he had worked with who didn’t do roundabout or meandering business deals. It was easier, sometimes, to do things this way. Other times, like now, it might behoove him to do otherwise, but he wasn’t about to change his tactics in the middle of the situation. 

Vixey left and then she came back with his coffee and Seamus smiled. He thanked her. He was polite, took a sip of the coffee and nodded to tell her that it was alright. There was nothing complicated in it, and that was the way he liked these dealings, if he could get them this way. He didn’t mean to be abrupt, or forward. Any other time he would ask how the farm was doing, and had, how she was personally, and he still might, but he wanted to hear what she wanted, too. 

And that always, always came first. 

Seamus waited for her, patient, hands folded around the cardboard cozy around his take away mug. She started by talking about her mam and he grinned his crooked grin at her, the one that was, some would say, charming and others disarming. To him, it was just a smile. 

“Yer mam’s spoken a bit about ye, told me yer lookin’ tah expand out a bit,” he confirmed, then continued. “But I’d like tah know what yer wantin’ tah do with yer thrift shoppe, what I could be investin’ in. ‘S a smart idea, considerin’ th’ closest clothing shoppe is in NTO.”

VIXEY: You would think people continuously telling her that her shoppe was a good idea would make Vixey feel more confident in it. In a way, it did, but she kept being more caught off guard by the see through nature of business dealings. It wasn’t all like in the movies, which made it look dastardly and underhanded. 

Seamus knew why he was here, and he was getting right to the point. Vixey had to shuffle the notecards in her head around to accommodate for this fact. She took a sip of tea, wiggled in her seat a bit and then leaned over to pull out the binder she had been using to store all the notes and information on the shoppe. Inside was a bit of an aesthetic lookbook, pulled from magazines and Pinterest. Notes from several business start up how-to books, color coded by content and with a proper bibliography. There was a budget too, though probably not fully complete. 

“This is all I have on it so far,” she told him, pushing it toward him. “It’s simple, really. In concept. I just—noticed the lack of shopping and know how inconvenient that can be for families who aren’t as wealthy as some of the others in town. It kind of feels as if they can get left behind a bit…” She shrugged a shoulder. 

“I know I have competition with Tallulah Robinson, but I have a feeling we will be catering to very different needs in the town.” She wished she sounded more certain about this, but she was really just parroting what everyone else had told her. 

SEAMUS:  Seamus waited patiently for Vixey to get her wiggles out, the nerves clear. She probably hadn't been expecting him to be so to the point. That was okay. It meant he would be able to make an offer sooner, see what he could give to this project. He had high hopes for it, based on both what her mother had spoken of when they'd chatted and now. 

He was impressed when she pulled the binder out and set it on the table. His hands itched to leaf through it, see what information hid there, but he waited, waited patiently, his hands folded around his coffee. He would let her speak, and then he would look through it all and respond. 

The lookbook made him chuckle and he nodded as he skimmed through it. It was a good idea, a way to visualize the projected space, what she wanted to do with the business. Gave investors a sense she knew where she was headed. Her notes were good, too, the bibliography helpful. 

Then, there was the budget. That's where he came in. 

Closing the binder, Seamus tapped his knuckles against the cover, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he gave her a small smile. "This 's all good. Yer clearly prepared or as much as ye can be. Budget's incomplete, though I think yer aware. 'S where I come in ain't it?" 

Seamus knew it was. 

"Ye an' Miss Robinson will be catering tah different ideals," he agreed, matter-of-fact. "And tah be honest, I think yer shoppe has more traction. I know I'd've appreciated a place like this growin' up. Me family was a lot like the ones yer targetin'." 

He paused and then: "how much are ye needin'?" He could really give any amount. Hell, he could probably fund the entire project, but he knew to be careful. Vixey was just starting out. While her ideas were good, the competition (and potential competitor sabotage from Tallulah) were things he was definitely thinking about. 

VIXEY: Vixey waited anxiously while Seamus looked through the binder. At first, she just kind of stared at him, but when it was clear that he was going to be taking his time, she looked away. She took a sip of coffee. And watched people going by on the sidewalk. A family, a man with his dog, people who were hurrying to get somewhere, people who were moseying along. People taking pictures and people pointing. The sidewalk was swollen with tourists, as it often was in the summer. 

It entertained her for a bit, but it didn’t stop her from thinking anxiously about what Seamus was thinking. There hadn’t been any advice about how to organize your business. There were all sorts of things about the to do lists and the steps, but not putting it all together. She didn’t know if there was some industry format she was missing. If Seamus would know it and think her ignorant. 

She was ignorant, after all. About how business worked, anyway. And she wanted it to succeed. Even if she was still unsure about how much. 

The napkin she’d gotten with her drink was getting shredded in her lap. Her eyes snapped to Seamus as he leaned back and closed the book. She nodded a little at his question, unsure what else to say. It was the truth. She was here to ask him to invest. There was no getting around it really.  

Vixey managed a smile about the little anecdote he told. After all, that was why she was doing this. For families that needed it. It wasn’t frivolous. It was important. 

“Yes, well, uhm,” she tripped over her words but then managed to find them. “30,000 pounds is the total amount. I may have over calculated slightly, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

SEAMUS: Seamus knew she was only beginning her endeavor, that there were risks involved in backing someone who had no prior experience. He'd been one of those himself, once upon a time. But the ideas that he was seeing were good ones, a place to start. 

His eyes swept down to the napkin she had clutched between her hands, torn nearly to shreds and scattered on the tabletop. He refrained from drawing attention to it. She was clearly nervous, but his story seemed to have helped. That was good, then. 

Nodding, Seamus reaches into his coat pocket and pulled out his check book. "How's ten thousand pounds sound tah ye? 'S a start, gives ye a chance tah network. More experience fer ye and potential backers." 

VIXEY: 10,000 pounds?

That was more money than Vixey had ever seen in her life. She hadn’t known what to expect, or how much to except, when she met with Seamus today. Honestly, she hadn’t expected anything at all. Maybe a rejection. Maybe encouragement but no offer for a loan. And she would appreciate whatever she got. She would be humble and grateful.

And she was!

Ten thousand pounds was just...so much money! It didn’t even scratch the surface either, which was entirely wild to her. 

Still...she’d be an idiot not to take it, especially after she had worked so hard to get to this point. 

“Wow, yes. That’d be--that’d be amazing Mr. MacTunnag. Amazing, actually. Thank you so much!”

[mythgirlimagines]

Now that today is Tuesday, I’ve conjured up a fresh new talentswap! Give a warm welcome to Myth, Former Ultimate Child Caregiver!

——————————————————

BACKSTORY AND TALENT

Myth’s parents work at an orphanage, and as such, she was born and raised around little kids. She may have 3 biological sisters, but emotionally, she has close to 53 siblings. Myth bonded especially with a rough-and-tough street rat the same age as her. However, when Myth started to get older, the orphanages funds began to falter. Myth’s parents had no choice but to send their strongest orphans to ”aikido training” in order to earn them money. And sadly, Wyre was amongst the strongest orphans. Myth was deeply hurt by the loss of her childhood friend, but she had to remain strong for the rest of the orphans. Many other Ultimates also visit Myth’s orphanage in order to assist her in caring for the children. She claims she can do it all by herself, but deep down, she appreciates the extra helping hands.

——————————————————

RELATIONSHIPS

Wyre Anon, Former Ultimate Assassin Aikido Master

Wyre has been Myth’s friend ever since Wyre was first brought flailing and screaming into the orphanage. Myth is only one able to calm a little Wyre down from her outbursts, even to the present day. Myth is also the only one who knows of Wyre’s secret identity as “Ryuuken”, a highly dangerous and violent assassin, and regularly controls Wyre in case she can’t fight her violent nature.

Anon Scar, Ultimate Adventurer

Scar, or “The Crusader Of The Mortal Realm” as she refers to herself, is well-known for traversing across dangerous terrain and through precarious situations. Scar is also a big hit amongst the kids at Myth’s orphanage for her bombastic anecdotes regarding her travels, abliet with Myth and Fusion translating the more complex parts of her speech. Scar will never admit it, but she has a soft spot for the ”Spawn of Heart”, as she calls them.

FU5-10N (aka. Fusion Anon), Ultimate Robot

Originally built for the purpose of being a science museum’s tour guide and mascot, FU5-10N has since being upgraded to look after little kids as well. While some more skittish kids may be a bit unnerved by this 6,3 metal man, the fear quickly dissipates when said 6,3 metal man starts telling dad jokes and science trivia. Myth quickly got along with the metal man for their shared love of puns. However, FU5-10N is also the only one besides Myth who knows of Wyre‘s true talent.

Fusion Anon II, Ultimate Cosplayer

Fusion II is well-known across conventions for her impressively accurate craftsmanship regarding her costumes. Fusion II regularly acts sarcastic and ”too cool for school”, but Myth and the kids quickly busts down her snarky exterior to reveal a massive nerd deep down. Because of Fusion II’s talent, she can not only repair the orphan’s torn clothes and plushies, but she‘ll improve them and make them at least “20% cooler”. She’ll never admit it, but she lives for the orphan’s smiles and words of gratitude.

Just Anon, Ultimate Artist

A natural prodigy when it comes to all sorts of art forms, Janon very quickly establishes himself as a cynical and lazy jerk. Or at least, around adults and kids his age. When around people younger than him need his help, he’d always there for them in a pinch. Unfortunately for him, Myth regularly teases and praises Janon for his soft spot towards the orphans, claiming that he should start working here full-time. This usually earns her paint splashed in her face.

Sparkle Anon, Former Ultimate Magician

Sparkle, or “THE SPECTACULAR SPELLCASTER, SPARKLE“ as she refers to herself, might just hold the record for the most bombastic and elaborate magic tricks ever performed on stage. Myth’s relationship with Sparkle goes back more than half a decade. In fact, Sparkle got her start entertaining the kids at Myth’s orphanage. Myth regularly volunteers herself to assist Sparkle in her magic shows. Even as an adult, Sparkle still hasn’t lost her sparkling and eccentric charm. She lives for the thunderous roar of applause and the tsunami of smiles from her loving audience.

Egg Anon, Former Ultimate Supreme Leader, and Wet Sock Anon, Former Ultimate Astronaut

While Myth normally would allow anyone to help out at the orphanage, these two are the exception to this rule, and it’s not hard to see why. Egg has but one goal; to brainwash children with cursed thoughts and indoctrinate them into their cult. Their twin, Wet Sock‘s main goal is to extend the reach of their cult to outer space. Myth speaks for everyone at the orphanage when she says that Egg and Wet Sock’s cursed images and concepts  are hazardous to a child‘s mental health.

Curious Anon, Jr. Ultimate Anthropologist 

Just like with Scar, Curious’s stories of their worldly travels entice the children of Myth’s orphanage. And Curious as a person is an equally pleasant experience, for they are tranquil, mild-mannered and easy to get along with. Myth regularly tries to set up Curious with Janon, knowing that Janon has fallen hood-over-heels for them. But despite Curious’s knowledge on the foreign aspects of humanity, romantic feelings seem to be foreign even to them. 

Anon Nerd, Former Ultimate Tennis Pro

Unlike other Anons, who frequent the orphanage for the kids, Nerd is after the adorable caretaker, not that he’ll ever admit it. However, Myth knows her romance and would stop at nothing to get Nerd to admit his feelings for her. Not even getting her lip busted by a Mach 2 tennis ball or getting bashed in the head with a tennis racket would stop this girl. She can and will get this tsundere tennis champion to confess, even if she has to suffer scouter burns in the process.

Eldritch Anon, Ultimate Detective

Years of working in law enforcement has left this diminutive detective panicky, hostile and distrusting of just about anybody. Ever since Eldritch heard of an assassin hiding out in the orphanage, Eldritch will stop at nothing to find the assassin hidden among the orphans. But in the meantime, Eldritch has to shake off pesky kids who think he’s one of them. Myth has to save Wyre‘s bacon on the daily from this paranoid detective who wants her incarcerated. 

Dream Anon, Ultimate Pianist

Having been attracted to music ever since she was a baby, Dream dominates piano competitions year after year with her energetic and triumphant tunes. She regularly wheels her piano around town looking for places to perform at, which is how she happened upon Myth’s orphanage. Performing for the orphans gives Dream a rush of euphoric feelings that winning competitions could only hope and dream to achieve. And the cute detective that frequents the orphanage with her isn’t half-bad either.

Iris Anon, Jr. Ultimate Inventor

Despite her clumsy and goofy demeanour, Iris has a 7-year winning streak at her hometown’s regional science fairs. Famous for inventing and marketing a new and improved version of Moon Shoes called Astro-Uggs, Iris regularly shows off her inventions to the children of Myth’s orphanage and even donates some of her inventions to Myth in hopes of improving the living conditions of the orphanage. Iris hopes that her inventions would make the world even better and more awesome then it already is.

Purple Anon, Ultimate Maid

With a selfless attitude and an overly formal vocabulary, Purple regularly comes to the orphanage to assist Myth in caring for the children. Despite Myth claiming that she doesn’t need the extra help, Purple insists that it’s the least she can do. Purple always tries her best to help the kids, but most of the children have no idea what she is saying due to her old-fashioned and complex vocabulary, which requires Fusion to translate for her.  

This series revolves around Myth and Fusion trying to prevent the other Anons, Eldritch in particular, from finding out about Wyre‘s true talent. However, Wyre doesn‘t do a very good job at hiding her true nature and soon, everyone else but Eldritch finds out. So now, it’s Everybody Else vs. Eldritch.

——————————————————

APPEARANCE

Myth wears glasses and has undyed hair in two low and long pigtails, held up by green scrunchies. She has a matching green headband with yellow stars and pink hearts and a heart shaped ahoge, designating her as the protagonist. She wears an oversized pink hoodie with yellow details and a smiley face on each pocket, over a blue shirt with multicoloured shapes on it. She also has a necklace with a green clover in the center. She wears a red belt that holds various stuffed animals and a yellow belt that holds a first aid kit. Her long and light blue skirt has various patches sewn in and on her feet, she wears red Mary Janes.

———————————-———————

PERSONALITY

Despite what ChildCaregiver!Myth’s fashion sense would suggest, ChildCaregiver!Myth is more serious and almost monk-like in her tranquilty. Being surrounded by children since birth has caused ChildCaregiver!Myth to grow into a caring, calm and empathetic soul. She is also known to offer sage-like advice on how to deal with loss and abandonment, having dealt with abandoned and parentless children. However, ChildCaregiver!Myth has a bad tendency to overexert herself and spread herself too thin, something also caused by being surrounded with kids. She can be a bit stubborn on insisting that she doesn’t need help and can deal with this all by herself, much to the concern of the volunteers. If I had to compare ChildCaregiver!Myth to a canon character, I’d compare her to Kirumi.

——————————————————

Finally! I’ve finished ChildCaregiver!Myth! Let me know what you think of this talentswap!

-Fusion Anon

—

Well the kids I babysit sure seem to like me, so this is a good talent haha!

[twilight-town-zombies]

For the ship thing. Axel and Isa. Somebodies and Hot Topic where it would differ

How do much do I ship it?: Never heard of it/ Notp / Dislike / used to ship / maybe / ship it / aww / otp / IS IT CANON YET?

2. What non sexual activities do they like to do together?

Somebodies: 

When they were kiddos, Lea and Isa spent a lot of time outside of academy hours roaming around the city and trying to sneak into places they weren’t supposed to (Their loftiest goals being the clock tower and castle). They considered this more their ‘job’ than anything, though. 

For fun, they played a lot of frisbee and tag with the other local hooligans or just with each other, which Isa preferred. They would read books and comics together late at night when Lea would sneak over to Isa’s house and often reenacted these and the stories their fathers told them on the beach or in the town square. 

Sometimes Isa’s father would take them both out in his fishing boat. Isa would help, and Lea would also ‘help,’ which often involved fumbling bait and fish over the side. Other days, one of the bartenders, cooks, or servers at the Lea’s parent’s pub would take them under their wing for an evening and let them help add spices to dishes or collect bottle caps off the floor or wash tables, which would last until one of the customer’s complained or Lea’s parents caught sight of them and kicked them out. 

In Somebodies, as young twenty-somethings, they spend most of their free time focusing on academy training and school, especially with Isa trying to steer Lea away from his delinquent friends and tendencies. Isa’s much more studious than Lea and helps him relearn material that he was too distracted to learn in class, and convinces him to take time to sit and focus on completing homework and readings. 

They love to spar and work out together on a regular basis and often give each other advice or teach each other new techniques. They’re both competitive and have some unchecked aggression, so sparring is a good outlet, and it teaches them to give their all, while maintaining self-control, because they don’t want to hurt each other much, although a few bangs and bruises have always been forgivable, and they give each other a fair amount of medical care as well.  

In their free time, Lea and Isa enjoy taking their dog Neptune on walks in the park or along the beach, going sailing, and playing frisbee for old time’s sake. 

Some nights Lea helps Isa babysit his sisters and entertains them with wild anecdotes. They both appreciate how gentle each other can be with kids and animals. Other nights, Isa visits Lea while he’s bartending, and when Lea has time, they tell each other stories about their day, reminiscence and try to make each other laugh.  

Hot Topic: 

Axel and Saix have embraced island life in a big way. Whenever they can get away from work, they spend their free time on the beach, going on long walks or jogs, or surfing and playing frisbee or soccer with Xigbar and Demyx. (They played soccer together in high school for a while.) They enjoy being active and getting fresh air, and it’s been helpful for Saix’s mental health. They often go to the gym together, spot each other and give each other advice and encouragement. 

When they need a night in, they enjoy cooking together and then Netflix and cuddle. Sometimes they watch terrible shows just to amuse each other making snide comments. They’re also very good at spending down time together, with Saix reading and Axel sketching tattoo designs, either on paper or on Saix’s skin. 

When they want to go out, sometimes the pair of them will go to a club to dance and hang out exclusively with themselves (because if Saix loses sight of Axel for two seconds he will jump to conclusions and freak the fuck out). Though they don’t have a lot of time for it, they enjoy shopping for clothes together and have been known to spend literal hours in the fitting room, making each other try on a hundred different things.

(God, this is long. I will try to be shorter)   

3. Who does chores around the house?

I would say in both stories, they try to split chore responsibilities evenly, because Isa doesn’t let Lea slack. Having a clean and organized house is incredibly important to Isa/Saix because it gives him a sense of security and control over his life. Lea/Axel is not a naturally neat person, and doesn’t entirely understand, but he recognizes how important it is to his boyfriend and tries to take his responsibilities seriously. HT Saix is a little more extreme with his organization than Isa is, (I think I mentioned an alphabetical spice rack?) so Axel has a harder time of it. Every now and then, Lea/Axel will get tired and forget to do something or leave his things lying around. Isa is more likely to shake his head and do it for Lea, while Saix is more likely to give Axel a lecture about his laziness.

4. Who’s the better cook?

Somebodies: Lea. He grew up watching cooks in his dad’s bar, he works in a pub, and he’s had to make a lot of his own food because his parents are pretty negligent. Also, he enjoys cooking and loves to try exotic foods, probably because there wasn’t always enough to go around and he occasionally had to accept food from whoever would give it to him. Isa’s mother does a lot of the cooking in his family and keeps recipes pretty simple. His father’s a fisherman so there’s a lot of seafood and bread, which are pretty much the only thing Isa feels comfortable making well. He tends to prioritize school over learning to cook and sometimes forgets to eat if Lea doesn’t remind him. 

Hot Topic: Saix. Under the advice of his therapist, Saix tries to embrace the healthy body, healthy mind lifestyle and spends a lot of time learning to make healthy and delicious foods. He’s thinking about going vegan. He approaches cooking like something to be studied and perfected. Axel can cook fairly well too, and sometimes they cook together, though Saix can be bossy in the kitchen. Axel can’t entirely blame him though. Axel is more about tastiness than healthiness and tends to burn things or make them too salty or spicy.   

5. Who’s the funniest drunk?

The funniest would probably be Lea/Axel when he’s a little buzzed, but mostly just up to his normal antics. 

When Isa/Saix is drunk and in a good mood, he gets very affectionate and clingy with Lea/Axel and forgets to care how much he dislikes/is cautious of PDA, which their friends find both funny and a little sad. If he’s tired or stressed he tends to get broody and quiet, Isa more likely to get depressed or opinionated, Saix more likely to be jealous or hostile. 

While Lea/Axel is funnier in general, and he’s more likely to make people laugh with his sense of humor, getting drunk actually tends to make him less funny, because he’s more likely to make jokes that are a little crueler, more personal, less tasteful, which he otherwise would have kept to himself, and Isa/Saix is less likely to keep him in check and more likely to get pissed about it.

6. Do they have kids?

Somebodies: No, just a dog that they are very devoted to. Lea and Isa would have liked to have adopted a kid or two in the future. 

Hot Topic: No. They’ve been on and off again enough that the topic of having kids is kind of a vague and distant concept in their minds at this point in time. Saix especially wants to focus on getting himself into a better place before he even considers the idea. Axel prefers to hang out with other people’s kids so he can give them back after. He sometimes baby-sits his friend David’s niece, Lilo. He’s a little afraid he’d mess his own kids up.  

7. Do they have any traditions?

Somebodies: They used to meet at the fountain in the local square to walk to school together every day. Even after their fake public break up, they still get together on special occasions, like birthdays, holidays, and graduations, and spend the whole day together, and they usually meet up in that same spot. 

Hot Topic: Both Axel and Saix did not have great home lives growing up, so rather than going home for the holidays, they spend them together making their own traditions, inviting their friends over, or if they’re really just not in the mood, making them as low key as possible. They only decorate for Halloween. They are an order take-out on Christmas kind of couple. Although they would probably go surfing before-hand. Attempts to break from these into a more traditional holiday tends to cause discord. 

8. What do they fight about?

Somebodies: Mainly, Lea’s bad habits, smoking, stealing that sort of deal. He has some friends like Elrena that poverty has pushed toward the criminal side, of life and Isa wants him to be successful.  Every so often, they’ll fight about the uncertainty of their future. Lea wants to be on the Castle Guard, and Isa’s also considering it, but guards aren’t supposed to be in relationships, and they don’t actually have a plan to deal with that, nor are they able to sit down and talk about it without emotions running high. 

Hot Topic: Commitment. Lea’s a bit of a flirt, and Isa’s childhood abuse has left him with an extreme sense of insecurity that manifests in his jealousy. So, Isa’s constantly questioning Lea’s commitment to him and relationships with other men and keeping tabs on him, and Lea’s questioning why the other areas of Isa’s life seem to be improving, but not Isa’s ability to let Lea be himself, spend time by himself, and make new friends.    

9. What would they do if they found their pairing tag on tumblr? (If they have one)

Somebodies: Isa and Lea would be incredibly concerned with the extreme personality changes and murder they see in their futures. (And how the hell does that lead to domestic life with two teenagers? Or are they adults? Or are they preschoolers? Isa and Lea are barely not teenagers themselves, and are not feeling ready for this.) 

Hot Topic: Saix is Concerned. Axel loves the murder and intrigue, he’s definitely going to spend hours clicking through fanart and fics and showing Saix highlights. 

10. Who cried at the end of Marley and me?

(I’ve never seen Marley & Me, I’m just going to assume a very cute dog dies)

Somebodies: Isa’s reading Marley & Me out loud to Lea, who’s lounging on the floor in front of the fireplace, hugging Neptune. Lea’s eyes start getting misty and Isa’s voice breaks. Lea brings Neptune over to Isa, who is not full on crying, but maybe about to be. Group hug and they decide to take a break from the book and take Neptune outside to play for a while. 

Hot Topic: Axel starts bitching about the ending as soon as he realizes what’s happening, but he gets quieter and quieter as the story plays out. Saix is holding him and rubbing his back and Axel thinks he’s doing okay and then abruptly Saix starts straight up sobbing into Axel’s shoulder, and Axel hushes and quiets him, and they make plans to go adopt a puppy the next day. 

11. Who always wins at Mario kart?

Both: Axel is much more into video games than Saix is but Saix somehow always comes up from behind at the last minute and beats him in Mario Kart, no matter how many times they play. 

12. One thing I like about this ship?

I love their history. They grew up together and know each other inside and out and have stood by each other through whatever life’s thrown at them. I like their personalities. I see them as two people with wildly different personalities who, nonetheless both understand and value the other person for and in spite of those differences. I like that they are both strong, loyal, and dedicated to what they believe in and care about to the point where they stand by each other when they lose their hearts and straight up commit murder because they want to be able to feel love for each other again. That’s fucking hard core. Oh that was like five things. Whoops. 

13. One thing I don’t like about the ship?

Controversial take, I know, but I’m a huge Axel/Roxas fan, so I kind of prefer to see Lea/Isa and Axel/Saix as past tense, a couple that broke up because life threw too much at them and they betrayed each other, but have happily moved on and still mean the world to each other, just in a different way.  

Sea Salt Fam: I don’t like that they’ve somehow become the Dads of the group? I always imagined them in their early twenties--at most--just a few years older than the rest of the group, so seeing them put in these parent roles, for Roxas and Xion, who tend to get treated like young children, (Daddy, braid my hair and read me a story is, like, not something any teenager has ever said), kind of weirds me out.   

14. The song I would say fits them?

Somebodies: Mars (Sleeping at Last)

Hot Topic: Kills You Slowly (The Chainsmokers)

15. Another headcanon about the pairing? (Free space)

Somebodies: Isa and Lea have never officially told anyone in their families that they’re romantically involved, because they’re not supposed to be, but they are all perfectly well aware, and do not believe for a second that they broke up. 

Hot Topic: Saix is hugely in love with Axel’s voice and guitar-playing, and even though seeing him at the front of a band makes him incredibly uncomfortable and Demyx drives Saix crazy, he’s trying really hard to be supportive of the whole endeavor and listens to the band’s EP on a regular basis.   

[coppicefics]

Masked Omens: Week Five

[Image Description: Image 1 - A simple rendition of the Masked Singer UK logo, a golden mask with colourful fragments flying off of it. The mask has a golden halo and a golden devil tail protruding from either side. Below, gold text reads ‘Masked Omens’. 

Image 2 - A page from the Entertainment section of the Capital Herald, dated Saturday, 23rd January 2021. Full image description and transcript below cut. End ID.]

Read the fic here!

The Capital Herald - Saturday, 23rd January 2021 Entertainment, page 15

Top section: Stream of Consciousness: Shows To Make You Think A whole host of great documentaries, old and new, have just been added to streaming services Who doesn't love a good documentary? You can learn all sorts of things, and you don't have to do any of the research for yourself. Over the last couple of weeks, loads of people seem to have been tuning into the wealth of documentaries available on various streaming services; here are a few I particularly enjoyed. Green Planet (2020) is not your standard nature documentary; while there are some extremely cute shots of animals (including gorillas, whales, and giant squid) the main focus is on sustainable practices people are experimenting with in all sorts of industries and contexts, and the way they allow local wildlife to flourish. It's thought-provoking stuff. We're As Folk (2019) takes a look at the contemporary folk movement, interviewing figures from the second British revival right through to the present day; contributors include Seth Lakeman, Frank Turner, Anathema and Bellowhead. With folk-festival anecdotes aplenty, the documentary explores the intricacies of the genre and culminates in all the contributors performing a once-in-a-lifetime rendition of 'She Moved Through The Fair'. Gadget If You Can (2015) might be a little outdated now, but that's what makes it such a compelling watch. From watches that tell the time in 21 capital cities concurrently to hoverboards that actually, well, hover, this is a fascinating look at the new devices that seemed to be just on the horizon when it was released more than five years ago. Some have since appeared; some remain pipedreams. All are interesting! Making Fast Friends (2012) is the oldest documentary on this list, and the narrowest in scope. It was released alongside the SEGA charity single 'Fast Friends' and gives us a behind the scenes look at what happened when Sonic the Hedgehog teamed up with a whole bunch of children's TV presenters to make the record. Although largely factual in nature, it does also feature animated 'interviews' with Sonic and Knuckles, so it's entirely suitable for watching with your family. And P-White fans, in particular, will not want to miss this a second time around. A War Without War (2021), by contrast, is both up-to-the-minute and extremely disturbing to watch. It is composed of a mixture of expert analysis of the situation developing on the ground in Celestan and grim footage allegedly smuggled out of the country by fleeing residents. Moreover, with more episodes promised, it forces the viewer to acknowledge what is happening as the country breaks apart, and asks us the difficult question: can you have a war without war? Dinosaurs: The Punchline (2013) is frequently mistaken for a mockumentary thanks to its tongue-in-cheek title. It is, in fact, a thoughtful exploration of how religious groups respond to apparent conflicts between scientific facts and the tenets of their faith. Without shying away from the realities of science as we know it, this film takes a surprisingly sensitive approach to investigating how science and religion intersect in the modern world. By The Numbers (2018) looks back at the history of the televised National Lottery, along with its competitors on other channels and the entertainment chosen to appear directly after it. Featuring clips and interviews with stars from Marjorie Potts aka Telepathic Tracy, whose show aired after the draw for over a decade, to Marvin O. Bagman, whose sports-based quiz show had, at the time of the documentary’s release, the corresponding Channel 4 slot. It’s not groundbreaking, but it is very entertaining. CITRON DEUX-CHEVAL Have I missed any amazing documentaries you think I should be talking about? Drop me an email at entertainment@capitalherald.co.uk or leave a comment on our website and I might feature your recommendations in a future issue.

Centre left: Memory Lane: Kilcridhe Now there’s a vicar I’d have loved to meet at the altar Ask any male-attracted person of a certain age – well, my age and up, really – if they remember Kilcridhe, and you'll be met with flushed cheeks and a glassy expression. We remember Kilcridhe, all right – or perhaps it would be fairer to say that we remember Father Jacob MacCleod. It's hard to believe that heartthrob Jacob was Anthony Crowley's first major role on television, and harder still to believe that he was also one of his last. The show ran for only two six-episode series, between 2005 and 2006, but in those twelve hours I think it's fair to say a fair few of us fell irrevocably in love. Kilcridhe was named for the fictitious Scottish village where it was set, and largely revolved around the goings-on of the local church and its new minister. Much of the series' drama centred around Father MacCleod's ongoing attempts to fill the pews, which saw him trying everything from hosting a bake sale – for which he ended up baking everything himself – to arranging a community talent show, with predictably bizarre results. But during the course of these adventures, each episode also introduced us to one or more of Kilcridhe's residents. We got a glimpse into the little struggles and joys of their lives – most of which quickly became Jacob's struggles and joys, too. My main memory of this show is that it was pretty. Not just Jacob, but everything about it, from the location they chose for the exterior shots, to the tone added in post-production; everything was just slightly more saturated and colourful than real life, not enough to be jarring but enough to give the whole thing a strangely dreamlike feel. In fact, as Jacob remarked as he prepared to leave for Edinburgh at the end of series one (not knowing if he would return or if the show would be cancelled), “leaving [Kilcridhe] feels like waking from a dream, like going back to reality somehow”. It was, perhaps, for the best that Kilcridhe was cancelled after only two series. Shows originally envisioned as limited series rarely keep their charm past a second extension, and the central actor was to encounter personal problems not long after the end of the show. That's not to say that a revival couldn't work, perhaps with a completely new protagonist. But Father Jacob MacCleod lives on in the hearts of his many fans, smiling that enigmatic smile of his, and when that's not enough, there's always online fanfiction. So much fanfiction. SARAH JEUNE Memory Lane is our regular feature, looking back at the books, shows and films of yesteryear through a nostalgic lens. Do you miss something you’d like to see featured? Just send the show name (plus channel and airdates if you know them) in an email to: memorylane@capitalherald.co.uk - your prayers might just be answered!

Centre right: Correspondent’s Corner Stop talking about it Anathema is making waves again as she does the talk-show circuit to promote her new album, Narrative Devices. It's a very pretty album from a very lovely girl, but she does keep getting hung up on one point. Every time somebody describes her music as country, she interrupts to tell them it's folk. Well, I'm no music expert, but even I know that folk is a very European genre, and the United States' equivalent is country, or country and western music, to give it its full name, and to continue to argue to the contrary is simply courting controversy for controversy's sake. It is unbecoming of a young lady – even, or perhaps especially, a young lady with Anathema's obvious talent – to continue to argue with her elders on the subject, and even to correct the likes of Graham Norton and Giles Brandreth. These sage bastions of broadcasting deserve more respect, and they couldn't be more gracious in accepting their 'mistake'. But surely a young musician in the first flush of success should take the time to learn about what she's actually doing? It doesn't seem very much to ask. It’s not entirely her fault, of course; the youth of today are given far too much freedom by their parents and, on top of that, are often propelled to disproportionate success with no chance to prepare for it. Is it any wonder that it all goes to their heads? But there is no excuse for not making an effort to keep their egos in check and defer to their betters on matters of terminology and best practice. Naturally, we all hope that Anathema will enjoy a long and successful career making the music she enjoys the most and , more importantly, music we can all enjoy too. And I also hope that she will, eventually, acquire the humility so rarely found in young people these days and accept that she does not always know best. If she listens to the counsel of older and wiser heads than hers, she might even learn something. ANDY SANDALPHON What can’t they do? If there's one thing that's becoming apparent with every passing week of The Masked Singer UK, it's that celebrities are no longer to content to stay in their lane. No, these multi-talented marvels seem determined to push themselves to the limit in every possible field. So far, we’ve seen sergeants become singers, rugby players become rockers, doctors become divas and authors become, er, audible. And with weeks still to go in this competition, we still have eight masked celebrities to guess. Eight people whose day jobs probably don’t include getting on stage and belting out pop standards are still waiting to impress us with talents that aren’t even their thing. I mean, if I could sing and dance like the contestants on the show, you can bet your life I’d be making a living from it. It would be my number one talent, and I’d be rubbish at anything else, because most of us only get one main skill. Not these jammy gits, though. For them, this is a sideline. It's not just The Masked Singer, of course – from proving their talent for trivia on Pointless Celebrities and their wordplay wisdom on Celebrity Catchphrase to demonstrating their culinary qualities on Celebrity Masterchef and The Great Celebrity Bake Off, it seems that wherever you look someone is adding a new string to their bow. Being a phenomenally talented actor, singer, or footballer is all well and good, but more and more stars are now keen to show us that they really can do anything and everything. And why shouldn't they? It's phenomenally entertaining television to watch. And for those of us who sometimes feel inadequate compared to our famous idols, it can be very reassuring to watch, for example, a comedian weeping into his cupcake mix on Bake Off or an Oscar nominee fall on her face on Dancing On Ice. When they do well, it's amazing; when they do badly, it's life-affirming. That said, I've been blown away by the talent of the contestants on The Masked Singer this series. It's so inspirational, in fact, that I might take up watercolours. EDWARD BIGGS Bottom right (in blue box): Citron’s Quick Picks Fast favourites from Citron Deux-Cheval Look: Sea Change by Hastur LaVista There's never been a journey to to the top quite like P-White's. This authorised biography charts a course from children's presenter to global superstar through interviews, pictures and anecdotes. While the research sometimes seems a little slapdash, the story at the heart of the book is more than interesting enough to hold it together. And since it's authorised, Maputi themself has contributed plenty of private insights and observations. [Image description: A book, its cover featuring a blue-green gradient with black, dripping lines spilling across it. The title reads ‘Sea Change’. End ID.] Listen: Narrative Devices by Anathema Anathema's first album was well-received both within the folk community and beyond it. Now her second album, backed up by an obvious increase in resources, looks set to enjoy similar mainstream success, and deservedly so. The theme this time seems to be the act of telling stories, but it's also a story in itself. You'll have heard the singles, but it takes on new meaning when you play it in order! [Image description: An album cover featuring hands holding a book. The words “Anathema” and “Narrative Devices” are printed on it. End ID.] Laugh: Newtral Stance by AutoTuna on YouTube It's not the first time beleaguered commentator Newton Pulsifer has had his words edited into a supercut. It's not even the first time his frequent disagreements with the VAR have been autotuned – including by YouTube user AutoTuna. But this new edition adds an extra dimension in the form of a flat, robotic voice duetting – and duelling – with the frustrated human, taking the hilarity to a whole new level! [Image description: A screenshot of a young woman wearing a call centre headset (specifically, the woman who cold-calls Crowley in Good Omens and gets Hastur instead). She looks extremely bored. End ID.]

Advertisement, bottom right: IS THIS YOUR CARD? [Image Description: Two business cards with a white-to-yellow gradient, overlapping so that they are slightly fanned out. Printed on the left-hand side of each is ‘This is to certify The Amazing [blank] as a [blank] training under Mr A.Z. Fell.‘ The one behind is filled in with ‘Your Name-’ and ‘Sorcer-’. The front card is filled in in a more child-friendly font, with ‘Your Name Here’ and ‘Junior Magician’. Below this is space for a start and expiry date, filled in with ‘08/20′ and ‘08/21′ respectively. On the right-hand side of the card, a logo shows a rabbit emerging from an upturned top hat, and below it are the words ‘Harry’s Junior Magic Academy’. The word ‘Junior’ is in the same child-friendly font as before. End ID.] IT COULD BE. Membership is open to under 12s and 13-18 year-olds at www.harrys-magic.com

End of transcript.

[likesomekindofcheese]

Hi! I don't know if you've done this pairing yet, and if u have just disregard this ask, but can I have BoRhap boys x pisces? Thank u sm in advance!

Hello there! I have recently written for Joe and also for Ben, so now here are our dear remaining boys, Rami and Gwil! And you are very welcome in advance!

Rami:

(Taurus and Pisces)

 He loves your enchanting eyes and gentle nature! One time there was a little dog that got lost and you cooed at the thing, kept it at your home, and then returned it to its the owner and he knew you had the soul of a saint.

So he gets super competitive if any other dudes dhow interest! If he notices any of the other guys flirt with you, say it’s Joe, talking about how nice you look tonight, he will get competitive and up his game before anyone could steal you!

He finally is able to win you over and you both go to Candlelit bistros

You both also enjoy going to movies and holds you tight if you cry.

The wilder part of the city park is a fun place too. Sometimes some odd type of animal, like a fox, will be seen there and you both gawk over it. You also enjoy sniffing flowers together and comparing scents/

Rami loves to set Candles and play music when you come over for dinner to always set the right mood. 

You both could spend a lazy day at the beach on towels, reading magazines, and napping under umbrellas together.

Since you are both artistic, home is full of things you have found and collected! You may have to consider finding space for them soon!

Gwil:

His guileless and sunny spirit is so refreshing! Gwilym can always make you smile until your face hurts and you feel oddly tired because you’ve been laughing so hard.

He is a bridge for going out and making friends: esp. in the arts and culture world! Parties don’t seem so scary with Gwil by your side, and neither do people!

You show him how to see a place for the first time. Let’s say he is in some theatre where you both are gonna watch a play. You look up and notice the little curves in the ceiling and the shapes you see in the boxes. He loves that you add lift to even “old” things.

You both collect snapshots and memorable anecdotes! Every meeting with other people is full of stories like Gwil would say “here’s the time Y/N almost had a shoe thrown at her in the tube- it’s okay! It’s actually funny!”

You are both humanitarian and work to help others! Whenever Gwil makes a video supporting some charity, you film it, nodding happily

You are both also very playful! Gwil may look like the most mature, traditional gentleman there is but even he could not resist going into your pillow fort to watch some shows (even though his long legs dangled out)

You both champion the underdog! If some sports team or someone on some reality show isn’t doing well or isn’t big, you both watch religiously cheering as they win and then smiling and hugging as he kisses the side of your face as they do.

You both paint together often. Spending mornings and evenings with delicate watercolors and brushes, with the pink and orange sky, next to someone you love, you both couldn’t ask for more.

Taglist: @queenlover05