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passivenovember · 1 year ago

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Billy knows he's pregnant because he has a double whopper with no cheese on the way home from Loch Nora.

Billy hates the Burger King. It tastes like cardboard and the cheese burns noxious holes in his stomach, probably, but things change when you're gonna be a mom.

A dad. Whatever.

Steve Harrington shoots his wad and, like magic, like Steve Harrington's spunk has turned everything inside him into stardust, Billy can't get enough of the shit. He'd buy cologne made of BK's burger fat, if he could, and spend all day sucking on his wrist like a dog.

So. Billy's pregnant. It's obvious. Among other things.

And no one ever said Steve Harrington was smart, not in any way that matters, and Billy can't learn his lesson. They fuck on Thursday night because apparently this is a middle-of-the-week kind of arrangement, now, and Harrington comes apart inside of Billy because you're on the pill, Malibu, it's okay.

Billy likes it. Lets him. Thinks, there's probably no harm in it now that he's no longer the Virgin Mary. It feels immaculate, anyhow, that this could happen.

Steve fucks into him sloppy, losing his rhythm until he spills, and tears swamp Billy's vision so he misses the whole fuckin' thing. The main show.

He wants to keep the baby. No one ever said Billy was smart, either.

But there are things in this life he'll keep to himself. He's allowed that. He shares so much with Max and Steve, and by association all the other fucking people that love Steve, and it gets old.

He can have this.

Billy thinks that this could be just for him.

"Fuck, Billy," Steve pulls out, but not before peppering Billy's face with soft butterfly kisses. His breath smells like them. Like blueberry seeds, underneath it all, "Goddamn, your pussy's magic."

Billy's hole runs sloppy. Too fucked out to hold anything in.

Billy almost laughs out loud, because. It's magic. It's a joke, right, his pussy swallowed and now there's--

"Love that thing you do with your hips. Love the sounds you make when my shaft rubs--"

"You're a fucking pervert."

"I was normal, before you let me hit," Steve trails damp, sticky fingers through Billy's chest hair. "You hungry?"

I'm pregnant. "No."

"Sure?" Steve rolls closer on the mattress, nosing Billy's damp, pillow-squashed curls out of the way, "You smell like you could eat a fucking village."

"I'm fine."

"Orphans and all, baby."

"So fucking weird."

Steve hums. Pulls on Billy's earring with his teeth and then licks a wet, fat stripe over his bonding patch. Teasing. "If you're hungry I could get us food."

"I'm fine."

"Really, I just need to put some shorts on and I'm outta here, fuckin'. Pedal to the metal--"

"Jesus Christ, I said I'm not hungry so fucking drop it, asshole," Billy shoves away, sitting on the edge of the mattress. He feels around on the carpet for his jeans, his t-shirt, his converse.

Steve runs out of him, gluing him to 500 count Egyptian Cotton. Pisses him off.

"Billy," Steve says.

Billy tugs his socks on. He was freezing, apparently. Never realized it. His teeth chatter so he stoops, reaching for the closest hoodie shaped thing in their heap of discarded clothes, and then.

"You don't have to go, baby," Steve pokes him between the shoulder blades, gentle as a falling leaf. "Please stay."

"You're pissing me off."

"What else is new."

"I'm gonna--"

Steve wraps around Billy like a blanket, cock soft and sticky against Billy's tailbone. His legs are lean and strong, all muscle and good intentions, just like the rest of him.

Billy hates it.

He melts back against Steve's chest, anyway, vision swamped again.

"You gonna tell me what's wrong, or do I gotta beg?"

"Little manners might be nice."

"Billy Hargrove. Please tell me what's got you smelling like a sugar factory caught fire." Steve pets through his hair. Knows how it turns Billy to putty. Has to. "Omega troubles?"

Billy bites down on the inside of his cheek. Tastes blood. "You wouldn't get it."

"I could try," Steve tells him. His lips are soft against he back of Billy's neck, at his ear lobe, on the tense knob of his shoulder. "Please. Tell me so I can fix it."

"You can't," Billy says, traitor voice cracking open, raw, "You can't fix it. It's mine."

My life. My baby.

"Okay," Steve says easily. Kind and good and sweeter than anything Billy could ever deserve, "Stay the night, so I can cook for you before you fall asleep, and again in the morning."

Billy swallows, throat clicking like a dead lighter. Can't breathe, can't--

"It's alright," Steve kisses his neck, "Everything will feel better in the morning."

"We never should've started this bullshit," Billy sits up, heart lurching at the soft, pained noise Steve lets out into the air between them. He can't handle this shit. He can't do this, he can't--

"Billy--

"I'm pregnant," Billy says to Steve's Duran-Duran poster. Can't believe how young he feels, in this moment. Can't begin to wrap his head around the fact that he's twenty years old, and he's in Hawkins, Indiana, and he's going to have a fucking baby with someone who's got such a shitty taste in music, and--

He wants it.

More than he's ever wanted anything. Billy opens his mouth to say it, to scream it at the popcorn stucco, watching like a trillion angel eyes overhead.

But Steve breathes, like an old car trying to start. "You're sure?" He asks.

Billy's shaking even though Steve is a warm, solid weight against his back, burning them up. "Yes."

"How?" Steve asks, full of wonder, and Billy has to get away.

The carpet is heaven under his feet. "I've been. Eating a lot of Burger King."

"Burger King."

"Yeah. Cravings for shit I never liked before. Double whoppers with no cheese," Billy wrings his hands, "And. I didn't have a heat this month, so Joyce took me to the clinic. They said I'm only a few weeks along, but everything is good with her."

Steve makes a wet, heavy sound.

"I dunno. It kinda. Feels like one," Billy rubs a palm over his belly, quick as lightning, "I think it's a girl."

"Billy, please look at me."

Billy does, horrified but swallowing it, one bitter mouthful at a time. He plants his feet and everything bubbles up inside him. This is his life, his body, his baby, and he's going to to this for himself. Steve doesn't have to worry or fork out any cash or put his life on hold just because he knocked up some desperate omega--

Steve's crying. "We're having a baby."

Billy didn't expect this. He falters, mouth working in shocked silence.

But then Steve moves.

He pulls Billy to him, chest heaving as he laughs, high and bright. "Holy, shit we're gonna be parents," Steve twirls them, hooping and hollering like they just won the NBA championship. "Goddamn, your pussy really is magic!"

Billy giggles, in spite of himself. All the other shit melts away, for now, shadows receding under the blinding light of Steve Harrington.

"I can't fucking believe this," Steve says, pulling back to hunt over Billy's face, full of wonder. "Do you think she's gonna have your eyes?"

"I. I don't--"

"I feel like in high school science class we learned something about the brown eyes gene kicking the blue eyes gene's ass? But I would fucking die if our baby comes out looking like you."

"You're not," Billy swallows, choking on tears. "You're not mad at me? Or disappointed?"

"Disappointed?" Steve repeats, his face falling. "Billy, are you serious? No. No, I've fucking. Ever since I met you I've been sitting in this room every night twirling my hair around one finger and kicking my feet because, I--"

Steve's thumb rubs soft, soothing circles against Billy's cheek.

"Billy, I love you," He says gently, "I love everything about you. You're smart and you're hilarious and you're so beautiful--"

"--Steve--"

"--You make my heart feel like it's gonna beat out of my chest. I can't believe you let a loser like me climb on top of you, much less--"

Billy kisses him, eating up Steve's next words.

They don't matter, when Steve leads them back to the mattress. He eats every soft, gooey whimper out of Billy's lungs, swallowing them down and tasting the damp running between Billy's legs.

Makes love to him, while they talk about the future.

Steve only makes one joke about his dick hurting the baby's head, and Billy thinks they should sign up for a class or two.

#harringrove #omegaverse #gave up near the end there #but i hope you enjoyed it #we love soft harringrove

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gojo-mochi · 1 year ago

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A/N: Thank you all so much for the 300 followers Milestone!! I’m so happy that all you decide to stick around with me! Sorry this took a while and is gonna to take a while to complete haha! But I am doing a very special event! Where you, my dear reader, have the chance to pick a lovely man to spend the night with!

This is a Escort Service AU with characters from both One Piece and Jujutsu Kaisen!

Each character will have their own separate fic written at a later date.

The Prompt is: Virgin Reader picks who she wants to spend her first night with!

Some of these choices are more…spicy.. than others so be warned! But most of all have fun!! :3 Thank you again for the milestone! Hope to see y’all at 500 next time!

You nervously paced around the elevator, clutching the booklet in your hands with a fierce grip. Taking in shallow breaths and jumping slightly when the elevator doors ding open on your floor. You held the booklet close to your chest as you quickly walked past other hotel guests, hoping that they wouldn’t notice you. You search for your room number and dig out your keycard to be let in. Swiping it on the door, and with a soft click, you pressed on forward. The cold air of the hotel room gives you a slight jolt as you look at your surroundings, first checking out the bathroom. It was a sliding door with no locks that slid easily with a little push. You stepped on the tiled floor, and the first thing that grabbed your attention was the huge floor-to-ceiling mirror right in front of the doorway; "Woah.." Woah… woah…….. There was a small echo in the bathroom as well when you spoke out, causing your shoulders to hunch up even more. You glance at the two sinks and then the large shower across from them. ‘Enough to fit five people…’ You thought to yourself, imagining a scenario where five people would use that shower together with a blush.

The sinks being right across from the shower means that the sink’s mirror is also across from it, giving anyone showering the perfect view of themselves. You let out a shaky sigh. ‘This hotel really knows what it's doing, huh…’ Backing out of the shower to check out the rest of the room, a king size bed, a tv, a small couch on the corner, and other very normal things you expect in any hotel. You were expecting a whole wall of whips and chains, to be honest. Glad to be mistaken around that, you sat on the foot of the bed, smoothing out the booklet that had been wrinkled to all hell since you had been crushing it in your hands this whole time. You bit your lower lips as you opened it, your eyes scanning through all the names, pictures, and descriptions scattered in the pages.

Your friend had recommended this service to you, tired of hearing you whine and bitch about how you were going to be a virgin forever. A ‘Escort Service’, your friend had tried it before, multiple times, they said, and every single time they left with a smile on their face, legs trembling, and pussy wrecked. With a bit of pressure from your friend, you finally decide to take the plunge and see what all the hype is about. You already booked the hotel room and paid for everything, the only thing left was to choose who you wanted to be your first…..

PICK YOUR POISON

Roronoa Zoro:

6’4ft/192cm

"I like drinking sake and working out…what? What the fuck else am I supposed to say here?"

Looking for a hot and dense muscular man to turn you into a drooling mess? Well, look no further! Zoro here may have a hard noggin, but that's not the only thing that's hard about him. Rocking six-pack abs with wide shoulders and bulging arms with those veins, I know you ladies just love to look at. He can pick you up and mold you into any position you can think of! Don’t be scared by the alluring scar over his eye and his seemingly permanent scowl etched on his face, he’s got a soft heart on the inside and is willing to cater to your every need; just say the word! If you want this fierce-looking, rough but gentle piece of man-meat, call this number now! XXX-XXX-XX01

Don Quixote Doflamingo

6’8ft/ 203cm

"Some call me the ‘Heavenly Demon’, Pick me, and I’ll show you the true meaning of worship"

DO NOT PICK THIS MAN!!!! I DON’T KNOW WHY HE ISNT BANNED OR IN JAIL YET *A warning written by your friend*

Mere words cannot even begin to describe the greatness that is the ‘Heavenly Demon’, Sir. Don Quixote Doflamingo himself! Just basking in his godlike glow can make any man or lady cream in their pants instantly. You should be honored that you have the chance to spend a lovely night with this Celestial being! After just one night with him, every other person on this earth will never compare, so be warned; this is a ride that you will never forget. But be honest with yourself… can you really resist this sinful temptation? Call now :) XXX-XXX-XX02

“Black Leg” Sanji

6’3ft/191cm

"I believe that every single beautiful lady in the world should experience earth-shaking orgasms at least once…"

Yowch! Watch out, ladies! This saucy cook not only know his way around a kitchen but also around and inside a lady’s pants as well. He’s almost as sweet as the desserts he whips up, so if you’re looking for a tender and loving night with a man that will treat you and eat you out like a five-star meal, well, look no further! Sanji here is everything you could ask for in a man, his skilled hands will have you trembling under him before the moon is fully up! And don’t get me started on his sultry voice and accent, oh la la~! A few words are enough to even make me fall to my knees! Don’t you worry, though; Sanji will never let a lady suffer in his sights. Call now and be treated right! XXX-XXX-XX03

Trafalgar Law

“Don’t act like a brat unless you’re ready to be punished… try to test my patience and I’ll have you begging to turn back time..”

6’2ft/187cm

Tan, tattooed and pierced, Law is man of mystery, stricter than most with a seemingly cold personality. Don’t worry though, if you play nice, he’ll quickly warm up to you! If you want to spend the night with this hunky man, make sure you listen to whatever the Doctor say, unless you’re ready to be strapped down and pounded all night. We know your type though, acting all bratty and spoiled so you would end up a drooling mess faced down in the bed. Tsk Tsk, naughty girl! If you think you’re prepared to go head-to-head with this MD (and get his D heh) Call now! XXX-XXX-XX04

Eustass “Captain” Kid

6’5ft/195cm

"My dick is big, and I know how to fuck and eat pussy. Why bother picking any of the losers when you can pick a champ like me?"

Such a crass mouth on this wild red-hair! He’s better off putting that mouth to use somewhere else, don’t you think? That is, if you’re able to tame him~ "Captain" Kid is not for the faint of heart, dear reader, you have to be ready to ride if you end up choosing him. He is as fiery as the color in his hair. You can dream of biting back, but he will bite back harder and leave marks on your body that you won’t even see coming. If you ever dreamed of being tossed around like a sack of potatoes, then Kid is the man for you! Just don’t sue us if you end up more sore than you signed up for. Call now! XXX-XXX-XX05

Gojo Satoru

6’5ft/196cm

"Handsome, strong, and charming~ I’m the total package, baby, ain’t no one better than me <;3"

You should have said "Cocky" as well, though we all know that some ladies love a man who knows his worth and Gojo? Gojo definitely knows his worth (Maybe he blows it out of proportion sometimes, but still). Pearly white hair as soft as fresh snow with stunning blue eyes that will capture the heart of anyone that dares gaze upon them. Gojo Satoru is the ‘total package’, and you’re guaranteed to at least have a laugh with him by your side. Not here for laughs? Well, let me tell you all about Gojo’s soft lips, which he moisturizes every day, and his long and slender fingers, which he also moisturizes every day. (Who let Gojo in the writing room again?) He also wears a blindfold most of the time; did we mention that? Call now and see what this "package" has to offer you! XXX-XXX-XX06

Sukuna

6’6ft/197cm

"Everywhere I go, I am the ‘King’, my mere presence alone is enough to make the masses fall to their knees. So why aren’t you already down there?"

GOOD LORD DO NOT PICK THIS ONE EITHER, FOR YOUR OWN GOOD *another warning from your friend*

You already heard of the ‘Heavenly Demon, now meet the "King of Curses", Mister Sukuna! Cue Applauses. Ahem, those who are still reading this far and have not quivered and ran away in fear yet, behold and rejoice! You are some of the few who are worthy to spend a night with a King. Make no mistake now.. You are here to serve him, not the other way around. If he says ‘Sit’, you are expected to already be sitting on the ground near his feet. If he says ‘jump’, you will not ask ‘how high’ because you should already know what he wants. After one night with Sukuna, his teachings will be ingrained in your mind, body, and soul. :) If that sounds like a fun time to you! Call now! XXX-XXX-XX07

Geto Suguru

6’6ft/198cm

"Hmm? Something about me? Ah…. I rather let my actions do the speaking for me..*chuckles*"

Wowee… is it getting hot in here, or is it just Suguru? If I could, I would cut in front of the line to spend the night with this charming man. His sultry voice can lure anyone into his clutches; Suguru could start a whole cult with all the people he attracts! If you want to be treated right by a man and fucked to the high heavens, whew, I don’t know who else I can offer but Suguru. Just don’t get too sad once the night ends and the morning comes, ladies. I know it's going to be hard not to fall in love instantly with a man like this. If you think your heart can handle it, Suguru will be waiting for you at the end of this call. XXX-XXX-XX08

Nanami Kento

6’4ft/193cm

"I plan to execute my work well and leave every customer satisfied with the end result…. Uhh Nanami, could you be more.. sexy about this? Sigh…many people say I have a very ‘toned body’ and that my jawline can cut diamonds…also don’t expect me to stay longer than I need to; I don’t work overtime under any circumstances."

All work and no play make Nanami a dull boy… at least that’s what I would say if he wasn’t so damn good in bed. He does the job right, and oh boy, does he know how exactly to make any lady squirm and squirt underneath him. Don’t be put off by his cold-hearted look, he is a big-ol softy beneath all that muscle. He’s cool and calculating, not like some of the other muscleheads on here; just be honest with what you want from him and Nanami will make sure that all your wants and needs will be met to the letter. Though if you want, you could always try to push his buttons and see where that will go….:) Call here! XXX-XXX-XX09

Fushiguro Toji

6’7ft/200cm

“You know what you’re getting with me doll.. heh…if you want a good, long, and hard fuck all night, you better pay the right price…” A whole hulking mass of a man, Toji is not for the faint-hearted, mind you. Lewd, crass, and a goddamn mess of a man as well! It's hard to believe that a guy like this can get with any girl; oh, who am I kidding, We all know why we simp for him (his muscles). Don’t think you can try to fix him, ladies; he’ll end up wrecking you and have you drooling on his cock in five seconds flat. You ain’t never been forced into a real mating press or a full nelson before unless you spent the night with Toji, he’ll show you that no matter your size or weight, you’re nothing but his cocksleeve. Call now and see what’s its all about! XXX-XXX-XX10

A/N: Comments and reblogs are appreciated and loved!

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litnerdwrites · 7 months ago

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Okay, but who owes who, really?

The Ic love to talk about how 'ungrateful' Nesta is and how they do so much for her, and how spending 500 gold marks is so terrible. But Feyre admits herself, it isn't the money that's the issue, it's what Nesta spent it on; Booze and food.

However, the IC are buying whole estates and drinking each other under the table at Rita's almost every night. So it's safe to infer that 500 gold marks isn't that much when compared to what the rest of the IC spend. If I remember ACOFAS right, they all have a communal fun money account too, which Nesta should be given access to, if she was a member of his court since the war ended. Especially since attending those events the IC make her attend, count as court work (as I'll explain later).

For now, I've decided to list everything I can think of that Rhysand owes Nesta.

We can start with paying her rent for the use of her property to facilitate the meeting. (Not letting them die or suffer emotional/physical damages from it should be given).

Paying her for organising and supplying anything needed for the meetings to happen (so like event organisation) since the Ic pretty much just showed up.

Payment for the trips she took to mail the letters.

Paying for the servants to leave during the day Feyre arrived, and during the meetings. This includes tasks the servants would've normally done during those days but didn't because they needed to be out.

Then there's restitution for bodily harm, and emotional damages from being kidnapped (To both Nesta, and Elain)

Payment for new accommodations, including food, clothes and other necessities.

We can also add on restitution for any property damages inflicted when Hybern broke in.

Restitution for emotional damages for when she was attacked in the library.

Payment for her services in training with Amren plus trying to fix the wall.

Payment for her work at the HL meeting, plus a bonus for the emotional tole it took on her.

Payment for her scrying.

Payment for the works she did around the war camp, like fetching buckets and wrapping wounds and stuff (since I bet every other soldier, nurse, healer, or whoever, was paid in one way or another).

Payment for being willing to cross the battlefield with Amren and Feyre, and Elain, putting their lives on the line to reach the cauldron.

Payment for saving Cassian from the cauldron.

Payment for being willing to go as bait to lure out the king.

A reward for actually killing the kind.

Reparations for their fathers' death.

Payment for each scrying session in ACOSF.

Payment for going to The Middle.

Reparations for emotional damages caused by the Kelpi when she went to find the mask.

A reward for actually getting the mask.

Payment for going to the prison.

Reparations for emotional damages in the prison.

A reward for finding the mask.

Payment for taking her made swords, unless the wanna return those.

Payment for every single meeting she attends with Eris, be it in Spring, The Middle, or wherever.

Reparations for being thrown into the blood right, for all three of them, (since the ones who kidnapped them where Rhysand's own soldiers, and given that they're camp lords, we can assume they have decent ranks)

A reward for killing Bryallin (even though it was literally the IC job, since they promised to do that in exchange for her training to fix the wall and find magic items.

Payment for the dancing in Hewn city.

Payment for every dancing lesson she spends her time doing with Morrigan.

Emotional damages for the verbal abuse she gets from each member of the IC.

Payment for her work in the library

Payment for her training (since both that and the library were forced onto her).

Reparations for evicting and demolishing her apartment.

Reparations for the emotional damages inflicted by the Illyrians who stare and gawk at her the whole time, and insult her behind her back and too her face.

Her father's inheritance (If he didn't leave a will, then it's divided up by inheritance law, which Emerie mentions, includes females now, in the NC. We can also assume, based on her interactions with her cousin, that his side of the family got very little after her father's death. So, we can assume his fortune, business contracts, properties, including ships and things would go to Nesta. A majority of it would, anyway.)

Oh, and payment for every party she attends. And I mean more than just rent. Since Amren wants to use the argument that Nesta is part of the court, then every party she attends, from the bridge party, to starfall, to solstice, is considered a work trip, and she needs to be paid in full. For each one.)

Plus, emotional damages caused by the fire, the insults from their court, and the fact that she was on a boat, over water, despite her trauma.

Moreover, we learn in ACOMAF that Rhys doesn't lowball what he pays his court or those who work for him. Meaning that it's reasonable to expect the amount he pays to be from the higher end of the threshold. So, depending of if Rhysand pays from the mid to high end of the threshold, the total amount he owes Nesta would be pretty close to or even well over the millions.

The 500 gold marks that Feyre was so upset about was a first for Nesta, so even if we add that to Nesta's expenditures over the past year, and subtract that from what she's owed, she'd still have a lot of money. Maybe it would still be in the millions too.

That said, this is all just speculation, since we don't know the irl value of a gold mark, or the exact expenses Nesta incurred during that one year. We also don't know for sure exactly how much Rhysand pays his court or his soldiers.

#anti inner circle #anti rhysand #pro nesta #anti acosf #nesta deserves better #pro nesta archeron #nesta acotar #anti amren #anti mor #anti ic #Rhys owes Nesta a shit tone of money #Given how wealthy her father was #There's a pretty good chance that his total wealth bordered in millions by the time he died #That should be split between the Archeron sisters #But Rhysand's own laws put females in the line of succession #Meaning Nesta should've gotten most #if not all of it.#I seriously hope she's at least being paid by HOFAS

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alexeiadrae · 2 years ago

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Blaster Interview with Hajime Kanzaka vol 12, translated

Japanese original here. So, where is Zel from anyway?

Tamiki: "Where is Zelgadis from? Lina and the other three are known, and I would very much like to know."

KANZAKA: Unknown. Zelgadis himself doesn't remember because he hasn't lived in the area since he was a child, and since Rezo was like that, his parents would go along with it, and sometimes he would run away from them because he was so upset with Rezo. 　

His parents are already dead, so he can't ask them about it.

Tamiki: "In Zephelia, how strong would Lina fit in?"

KANZAKA: It's like she's one of the top 500.

Tamiki: I wonder how big the total population of Zephilia is. ......

KANZAKA: I wonder how big it is. That kind of world population is completely different from modern Japan.

Tamiki: "Are there any conditions for a demon king to be sleeping? (Red eyes, red hair, etc. ......)"

KANZAKA: No, not really. You don't want to say, "He is the Demon King because his cheeks are red.”

Tamiki: "Were Zel and Rezo good friends before they were altered?"

KANZAKA: I don't think it was particularly good or bad; it was just the usual feeling of being relatives. It was a normal relationship, with age-appropriate rebelliousness and all that.

Tamiki Oh, there was a continuation of this as well. “I would like to know how close are you to your cat? I’d like you to make it official (laughs)."

KANZAKA: Um, ......I don’t really understand how to apply it officially, but does that mean I should answer, for example, that they are as close as Amelia and Xellos? I mean, what is a "cat" in the first place? ......

Tamiki: It depends on which cat it is. Some have already been dropped and others have not.

KANZAKA: Well, there are cats that run away as soon as they are seen.

Tamiki: At any rate, he is confident that he can drop any cat within a few days (laughs).

KANZAKA: Why would I do that?

Tamiki: "What is Gourry’s exact age?" I remember that in an old interview, you said that both Gourry and Zel were about 22 or 23 years old.

KANZAKA: Well, then, it's just as I said long ago. Well, I think Gourry has forgotten how old he is.

Tamiki: Perhaps the questioner saw the answer and sent it to me in order to clarify which one he was referring to. However, the principle of this interview is that the numerical answer is not absolute as an official setting, so please allow for a little ambiguity.

Now next up is another one of the oldest and most common questions. “What are the names of Lina's parents?"

KANZAKA: It's a secret.

Tamiki: "Why don't you put Xellos in the Slayers Super Series?"

KAMISAKA Because it would be a mess.

Tamiki: I guess this question means that Amelia and Zel had short stories in the past.

KANZAKA: A short story? If it were serious, it would be ...... black (laughs).

Tamiki: I don't think there are many people who would rather read a black story like that. However, with Slayers, when there is a request from fans to read such a story, I think there is a tendency not to try to write such a story, so you shouldn't expect too much from it.

Tamiki: Then, here's a question. I love cats, but it seems that dogs and other animals rather than cats appear in your works more often than cats.

KANZAKA: Because if you put a cat in the work, people would be drawn to it. For example, the scene in the film where the dog is startled by the explosion, barks, and runs away. If it were a cat, you would think, "I mustn't scare the cat!”

Don't you think? Don't you think so?

Tamiki: ............. Ah, that's it, isn't it? I've heard this theory before: "It's better not to have the character you like the most appear in the work.

KANZAKA: Yes. That's absolutely true, of course, isn't it?

Tamiki: Why is your answer there in question form? How much sleep do you get? (What time do you go to bed and wake up?)"

KANZAKA: I am susceptible to sleep deprivation, so I sleep for about eight hours. I go to bed between 3:00 and 5:00 a.m. and wake up around noon.

Tamiki: Oh, I do the same on my days off, but even on days when I have to get up at 7:00 a.m. for work or an event the next day, my bedtime doesn't change. When my average sleep time is less than 5 hours, I think I have to go to bed at 2:00 a.m. because it will be hard the next day.

KANZAKA: It's like that when it's something I enjoy. But when it is work, or some kind of obligation, I prioritize the fact that I have to go to bed because it will be hard the next day.

Tamiki: Ah, yes. That's exactly right.

KANZAKA: I think that humans are useless creatures.

Tamiki: Maybe it's just us. You write various works, but don't you get mixed up with ......?

KANZAKA: Yes, they do (laughs). In fact, when I was writing Lost Universe and Day Trip Quest in one-week shifts at the same time, there was a case where the names of the guest characters were switched in the middle of the story.

Tamiki: This is another common question, so I'll put two together. “When you are stuck for an idea, what do you do first?” What do you do to refresh yourself?

KANZAKA: I take a walk, ride the train, or take a bath. I always say that if there was a way to come up with ideas, no one would have any trouble. Or rather, there is no such thing.

#the slayers #blaster interviews #hajime kanzaka #slayers translated #zelgadis greywords #rezo #gourry gabriev #hk gets serious about his cat #hk on writing

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everywishway · 2 years ago

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I think that is due to the fact he might've been born after the Cataclysm. The real world Chloathar had a bunch of kids so he could solidify his dynasty. Plus, Kaeya ages normally (unlike the Hilichruls and Pure Blooded Khaenrians). So if he had kids eventually (because Dain says descendant, not son or anything) they were probably only half Khaenrian or he did marry a pure blooded Khaenrian and those kids married nonKhaenrians

It says in game the Hilichrul population exploded 500 years ago with the Cataclysm (but there were some around before that which could've been from other societies doing whatever Khaenriah did to get cursed) and we don't really know much more than these few things:

- They are people that were either only part Khaenrian or maybe also the lower class of Khaenrians

- They can eventually morph into either Samachruls and the bigger ones (forgot the name)

- They go to dark places, like the chasm, when they run out of energy so they can "die" (I'd have to reread the quest because I don't think they die, they just give up and don't use energy? I might be wrong but I have to reread the wording of that quest).

So, we don't know if Hilichruls can breed with other Hilichruls to make baby Hilichruls. It's also likely Khaenriah was HUGE so a lot of the population could've been hilichruls. Like, it's supposed to be under Sumeru somewhere and there is literally nowhere it can be right now due to the fact all that land is either King Deseret's empire which was around pre-Khaenriah, or Rukkadevata's (I can't spell) which she founded AFTER king Deseret lost his mind but before the Khaenrian Cataclysm.

Plus, I think Kaeya still has the curse but it might be slower. He has the two streaks that are a lighter blue and covers his eye, that might be him trying to cover up the curse.

Khaenri'an Blood Purity Through Eye Color?

This has spoilers for the 3.5 Archon Quest Cavibert. You've been warned!

Alright. I’m scatterbrained so I figured I’d talk about this. My main theory is that pureblooded Khaenri’an’s can be identified by teal eyes with Primogems.

We know all people with Khaenrian blood have primoshaped pupils but Kaeya specifically noticed that Dainsleif is stated to be “pure blood Khaenri’an”. The main difference between the two when it comes to eyes, the main thing connecting Khaenri’ans is their eye color (Kaeya having purplish eyes while Dain having teal)

Dainsleif and Chlothar are both stated to be “pure-blooded Khaenrian” and they both have the same bright teal eyes with primogem shaped pupils. This is also something Halfdan has from the Chasm quest so he might be a full blooded Khaenri’an too.

Kaeya on the other hand has a purplish blue eye. We know he has khaenri’an blood because he’s related to Chlothar and it’s stated in game through his voice lines and backstory. Plus, his primogem pupils are smaller and not as defined. It’s highly likely Kaeya is only part Khaenri’an, not full blooded. This has even been a theory for a while.

Finally, the last playable character who has a backstory related to Khaenri’ah who also has teal eyes, Albedo. While Albedo does not have the Primo-shaped eyes, his eyes match the Alchemy Crafting Table so that might be a side effect from his creation. Rhinedottir purposely made Albedo look as close to perfect originally with Subject Two/Susbedo but he was tossed. This might’ve been another symbol for “perfect” in Khaenri’ah, the teal eyes.

To add to this is the history behind blue eyes in the real world. Blue eyes are a genetic mutation from a single common ancestor and was bred throughout the years despite being a recessive gene. I think this might be something similar because Chlothar says during the quest he was a Khaenri’an noble and Khaenriah already is split between people who are “pure-blooded” vs people who aren’t (whose parents aren’t both from Khaenri’ah, like Caribert’s mother was from Mondstadt). The people who kept their bodies vs the people who turned into Hilichruls.

Khaenri’ah is shown in this quest, through Chlothar, that they had some elitism to other nations due to not worshiping the gods. The color of someone’s eyes might indicate to people how pure blooded the person is, if they are caring both the dominant trait (the primogem-shaped pupil) and the recessive trait (the teal eyes).

This might be why Kaeya was able to notice Dain was “pure-blood” so easily and why Rhinedottir gave Albedo teal eyes almost the same color as the purebloods. Just something to chew on :)

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misticloyal · 3 years ago

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Depressed Wu Kong 👀

CW: I know some ppl can’t handle descriptions of having panic attacks, PTSD induced flashbacks and just general depression stuff so content warning

Now onto A N G S T :)

- Sometimes Wu Kong would have depression days where all he can think about are the things he hurt, and how he hurts himself by ignoring them. Like Macaque and MK both experiencing problems BECAUSE of his actions.

During these types of days he also spends a lot thinking abt jttw. How he thought that repercussions for what he did weren’t fair even though he deserved them etc.

- Both being trapped under a mountain for 500 years and being a victim of the circlet gave him somewhat PTSD moments so sometimes he just wanders around like a lost spirit around the mountain reliving his mistakes.

- The monkeys of Flower Fruit are usually a saving grace but a lot of times they get pushed away and are unable to find Wu Kong wherever he’s hiding.

- He had to cancel training days w/ MK sometimes which raises questions but he leaves before MK can ask them

Unfortunately for Wu Kong MK is not only a good kid but also a very talented one, as soon as he followed Wu King back to Flower Fruit mountain a bunch of monkeys came up to him and started screeching, which he took as a sign that something was wrong.

Long story short he found Wu Kong having a panic attack and tried to drag him to Sandy which didn’t work.

Then Mk got a call from Pigsy telling him to go deliver an order and while he didn’t like it he was forced to leave Monkey King at the island (though he didn’t set a foot outside until he was sure Wu Kong was at least in the right headspace to be left alone)

- Surprisingly enough the only person who could help showed up by accident. Macaque had been strolling around the city when he caught sight of a very distressed looking MK.

His intrest was piqued so he followed him around and the only thing he could glean from the situation was that MK was trying to help someone emotionally.

He was about to leave until he caught Wu Kong’s name in the conversation the kid was having with Sandy and he immediately planned a course of action so that he could “bump” into MK while on his way back to Flower Fruit Mountain.

When MK did actually bump into him he didn’t start fighting him and instead gasped with a sudden realization, smacked his forehead and said “DUDE why didn’t I think of this before I’m so stupid,”

Basically since MK thinks that Wu Kong’s depressed/PTSD episodes are happening from past experiences maybe if he brings Macaque- who actually knows what happened during that time- to him it would help figure a couple things out.

-When Macaque is frantically being dragged MK to where Wu Kong is curled up in the center of a field (being in an enclosed space reminds him of the mountain) and he startles up sensing Macaque’s presence.

However neither of them take the offensive side and instead Macaque agrees to be Wu Kong’s personal source of comfort whenever he starts regressing to JTTW times.

He's not doing it because he forgives Wu Kong for what he did, he doing it because while he’s comforting Wu Kong by giving him hugs or whatever- he’s also feeding the part of himself that’s telling him to fix things between them instead of targeting MK or Wu Kong’s associates.

-Being around Macaque used to make Wu Kong speak softer since when they were younger Macaque’s ears were super sensitive even amplifying stuff like normal volumed-ed talking.

This is super helpful because if Wu Kong starts screaming in terror while having a flashback (yes he does that because it’s heartbreaking and angst is wonderful o7) a good way to gauge how aware of the outside work he is, is by having Macaque show up.

If Macaque appears and he tries to stop then at least he’s aware enough to remember that Macaque is sensitive to loud sounds, if he doesn’t stop then Macaque helps him come back from flashbacks.

-Macaque uses his shadows to provide a visual aid/distraction in order to ground Wu Kong when he’s disassociating

-The sound of the waterfall in front of his cave also grounds Wu Kong

-They use fruit names to try and gauge how bad a lapse is and they avoid Peaches and Mangoes since they use those as names for each other.

Banana is the lowest risk and Wu Kong’s signal for just not feeling well, no flashbacks or risks of panic attacks yet just feeling disassociating a lot today

Orange means Wu Kong is definitely not having a great time but he’s okay with touch. In fact orange means he NEEDS touch in order to ground himself.

Strawberry means the worst, no touching, the only thing that works when this happens is Macaque getting Wu Kong In an open field away from any trees, and letting his glamours slip. Wu Kong seeing that Macaque’s fur is white calms him down immensely because they used to be friends back in the day, before any of this successor business happened and before JTTW.

(Yes we’re keeping the hc that Macaque’s fur used to be white because 2009 Monkey King is fucking amazing)

#I know this was supposed to be a hc thing #But I got carried away with #Uh #angst #:)#I love writing this lmao #*slaps mini sun wu kong*#This baby can fit so much trauma in him #lego monkie kid #lmk macaque #lmk mk #lmk sun wukong #panic attacks #lmk sandy #hurt/comfort #shadowpeach hurt/comfort :)#shadowpeach

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winterpower98 · 2 years ago

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Rega con tutte ste headcanons io devo farci degli scenari sennò scoppio

- you can see wukong have like a hoard of cats or rabbits with some pathologies that can't let them live normally, so what did our silly kid wukong do? Of course he adopted them to help them

- wukong getting some habits from langur or horse because he looked up to them, like the whole "ok being nice to small guys"

- you cannot tell me that around the cave inside the waterfall the nature isn't wonderfully taken care of because of wukong,

- my man as a kid had some funny looking snake as a friend because i like snakes and I'm sure as hell that wukong loves snakes and "helps" them because they don't have arms

- wukong likely knew a lot about nature, flower meanings, what types of thing to use to make medicine ect.

- no because. I love how wukong gives the vibe of strong, confident, fearless and actually smart kid but gets a soft spot to anything that is related to nature or his monkeys, it's just sweet dude.

- wukong making his own fur fluffy and warm specifically so he can help animals or his monkeys who are too cold in the winter,

- now i get why the monkeys thinks of their king so well, he's actually a sweetheart! At least to them.

- imagine wukong always being respectful and even if he was the king, he would listen to the elders, but with all the wars and chaos that has been going on, his impulsiveness and recklessness got out of hand.

- wukong is always there when a monkey needs to give birth, or simply stays with the old monkeys lasts moment, he loves his monkeys a lot.

- he might not have biological parents, but that's okay! His whole monkey population is his family!

- i do personally headcanon that during his 500 years in ffm he actually managed to take care of himself, like physically (not mentally), so he fixed his fur, making it again fluffy and warm (even if now orange), put eyeliner (but since he can't change his eye color, he had to keep red. He just make it look golden in public), fixed his injuries ect.

He would rather have his monkeys happy instead of lying to them that he is okay physically, so he just made a favor to both and helped himself a little, that's it. (Feel free to use it!)

- you know what? Wukong always had eyeliner. Because he is beautiful since birth.

- i saw this from someone else! Trans wukong! But not in the traditional way, more like

"yeah so during one of his shapeshifting to trick a demon, his genitals don't change so he had to cut off his dingdong and it just regenerated into a female genitals" and it's actually pretty funny.

- now i can't stop laughing at stone monkeys actually vibing well with nature because one of the elements that made the Stone hatch was nature! (Earth)

So it's natural for him, but since he's the only type of stone monkey, everyone thinks it's just him, not his whole spiece.

All of these are incredible

Part 2

#I am living for these honsetly #jttw #journey to the west #lego monkie kid #monkie kid #winter answer #winterpower98

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wizkiddx · 3 years ago

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Congratulations on 500 followers!! Could you do nr 2 with Tom please <3

thankyou <33 im very in my feels abt friends to lover atm, so ik this is a completely unoriginal concept but here we are

warning: nothing much- maybe homesickness? (+ the fact tom has poor choice in popcorn )

^^^ sorry I couldn't not put this on here and I will reuse it lots n lots

/////////////////////////

“Right I got two options annnnddddd there is only one correct answer.” Tom hummed up at you, pulling his tired gaze away from the phone screen and up towards the kitchen where you were standing triumphantly - having just raided his cupboards. From behind your back you whipped out a bag of popcorn in each hand.

“Sweet…. or salty?” Sighing with a small chuckle Tom shook his head at your playfulness. He didn’t know how you did it but you always always made his smile.

“I’m not a psychopath…” You huffed in relief, already turning around to throw the salty back in the cupboard where it belonged. “So salty of course.”

You were trapped in a house with an absolute psychopath.

You scowled at him, for having such poor taste, expecting some sort of argument to start. That wasn’t the case though, instead he just stared at you expectantly.

He must really really be unhappy.

You’d sensed it on set that morning - it wasn’t hard to miss. Not when it was your best friend, who for the past two months you’d been spending at least 6 hours a day with whilst shooting. Even when you were supposed to have a day off, when Tom had some solo shots or vice versa, you’d still come to keep the other company. It didn’t make sense but you both just sort of liked it that way.

This wasn’t your first rodeo working together either. Your first joint project had been almost four years ago, when both of you were barely adults, still figuring everything out. Ever since it had been bumping into each other every so often, always with an easy and effortless relationship.

Your current director had noted your chemistry at an awards show (the man never switched off) and decided in that moment he HAD to cast you together for a project. And a year later, here you both were, shooting in Australia for what was set to be a record breaking new release.

And it had been going great - better than great even. But as soon as Tom had shown up to makeup this morning, you’d known something was up. It was fair to assume it was something from home, maybe even just a bit of homesickness, or perhaps something more severe. Either way, the situation was probably exacerbated by the fact he didn’t have his brother or bestfriend or manager or normal syltist with him right now. Tom was pretty renowned within the industry for always having a massive entourage - which was normally made up with his family and friends. This time though he was going it solo.

Today had been long and you’d had to do press at stupid oclock in the morning last night for your current release - which meant your plan had always been to leave promptly and collapse into bed as soon as physically possible.

But Tom needed your company. So you hadn’t. Instead, you’d somewhat subtly invited yourself to his rented house for a movie night - blaming it on your director wanting you both to study the relationship dynamics in ‘out of sight’ (a J Lo and Clooney romance movie).

“You think you know a person and then they loose all your respect… just like that.” You sigh jokingly, gesturing to the bag of ‘foul’ popcorn your costar seemed to like.

“Well we’ve come to a crossroads.”

“It’s been nice knowing you but this…” you scoffed and dramatically rolled your eyes “… I see no way out.”

“Isn’t it better if we have a bag each? Then I might manage to actually get some before you scoff them all.”

You yelped in protest, though really you were just grateful he was still up for a bit of a laugh. He had been much less jokey the whole day, though was seeming to warm up a bit.

Once you had poured the two bags of popcorn into two separate bowels and prepared the film on TV; you plopped yourself onto Tom’s sofa, so your back was against the corner and your feet were over his lap (it wasn’t weird, just normal for the two of you). Instinctively, Tom lightly grabbed your ankles, repositioning you on his thigh slightly before leaning across the pull the blanket over the both of you. Whilst he smoothed out the crinkles in the fluffy navy fabric you took the opportunity to poke your toe into his side - garnering his attention.

“I take it you don’t wanna talk about it?” After he froze, Tom then nodded jerkily. “But if you change your mind, you know I’m here right?” His demeanour changed at your second statement as his body literally sagged into the cushions, with a grateful if small smile.

He respond by mouthing an ‘I know’ and that was enough for you. Shuffling down the side a bit you pressed play, settling in for the evening. Tom still had a hand resting on your ankles, occasionally rubbing his thumb up and down the bony bit.

Honestly you didn’t really see what your director was going on about when he raved about their on screen chemistry and it seemed that neither did Tom. It wasn’t a scathing commentary that gave it away, instead it was his silence. Which you quickly realised was the he had drifted off, his head lolling a little so he was facing you, palms now completely lax on your legs. It was whilst you were just taking in the sight before you, that a buzzing cut through the otherwise soft noise from the TV - which you had turned down for Tom’s sake.

It wasn’t your phone but you instinctively still reached for it from the coffee table and seeing that the name just read “Harry H” you thought it’d be fine to answer.

“Harry?” You whispered into the receiver, slightly cupping your hand round your mouth just to make sure you weren’t too loud for Tom.

“Hello?”

“Harry it’s me”

“Who?” You’d met Harry countless times, though given the fact Tom had been alone all shoot - you shouldn’t of expected the kid to be able to recognise your voice.

“Oh sorry Y/n um Y/n L/n”

“Oh no my fault sorry Y/n. How are you?” The conversation was jilted, you could practically feel the awkward energy radiating all the way from the otherside of the world.

“I’m alright thanks, how about you.”

“Yeh not bad I uhm… I - is my brother there?” Oooh. How to answer that question.

“Um sort of, we er… we were having a movie night and he’s fallen asleep. It’s why I’m whispering like a weirdo.” Harry laughed at that and you continued. “Is everything okay? You need me to wake him?”

“No no, mum just said he was having a rough time so was going to cheer him up with my exquisite sense of humour but if you’ve bored him to death then no need.”

“What can I say I’m just talented. Anyway I should be heading back to mine anyway so um I’ll let you go?”

“Oh yeh no worries, and uhm thanks-um thanks for keeping an eye on him.”

“Someone has to” You chuckled softly back, before bidding a final farewell to Harry.

Having hung up the phone, you leaned over to gently place it back on the coffee table but making a mental note to put it on charge before you left. Your next job was to manoeuvre your legs away from him without disturbing him but before you could even start planning the movement, you noticed his weary eyes blinked over at you. Freezing, your mouth made a little ‘o’ shape as you winced at yourself for disrupting his peace - today really wasn’t the day for that. There was a silence as Tom swallowed thickly, attempting to shake off the heavy lull of rest before he spoke. “Will you stay with me… please.”

Undoubtedly, your body didn’t play it as cool as you wanted it to. Thinking you’d heard him wrong, your chin protruded forward and his eyes widened. “ Sorry not like-not like that just um-just on the sofa… theres-theres spare blankets and I can-“

“-course T, no worries…Oh and um your brother just phoned if you-“

“I know.” He spoke softly and with a nod, but didn’t move at all, apparently no interest in calling his brother back.

With a stammered nod, you stood up, finally removing your legs from his touch in order to nip to the loo. You splashed your face with water, ate some toothpaste ( better than not brushing your teeth at all) before going to collect Tom’s quilt off his bed. By the time you re-entered the living room, Tom hadn’t appeared to have moved at all. The hood of his purple jumped was still up, the blanket still only half covering him, the excess lying cold were you had been sitting. He laughed lightly at you trying to wrangle with the king size duvet and get it in without tripping over yourself or knocking anything over.

“You sure you don’t mind? I’m just being stupid and-“

“Honestly I’m too tired to walk back to mine so this is perfect.”

“You live across the road.”

“Thats like 50 steps too far.” You deadpanned back, as he raised his eyebrows and locked you direct eye contact - which you very stubbornly returned.

The both of you sat like that for a minute, Tom eventually gave up with a sigh as he motioned for you to lie back.

There wasn’t an issue at all with space. A listers rental homes were never lacking in space - the grey sofa was a U shape, with ample space for the both of you to lie down. Each of you took a respective corner, your legs meeting in the middle and gently brushing against each others.

“Thanks for babysitting me today by the way.”

“I wasn-“ You were about to deny it, except one look and Tom saw straight through you.

“Thankyou Y/n/n” Seeing there was no way out of receiving his thanks, you instead opted to just shut him up. Nudging his leg with yours and leaving it touching you murmured you last words of the evening - eyes already closed.

“Fuck off Holland, ‘m tryna sleep.”

~~~~ let me know if you have any feedback or anything (but pls not too mean this isn't proof read so blame that) <33 ~~~~~~

tagging : @thefernandasantana @lovehollandy12 @hallecarey1 @crossyourpeter @hollandfanficlove @msmimimerton @thegirlwiththeimpala

#tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland #tom holland blurb #harry holland #tom holland fic #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland angst #peter parker

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lunar-wandering · 3 years ago

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“hey google? whats social interaction?”

two fics in one day hell yeah. this time it’s for an AU i don’t think i’ve talked about here, called the Shy!Wukong AU, in which 500 years of isolation had the consequence of absolutely destroying Wukong’s social skills and confidence.

Word Count: 3.4k

Read on Ao3

When MK arrived on Flower Fruit Mountain that afternoon, it was quiet. He walked around for a few minutes, enjoying the silence, a big difference from the constant sound of the city, before sighing.

He walked over and leaned against a tree, barely hearing the soft intake of breath from behind it.

"I know you're there, Monkey King." He sighed again, taking the staff out and twirling it. "I could see your tail y'know."

Wukong slowly emerged from behind him, walking around the tree to stand just outside of MK's reach. MK purposefully didn't look at him, but out of the corner of his eye he could see that his mentor was avoiding eye contact.

"Ah, uh, yeah uh, hey bud." Wukong said, "I uh, didn't know you were here-"

"You were meant to come hang out with me and my friends today." MK said, and Wukong slumped. "I understand having some days were you're just not up for interacting, but this is the third time. ...Why won't you interact with my friends?"

He asked this as gently as he could, but still Wukong shrunk back a little.

"They....they can sense weakness..." Wukong muttered, and now MK did look at him, with confusion.

"Wh- no they don't- well, Mei might, but still." He pushed off the tree, turning to face Wukong fully. "You seriously need to get some more social interaction- it'll help you be more confident again!"

Wukong opened his mouth as though to speak-

"Fighting Macaque that one time doesn't count as social interaction." MK deadpanned, watching unimpressed as Wukong nervously scratched the side of his face. "....Tell you what, if you come with me and Mei shopping tomorrow, I'll get off your case for a week. Does that sound okay?"

"...Yeah..." Wukong quietly gave his assent, and MK beamed.

"Great! Now, are we going to do training?"

"I didn't plan anything out though...."

"That's okay, we can just spar!"

Wukong was 20 minutes late.

MK glanced at his watch again just to make sure that he was reading the time right, before looking back over to Mei. She was playing some game or other on her phone, looking bored.

"Y'know, I'm starting to think Mr. Monkey King might be scared of me." Mei said after another minute went by with still no sign of Wukong.

"Honestly, you might not be too far off from the truth there." MK admitted, "I was half expecting him to at least send a clone, but he must know that I catch on to that immediately now."

"Do you think he's alright?" Mei put her phone back in her pocket, now glancing at the sky with concern. "Like, he didn't freak too much over it and hole himself up in his room or something again, did he?"

"No, he's already met you once, so I don't think it'd be that bad again." MK pulled the staff out of his pocket, contemplating for a moment. "...Hey Mei, how would you like a trip to Flower Fruit Mountain?"

"I would love to." Mei smirked, before turning around and entering the mall, grabbing hold of the back of MK's hoodie to drag him in along with her. "But first, we're gonna need some supplies!"

When MK and Mei arrived on Flower Fruit Mountain, it was once again quiet.

"Okay." MK shifted the bag he was carrying on his arm, adjusting his grip. "He's probably up in his little house behind the waterfall. He probably knows we're here by now, so..."

"So all we have to do is find him." Mei finished, "Don't worry MK, I remember the plan."

"Right. Okay." They passed through the water fall, walking through the cave. Standing in front of Wukong's door, MK set his bag on the ground in order to lift his arm and knock.

One of the younger monkeys opened the door.

"Hey there!" MK said, "Is Monkey King here?"

The tiny monkey chitters out a response MK interprets as yes, moving aside to let Mei and MK through. Mei easily finds her way into the kitchen, and MK can hear the clattering of some pots and pans as she shuffles things around (they'd bought some hot chocolate, and apparently Mei refused to wait any longer before making it). MK, meanwhile, sets his bag down by the door and starts looking for Wukong.

It ends up not being very hard really, as he finds his mentor laying on the couch, a blanket pulled over top of his head, his tail poking out and resting on the floor, stiff.

...Too stiff.

"Monkey King?" MK asks, and he sees the fur on Wukong's tail bristle, but yet the monkey himself doesn't move. "I know you're awake."

Wukong says something entirely incoherent.

"Me and Mei are here to have a sleepover, if you're wondering." MK says, "Since you didn't come shopping with us."

There's no response.

Suddenly Mei curses, and there's a loud clatter in the kitchen. MK turns, suitably distracted.

"Y'alright?" He yells.

"Fine! Monkey King just has horrible sorting skills is all!" Is the response he gets, and MK quietly chuckles because, well, she's not wrong.

When he turns back around, Wukong is out from under the blanket, standing up, his usual nervous smile plastered on his face.

...But something's off. His back is too straight, for one, the Monkey King that MK knows is normally slightly slouched. The look in his eyes doesn't show shyness either, rather an attempt at faking being shy.

MK makes his deduction in less than a second.

"You're a clone aren't you."

"Oh thank heavens." The Wukong clone, relaxes just slightly, the nervous smile slipping off in favor of a more relaxed, natural one. (One that, notably, MK has only seen on Wukong's clones. Well, he thinks he saw his mentors real smile once, but Wukong had left rather fast after that, so MK had never been actually sure.) "I wasn't sure how long I could pretend to be nervous for."

"He's trying to bail again, huh." MK said, not even surprised, having mostly known this would happen. 500 years by himself had really taken it's toll on the Monkey King, MK still wasn't sure how exactly Wukong had lost his confidence, but the consequences of whatever it was were fairly obvious. It had taken forever for MK to actually get his mentor to just have normal conversations with him instead of just leaving him sticky notes with instructions on them. During that time, Wukong had run away from MK *multiple* times.

Well, not tonight. MK personally respected Wukong's lack of knowledge on how to be social, and knew first hand the experience of not feeling up to interacting with people. But if Wukong didn't at least try to step over his comfort zone, then he'd never become confident again.

Wukong's clone seemed to have the same idea, as he turned, walking off down a hallway. MK heard a door open- followed by a yelp of betrayal, and then the clone was back, carrying a flustered Monkey King over his shoulder, dumping him onto the couch before vanishing, just as Mei entered the living room with a tray covered in candies, as well as three mugs of hot chocolate.

"Did I miss anything?" She asks, setting the tray down on the coffee table, before sitting on the couch to the left of Wukong. The Monkey King actually squeaked, shifting to move to the other side, only to be stopped by MK sitting on his right. Almost as though they'd planned it, they both leaned up against Wukong simultaneously, feeling how he stiffened at the sudden contact.

"Did you get the remote?" Mei asked, sipping at her hot chocolate.

"Yep." MK held the remote up with one hand, easily accessing Wukong's Netflix account. (He'd accidentally stumbled upon the password one of the times the monkeys had shoved him into the house in an attempt to help him interact with Wukong.) "What do you want to watch?"

"Hm, dunno. What do you think, Mr. Monkey King?"

Wukong didn't respond. He still hadn't relaxed either. His eyes looked slightly unfocused, and MK could practically hear the computer crashing noises.

Jeez. Wukong was a lot more touch-starved than he had thought.

And then Wukong moved, sliding down a little, covering his face with his hands. Mei and MK shared a look of concern.

Maybe this much contact was a bit too much to start?

MK leaned away from Wukong, putting just the slightest bit of distance between them, Mei following his lead soon after.

They were both quiet for a moment, silently considering what to do next as Wukong continued to not look at them.

...And then Mei grabbed the pillow behind her, slowly raising it over her head.

MK barely had the time to register what she was doing before the pillow smacked him in the face.

Mei burst out laughing at MK's surprised look, jumping up off the couch, pulling more pillows out of...somewhere. MK hadn't seen her grab them, but they were certainly there now.

He ducked down, sliding off the couch as a pillow soared over his head, flopping against the couch cushions, having not met it's target. He barely managed to shift out of the way of a second pillow, catching a third before it could hit him in the chest.

"Oh it is on!" He cheered, spinning around before throwing the pillow at Mei as hard as he could.

Soon enough the pillow fight increased to all out warfare, more pillows seemingly appearing out of nowhere. MK laughed, nearly forgetting about Wukong-

And then a pillow hit him in the back of the head.

Both he and Mei paused, knowing for a fact that Mei hadn't thrown it, she was in front of him, getting him from behind was impossible.

MK turned around just in time to see Wukong create another pillow out of one of his hairs and throw it.

When MK pulled the pillow off of his face, he was greeted with Wukong's nervous smile, and a bit of anxious laughter.

MK glanced at Mei.

Well. This wasn't exactly the way they had planned to help Wukong come out of his shell a bit, but it could work.

Sleepovers became more frequent after that. Typically they ended up with just a pillow fight, but still, it was some progress, however small.

MK and his friends were more than content to take things slow, let Wukong relearn how to socially interact and overcome his shyness the normal way.

And then New Years happened.

Wukong was still definitely not comfortable interacting with anyone other than Mei, MK, and Sandy, but he did start showing up a bit more frequently. (MK had noticed that Wukong tried his hardest to be more confident around Pigsy. He wasn't sure as to why Wukong did so, but he did. Pigsy himself seemed concerned about it as well, but for the most part let it slide). MK sometimes couldn't help but feel that his mentor seemed a bit...worried about something. But whenever he asked, Wukong would just clam up, sometimes even going so far as to distract MK before teleporting away.

But whatever. It was fine, they were making progress. Wukong was actually somewhat talking to people now, albeit he was still quiet, and easily flustered at the smallest of things. (Tang had briefly mentioned how impressive Wukong's feats were in an offhand sentence, and the Monkey King had practically shut down for an entire half an hour.)

...Unlike MK and the others however, Demon Bull King was more than slightly concerned.

The New Years Incident had been his first time seeing the Monkey King since 500 years ago, and needless to say, he was not what he expected.

He remembered Wukong being boastful, confident, easily coming up with snarky quips left and right.

So it was definitely a shock when, instead of annoyingly chatting or created stupid jokes while captured by Spider Queen, Wukong had simply sat there, quiet, a light blush dusting his face as he sulked, embarrassed over having gotten caught.

Demon Bull King could only wonder what in the world could've happened that would've rendered the Monkey King so shy.

He'd shared his concerns with his family, of course, in a roundabout, thinly veiled way. (He had been fairly certain that the monkey of the conversation had actually been spying on them at the time). Princess Iron Fan had commented about seeing Red Son in a slightly similar state, considering how he never could seem to hold an actual conversation with MK or Mei, instead always challenging them to a battle. (She was concerned, for her son. She'd known that staying in his lab, working on inventions day in and day out would definitely be bad for his social skills, but Red Son had been so stubborn at the time that there'd been nothing she could do.)

Red Son, of course, entirely missed hearing the conversation about himself.

He did however, hear the one about Wukong.

Which, of course, led to-

"Wake up, simian!"

Wukong startled, rolling out of bed, falling to the floor, his blankets falling on top of him and obscuring his vision. He scrambled for a minute, trying to get his bearings as he struggled with the blankets, trying to clear his vision.

A light laugh made him freeze, suddenly glad for the blankets covering him as he felt his face flush as he realized he wasn't alone.

"Seriously? This is the great, powerful Monkey King everyone is afraid of?"

It took a moment for him to place the voice, slowly lifting the blankets up, keeping his head hung low as he checked to make sure.

Bright red jacket. The faint smell of smoke.

Red Son.

Wukong looked away, trying to pull up every inch of confidence he'd regained.

"....How'd you get into my house?" Is what he ended up saying, and he mentally patted himself on the back for not having his voice break mid sentence.

"Please, it's not like it's that difficult."

"There's a whole entire waterfall sealing the place."

"Which is very easy to by pass if you know how."

Wukong couldn't come up with a response for that, instead forcing himself to stand up, trying to put a normal smile on his face, but knowing it would probably only end up being his usual nervous one.

"Uh, um. Why are you here?" He finally asked.

"Well, uh, my father is worried about you so I'm here to help you or....whatever.... something like that..." Red Son said, getting a bit quieter and trailing off towards the end of his sentence.

"I-" Suddenly, irritation overcame Wukong's shyness and anxiety. "You- you're just as bad as I am!"

(Demon Bull King had been right. Wukong had been spying on them during that conversation. He'd originally planned on going over to talk to them, but then, well, as usual he'd panicked, and ended up listening in the rafters while waiting for an opportunity to leave unnoticed.

...That had been a long day.)

Red Son spluttered for a moment, before pulling himself together.

"I am not." He hissed, the edges of his hair sparking.

"You socialize with my successor by fighting him because you don't know how to ask him and Mei to hang out outside of battling." Wukong deadpanned, "And no, battles do not count as social interaction, according to MK."

There was a pause, where they both went silent, staring at each other, waiting for the next move.

An hour later, and they were both sitting on the floor of Wukong's bedroom, both of them looking slightly frazzled.

"I mean, just." Red Son said, "How do you talk to people?!"

"I literally have no idea." Wukong sounded just as stressed and dismayed as Red Son. "I mean, MK and his friends have been trying, and like, I guess it's been working, because they haven't complained about me yet, but still, just, what is social interaction??"

"I don't know!" Red Son groaned, holding his head in his hands. "If- if only we had someone who was really good at social interaction, someone we could copy-"

"Like MK?" Wukong asked, before immediately dismissing the idea in his next sentence. "No, no, he'd pick up on what we're doing and either make us stop or call us out on it way too fast...."

"Agreed, we definitely cannot use the Noodle Boy or his friends as an example." Red Son muttered, "But....to be honest with you, I don't know many other people."

"...Me either." Wukong flopped backwards to lay on the floor, both of them sighing in defeat.

And then Wukong, tensed sitting back up, a thoughtful but also very reluctant look on his face.

"...Actually, there is one person we might be able to go to..."

"...What's being social?"

Wukong and Red Son both looked at their last hope of a savior in dismay.

Macaque stared back with an equivalent amount of confusion.

The three of them sat in the middle of a small park, partially hidden from passerby by a line of bushes. Macaque wasn't even entirely sure how he'd gotten there, and wasn't even close to having a clue as to what was going on.

"What do you mean you don't know- you socialize literally every day!" Wukong threw his hands up into the air, in a mixture of anger and defeat.

"You alone are literally responsible for over half of the city's parties." Red Son added, "How can you not know how to be social when you're the perfect example of a social butterfly?"

"I don't know." Macaque shrugged. If anything, this reaction seemed to cause Red Son and Wukong more distress.

"So you're saying you.... don't actually know how to socially interact?"

"Uh, no?" Macaque leaned back, crossing his arms. "I kinda just go along with whatever happens so- wait why are you crying."

Red Son looked to his left to see that, oh, uh, Wukong was crying. He didn't seem like he wanted to be, if the way he was hiding his face behind his hands and trying to muffle his sobs was any indication, but he definitely was.

"You were our last hope of understanding social interaction." Wukong muttered, voice muffled by his hands. Red Son awkwardly hovered his hand over Wukong's shoulder, knowing that the other still wasn't entirely used to touch.

"...Aren't the both of you interacting with me ri-" Macaque was abruptly cut off as something grabbed him by the back of his scarf, pulling him back into the bush. Red Son was too focused on Wukong, and Wukong was too busy trying to stop crying, to notice the sudden disappearance.

Macaque landed on his back, spitting out a stray leaf as he looked up at MK. (He'd known Wukong's successor was spying on them, he'd heard him hide behind the bush. Still though, randomly grabbing him was a little bit annoying).

"You can't tell them that they're socially interacting." MK hissed, quiet enough that the other two couldn't hear him. Macaque raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Any particular reason as to why?"

"If you tell them they're actually interacting it's like- it's like Cinderella when the clock hits midnight, they both go back to being easily flustered recluses." MK said, "You've got to keep them going without realizing what they're doing for as long as possible."

"...Okay???" Honestly, this didn't clear things up for Macaque at all, but he wasn't going to try and argue with MK now.

MK let go off his scarf, and Macaque returned to his position in front of Wukong and Red Son, adding an extra glamour over top of himself so that his little trip through the bush would be entirely unnoticeable. Funnily enough, neither of them seemed to have noticed his temporary disappearance.

"So uh....wanna keep not-socializing with me at that cafe over there?" Macaque pointed over his shoulder at a nearby place he liked to visit. If he was going to do this, he was going to need another dose of caffeine. "I can maybe try and figure out some tips for you?"

"Yes please." Wukong and Red Son said in sync, already standing up and moving towards the cafe. Macaque stood up shortly after them.

Quietly, watching them walk in front of him, he thought; 'They're idiots.'

"Wukong, why are you hiding your face, Red Son's the one that just face planted while walking through a door!"

The Monkey King's response was completely incoherent, afflicted with second-hand embarrassment. Both he and Red Son refused to look Macaque in the eye.

The shadow monkey sighed, almost tempted to teleport away to find somewhere nice to scream.

MK better find a good way of paying him back for this.

#Monkie Kid #my writing #Shy!Wukong AU

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admiringlove · 4 years ago

Text

“careful with her.”

— welcome to sam’s brewery, where we commemorate reaching 500 customers! this event lasts for one week, and will only take up to twenty orders(as above that can become quite overwhelming).

+order: congrats on 500! ✨ if there are any slots, can I please request “careful with her” + ryomen sukuna please? thank you 🌹 [submitted by @sookyshima]

+word count: 0.7k.

+author’s notes: i’ve never written for sukuna before but i hope you liked this! here is the link to the event masterlist.

"You're so frail, it's funny," he laughed quietly as he placed his tattooed hand on your forehead. You pouted as he removed the wet towel from your head and dipped it back in the water, coughing slightly.

"I'm not frail," you croak at him with your brows furrowed and stuffed nose. Your eyes were closed(mostly because you knew the sun was out, and you didn't want to be met with the harsh luminescent light at the moment), and Sukuna was next to your bedside, helping you get better. You nuzzled your head against his torso as you laid on his thighs, him humming in content as you did so.

"You really are," he says, running his fingers through your partially wet hair as he places the cloth back into the bowl. You sat up, looking at him with half-lidded eyes and a sleepy expression. You know he's probably making that weird face when he wants to smile—it's not exactly and smile and it's not his usual resting bitch face either, it's in the middle somewhere. A faint upward turn of his lip with his eyes softened as if the great Ryо̄men Sukuna himself was tied down to something.

To someone.

"My partner is so stupid," he shakes his head. You giggle smally, reaching out for his arm as you lean on him and say, "Well, I wouldn't say she's stupid. Reckless, maybe. Definitely not stupid though."

"She's definitely stupid," he retorts. You give him a faux glare, one that made him smirk, but he knew you didn't mean it in the end.

You and Sukuna were always like this. Sarcastically criticizing one another, throwing snarky comments till the two of you just want to lay in one another's arms and fall asleep. It was normal; being around him kept you grounded, and it could be vice versa as well.

"Your partner is sick and she needs you to stay with her till she falls asleep," you grunt as you lay back down(this time, not on his thighs). He feigns a scoff as he gets up from his spot on the bed and straightens his clothes out, "Well, my stupid partner has been saying that for the past three hours. You know that Itadori brat's friends are gonna be mad at you."

"Oh come on, it's a weekend," you groan, "I'm finally starting to feel a little sleepy, c'mere."

He sighs, knowing that putting up a fight with you is useless in the end anyway. You're stubborn, and as much as he hates to admit it, you're more stubborn than him(somehow this was a defeat on his part, you don't really see how but still).

Sukuna gives in, knowing fully well that he wants to stay by your side just a little longer. He knows that staying next to you makes his heart beat a little more steadily, and he knows that your presence makes it seem like everything will be okay at some point.

You do that to him.

As you lay next to him, your hand intertwined with his and your breaths evenly soft, he thinks to himself how lucky he is to have you. Even though you're human and he's a curse, he's still so much into you. Sukuna remembers himself being like you once, filled to the brim with slight innocence and curiosity, till he became powerful. It all seems like a pipedream to him at this point, but he stays by your side anyway.

He doesn't care if it'll piss off that Fushiguro kid(Itadori was supposed to go out with him today but it was an hour past that already), and he doesn't care if he's meant to die one day if it means that he can spend the rest of the time he has left with you. He simply doesn't care about himself it means to keep that pretty little smile on your face linger just a bit longer.

Because even Ryо̄men Sukuna, the King of Curses, has a soft spot for the delicate human sleeping in his arms.

"My partner is stupid," he mumbles to no one in particular as he notices that you've finally fallen asleep, "But be careful with her."

He smiles faintly, a sorrowful feeling coming over him as he exits your room, changing back to Itadori. He knows he can't be with you forever, but he'll for sure try to make you experience heaven on Earth till he's here.

Or he'll die trying, because you, his stupidly sick partner, deserve the best.

#ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk ryomen #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen x reader #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #jjk sukuna #jjk headcanons #jjk ryomen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jjk drabbles #sukuna x you #sukuna drabbles #sukuna drabble #ryomen sukuna fluff #jjk fluff #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen

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mythiccheroacademia · 4 years ago

Note

Hey!! Could we please get more sugar daddy fics with a black reader ofc 😋 idk if you've done shoto already but that'd be nice or hawks and deku💕

A/N: “wrist on glitter, waist on thinner, imma show you how to bag a eight-figure nigga” 👅💋 I enjoyed this way too much

All characters are 18+

Warnings: it got a lil spicy so imma put the line

Todoroki Shouto:

this mf has money to burn

we all know todoroki came out the womb w cash from his hair to his ass

he’s on some “yes, jeff bezos knows me” type shit so if you’re tryna end up with someone that’s gonna possibly buy you a house, he’s your guy

he slid into your dms after you posted a pic with your skin moisturized and glistening under golden hour and your body had him wanting to run laps

he had been plottin on you for a min but never got the motivation to do something about it until then

he’s a no strings attached type of sugar daddy

todoroki is a big name even outside of hero work and he’s well aware of all the people that have tried to use him. so instead of letting that happen, he’s decided to do things on his own terms

when yall first started talking, he questioned you like this was managerial position at apple 💀

best believe he ran an in-depth background check and made you sign an NDA 💀💀💀

he was a tough one

but you passed w flying colors and y’all settled on an arrangement

you have a weekly allowance that hits your bank account every saturday with some bonuses that he’ll give you depending on how the week goes

todoroki isnt needy nor is he one to be all up in your business

it’s actually weird in an endearing kind of way?

he only wants to have conversations with you

i mean, dont get me wrong, he’s up for anything you are

todoroki would be a liar if he said he never ended some nights with a picture of you and a hand down his pants

but that’s not what he’s mainly looking for

you figure out very quickly that shouto just wants someone to talk to

he’ll randomly hit up your phone and have a 30 min convo about something like the weather or hero politics, and then he’ll dip

next thing you know, you got $1000 in your cashapp

you kind of panicked bc like...wtf?

your dumb ass messaged him: “did you mean to send $1000?”

sis, dont put a question mark where God put a period

him: “Yes.”

and that was the end of that

you dont question anymore

he’s not doting in any kind of way, and sometimes you lowkey think he forgets about you, but you still get your allowance

doesn’t send a lot of gifts unless you explicitly state you want something

he doesnt text back a lot, but he tried to respond when he can

but i do see him liking it when you send him mundane things you do throughout your day, like pics of cookies you baked, or a cool plant you saw at home depot

and he enjoys the times you and him end up just trashing his father for nearly an hour. expect to find flowers, with some expensive ass coats or something at your door the next morning

he really fucks w your laid back vibe

sometimes he forgets you guys arent really supposed to be friends

Takami Kiego (Hawks):

this is not hawks’ first time being a sugar daddy

he’s hot, rich, and one of the most eligible bachelor’s in japan with a life that prevents him from having anything too serious

so, long story short, he’s a veteran at this

he used to be the type to reach out to instagram baddies but he had a couple bad run-ins and decided to stick with the official sites because it was a lot more secure on both ends

the funny thing was, you set up your account a long time ago as a joke. though at one point, you did take it seriously, but you came in contact with a lot of super creepy men that sexualized you for your skin and ethnicity.

you were tired of the “chocolate king/queen” and “amazonian god/dess” comments,so you took a break. you didnt have much activity since

so imagine youre surprise when the #2 hero hit your line talking about some

“Hey~ I’ll get straight to the point. I think you’re beautiful and I’d like to talk with you about an arrangement”

you thought this was a fake account, but after he chatting for a little and sending some pictures, you knew he was the real deal

hawks is your standard tit-for-tat transaction sugar daddy

he’s the type to hit you up at night with a “how ya doing, dove? got any pics for me?”

he’s good about his respect ad won’t do anything out of line

it’s the bare minimum, be he doesnt fetishize you so that’s always nice

however, he does make you call him daddy, sir, etc. whether it’s through text, call, or when y’all get together for...reasons

ngl his dicc game is fire

he might ghost you for a week or so but he’ll always come back with a nice check to make up for it

just be careful about catching feelings bc he’s so fucking smooth. he makes you feel like you’ve got his heart, but dont fall for that shit

if you think you can “change him” or fuflfil whatever wattpad romance fantasy lives in your head, he is not your guy. you better get on w your life before you get your heart broken

he’s here to suck, fuck, send pics, do a little phone call here n there, send some money, and go

if you’re not with all that, you might as well dip

but if you’re cool with that, rest assured, you’re gonna be living your best mf life with this man in your wallet

and good news, you might not be his only, but you are his favorite

there’s just something about you that’s got him giving you a few extra thousand than he normally does

he doesnt take his sugar babies on proper dates bc he’s gotta stay away from media outlets, but he will invite you to his office for a “lunch break”

if you ever surprise him with a cute but sexy hawks cosplay, you won’t have to work for two whole weeks bc you cant walk

overall, he’s a good sugar daddy. defintely good for your pockets and any other non-romantic desires you want fulfilled

Mirodirya Izuku:

the way you two met and came to this arrangement was more or less an accident

the life of the number one pro-hero was lonely and stressful

he’s tried to dip his toes in the water here and there, but it never worked out because not many people could deal with the fact that he’d always put hero work first

he was teetering on the edge of signing up for one of those sugar daddy/baby websites until he met you at some cafe he passed by

it’s cliche really. you were his server and, honestly? he was hooked on day one

he watched you intently as you pranced around in your cute uniform. he couldnt stop admiring your brown skin and eyes and how cute your hair was. you spoke with such enthusiasm and cheerfulness that he couldnt help but swoon. and it didn’t hurt that you were very easy on the eyes

he listened to you as you went on a spiel about how college was a fortune and how you stayed up last night for a project bc you had to pick up extra shifts

that’s when he made his decision

by the time the hero is out of the door, you collected the reciept and almost fainted when you realized he left you a $500 tip and his personal number

“i enjoyed talking to you today and i hope we can continue that...here’s something small to help with your bills. and i hope this isnt too forward but you’re very beautiful. stay safe. deku.”

and what did you do that night?

you called his ass right back

you were nervous as hell bc you still couldnt believe this was real, but after talking on the phone with him for two hours, an arrangement was set

midoriya is the most gentlemen like sugar daddy out there

you wake up to good morning texts and a few hundred in your bank account almost every two days

he goes crazy over your insta posts. and if you wear something green? expect a bonus

takes you out shopping unprovoked

izuku: “are you busy? i saw you were having a rough week and was wondering if you wanted to go to that new outlet mall downtown”

you: 🏃🏾‍♀️💨

you most certainly had homework due that night but what tf you look like missing out on that offer?

it’s after so many “dates” that deku realizes that he prefers hanging around you more than he should but he doesnt wanna ruin anything so he keeps that underwraps

he’s the idiot that goes into this thinking he won’t fall in love

deku defintely has some dirty thoughts about you but he doesnt try to bring it up unless you do first

if you’re comfortable with anything nsfw, you gone see a whole different side to izuku

he’s a giver, giver, giver, but when he recieves, he just about loses it

send him “innocent” pics of yourself matched with a string of filthy texts and he’ll combust

when you send him pics of yourself in deku-themed lingre, he deadass sends you a whole black card with your name on it as a thank you

you guys get very comfortable with each other very quickly

soon enough, DA’s start turning into y/n stayng over for a week

you both realize this relatiosnhip runs a lot deeper than an arrangement when he accidentally let it slip that he told his mom about you

he’s profusely apologizing but you shut him up with a kiss and tell him that you’ve kinda caught feelings yourself

your next conversation works out well for the both of you

#bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #deku x reader #izuku x black!reader #hawks x black!reader #hawks x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #shouto x black!reader #takami keigo #todoroki shouto #midoriya izuku #bnha x poc!reader #bnha x black reader #mha x poc!reader #mha x reader #mha x black reader #bnha x reader

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mrsalwayswrite · 4 years ago

Text

To Choose the Sword (Bishop Heahmund x Reader)

Summary: There is only person that Heahmund cherishes above all, and when she is threatened, he realizes he would do anything to protect her…. even sell his soul to a blue-eyed devil.

This is my contribution to @maggiescarborough 500 followers celebration! (I’m so sorry this is late but here we are.)

Flower chosen: periwinkle- religious symbol in the Middle Ages tied to the Virgin Mary, benevolence (desire to do good to others, charitable), nostalgia and purity.

I also decided to add an extra challenge and write for a character I would not normally write for- hence Heahmund.

Words: 6000

Warnings: implied abuse/mistreatment, mutual pining, couple swear words, heavy religious overtones, Ivar being manipulative

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius @evelynshelby @pomegranates-and-blood @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie

Also, a huge shout-out to @flowers-in-your-hayr for this absolutely stunning moodboard. Look at this! Its gorgeous! Be in awe!

He knew where she would be.

The leaves and twigs underfoot crunched beneath his boots. The morning sun casted shadows as it peeked through the foliage above him. His sword bounced against his back almost in sync with the cross upon his chest. The weight of both, something he was continuously aware of.

It was here he first met her on a hazy summer day.

It was here the two of them always seemed to find one another like two stars caught in each other's orbits.

It was here he could never decide if she was his salvation or his damnation.

Along the thin trail, his feet guided him, stepping over sticks and rocks. His mind wrestled with the news, but as his mind fought, his heart broke within his chest. It was a selfish reaction, he knew. Yet that did not cease the pain welling in his chest, so strong it threatened to bring forth tears. He kept them at bay. For he was a man of the cloth, a man of God.

But sometimes he struggled with just being a man.

Soon the gurgling of the bubbling creek could be heard amidst the summer songs of the birds. His footfalls quickened and after several more paces, she finally came into view. Kneeling near the creek, hands folded before her in supplication, she appeared the very vision of pious purity.

Heahmund gently called out her name, like a whisper in the breeze, a soft caress on skin. When her head lifted, turning to find him walking closer, his heart skipped a beat. Those eyes that beguiled him, those sweet lips that only allowed kind words to pass through, and her smile…. oh, that smile that lit up her face like a lamp uncovered to shine in the darkest of nights.

To his dying breath, he would fervently believe she was an angel in disguise, a blessing from the Lord God bestowed on his creation to remind them of His goodness.

And that was why she was both his salvation and damnation.

Because he wanted her. He wanted her with all his soul. But she was too pure, too benevolent, too holy for someone like him. She made him want to be better in both his vows and himself. To fight without wavering in protecting his country from the heathens. To protect her from ever having to fear them.

And when she turned those eyes to him, when she smiled gently at him like he was her favorite person on earth, he was undone.

"Your Grace." She rose to her feet, brushing off the few pieces of grass that stuck to her green dress.

"I heard the news that you will no longer be in my congregation."

"Yes. My father has family in York. With his failing health, he thinks it wise for us to move there."

Heahmund hummed in thought as he moved closer. Even though his face remained impassive, his heart clenched at the thought of her leaving. For who else would he look to while saying prayers at Mass? Who else would he recite scripture and poems to while they reclined next to the bubbling creek? Who else was kind enough to seek him out after he returned from a raid, to clean his wounds if any and make sure he was fed?

"I shall keep your family in my prayers to our Lord." He whispered, now standing before her. "My congregation will not be the same without you…. or your family."

She gazed shyly at him through those long eyelashes. "You are too kind, Bishop Heahmund."

"You have denied yourself for many years to look after your ailing father and the rest of your family. If the Pope heard of all your sacrifices for your family and our church, he would name you a Saint."

"I am nowhere worthy of sainthood. You tease me."

A smile drew his lips upward as he watched her. "Perhaps a little."

She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as she looked downward. It took all of his willpower not to lay a hand beneath her chin, the draw those beautiful eyes back to his own, to gaze upon her beauty, both inside and out, for longer. To ask her to never leave him.

But it was not his place. No matter how he felt for her.

"If it is not too bold of me…." She broke through his turbulent thoughts, her sweet voice trailing off as she toyed with one of her sleeves.

"Go on." He encouraged, heart hammering away inside of him.

"I made something for you. It's not much, but…. but it's just something to remember me by and know you will be in my prayers as well…. for your protection against the heathens." Quickly she dropped to her knees, digging in the basket by her feet.

The basket had gone unnoticed by him as his focus resided with soaking in these last few minutes with her. For he was unsure if the Lord's work would bring him to York. She swiftly pulled something out and held it out with both hands like an offering. His eyes momentarily widened before he reverently reached out and clasped it in his hand. It was a white, square kerchief, soft and pure. It was when he looked at the corners that he truly saw the beauty of it. A small cross was stitched in one corner and in the other opposite corner was a grouping of three small, periwinkle flowers.

"Thank you, y/n, truly." He returned his gaze to her, struggling to keep the awe out of his tone. "I shall cherish your gift as if the Virgin Mary herself gave it unto me."

She giggled, a coy smile on her face. "I would hope that she would bestow a better present for someone as holy as yourself."

"I would never cherish it as much as yours." He admitted with more candor than he should.

Her gaze snapped to his then darted away like a startled bird. A weighty, tense silence hung over them, drawing them closer yet apart simultaneously. For it was this blissful, torturous attraction that left them both spellbound, lost to reality in the presence of the other.

Unable to stay away a moment longer, he cupped her cheek with his calloused hand, forcing her eyes to meet his.

"Bishop Heahmund…." She breathed out.

"Must I remind you to call me just Heahmund when we are alone?"

"Heahmund." She murmured, one of her hands coming to rest on the center of his chest. To anchor herself or him to this moment, he did not know.

Desire and longing colored the air around them. A tension that pushed their bodies closer without their awareness, until they could feel the breath of the other gliding across their lips. Something burned between them, this thing that remained unnamed for so long. Heahmund knew it was not lust. For that carnal sin was something he intimately knew and had used other women for, much to his disgrace. No, this was something far stronger, far more powerful, far more dangerous for both of them. For as the years passed, it never faded or wavered like a dying flame. It endured.

His gaze zeroed in on her bottom lip as his thumb caressed it with an almost-there touch. Her lips parted on a quiet gasp but she made no move to pull away. Those enchanting eyes beheld him with absolute trust. Something he was unworthy of.

After taking a deep breath, his hand traced down her neck, to her shoulder and down her arm to hold her hand leaving goosebumps in its wake. He brought her delicate hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles. Then, regretfully, he released her hand.

"Come, I shall escort you back to the city. You should not linger out here alone for too long." He said, taking a step back. Needing space before he did something indecent and unbecoming of his station.

"Thank you." She replied automatically, blinking rapidly for a second as if waking from a dream. A dream he wished he could have further explored, to share openly with her. Bending down, she grabbed her basket and held it against her hip.

They walked back through the woods in silence, more spoken in their actions and looks than could ever openly cross their lips. With each step, Heahmund silently beseeched his God that this encounter would not be their last. Although she was his sweetest temptation, his forbidden apple in the garden, he could not abandon her. It was for her that he picked up a sword to fight the heathens that invaded their land. With what might he had, he would see her protected and defended, that the purity she wore like a veil, the benevolence that dressed her daily, the pure goodness she radiated, would never be blemished.

Even if he never had the honor of holding her against his body, of tasting the sweetness of her lips, to hear the pleasured cry of his name from her mouth, to ever be more than just a man of God to her. It was worth it. For she was his angel.

*****

With eyes that could pierce stone in the raging fury bubbling beneath his skin, Heahmund stared at the city of York.

Captured by heathens.

Those damned sons of Ragnar Lothbrok.

Saxon warriors moved about him, none bothering him, either thinking he was strategizing how to reclaim the city or praying for the Lord's protection over His people as they beat back the devils.

What none knew, what no one could see, was the despair and wrath gnawing away in the bishop's mind. It took every ounce of his willpower to remain in the Saxon camp with the new King and his sons and not to scourge the city of the infestation of heathens. But to go seek for her. To find and protect her. Somehow in his heart, he knew she was down there. In what condition though, he dared not imagine.

When the two sons of Ragnar came in the night to talk of peace, his resolve almost broke. Questions of her coated his tongue like the sweetest of poisons, slowly driving him mad. Yet he swallowed them back down. Not just for fear of his fellow warriors learning of his unholy affections towards her; but fear if she was alive and the heathens realized the depth of his care for her. Surely it would bring about her doom. So when he slipped into their tent like a snake cornering its prey, his fists dirtied by the blood of the Ragnarssons, it was his silent promise to save her, that even from here he would protect her.

They must retake the city, to drive out the Vikings, for God and country and justice. Most importantly for him- they must retake the city so he could find her.

*****

"You call me heathen, but to me, I am godly. I live by the gods."

"There is only one God." Heahmund bit out. The chain around his neck was even more sharp than his tongue.

Ivar continued, arrogance dripping off each word. "But I have seen other gods. I have seen the Odin, the All-Father, with my own eyes."

"They are the devil's work. He conjures up demons and fallen angels to beguile us. And lead us into evil."

"What is evil?" The raven-haired heathen asked in a haughty undertone.

Heahmund sighed, dropping his chin back to his chest. His legs were growing weary beneath him, having been chained here for hours already and he saw no true reprieve in sight. "Slaughter of the innocent." He answered in a whisper.

"You slaughter when it suits you."

Rage filled the Bishop at the way this heathen turned his words, how he taunted with that arrogant smirk on his face, how he disrespected the one true God. "He who chooses to be heathen is not innocent." He shouted, pointing his finger in condemnation at the ungodly sinner beside him. Then for a moment he wondered if this was why he had been captured by the Danes. If this was all the Lord's mysterious work. His tone softened as he continued to stare at his captor. "But I could show you the ways of God, to salvation and eternal life."

But it was all in vain.

He chuckled darkly, almost as if shocked that the bishop would even try to convert him. "Do you know who I am?"

"Of course. You are Ivar…. son of Ragnar Lothbrok. Many there are that fear you."

"But not you."

"No, I fear no man….no matter how wicked." Heahmund allowed the sneer to taint his voice at the end. For it was true. No matter the horrendous stories he heard about the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok, fear never sunk its claws into him. For he followed the Will of God.

There was only one reason alone that fear gripped him, tighter than a lover, slipped beneath his skin to momentarily poison his mind…. but that reason was gone now. Dead.

The two sat in silence for several minutes, a heathen and a bishop, lost in their own thoughts. Heahmund could not help but wonder as he eyed the young man, if this was all some bloody, gruesome game to him. Was he even capable of remorse? Fear? Mercy? Love? Or had the fires of hell already scourged them from his soul?

The shackles around his wrists grew heavier by the hour. The chain around his neck chaffed. The cold mud beneath him seeped into his trousers, slowly injecting a chill into his bones, amplified by the chains keeping him bound.

"I beseech thee, Lord. Save me or show me why I am here. Grant me Your mercy. Do not cast be aside into the darkness. Grant me Your light so I may see." He murmured to himself.

The sound of a door opening just off to the side of Ivar could be heard but Heahmund paid no mind. He knew his time on earth was dwindling, for how much longer would the heathen bother to keep him? Surely, he would be killed in a cruel and painful way. When he first took up the sword to defend his faith and his people against the Danes, he assumed that was how his life would end. On a battlefield somewhere, surrounded by blood and screams, with his cross upon his chest and sword in hand. Not like this. Not a prisoner to be tortured for amusement.

A soft voice hesitantly spoke up from behind Ivar. "My prince, your brother…."

That voice. Oh, that voice had haunted his dreams, but lately it had only been heard in his nightmares. She would beg for his help to save her, only to witness her dragged away or killed before his eyes, chains or ropes or fire keeping him imprisoned, unable to do more than scream her name. More than once he had jerked awake to find tears streaming down his cheeks.

Now his head jerked up, ears attuned, desperate to see or hear her again, to confirm she was alive and not just a hallucination. To know all his nightmares were wrong.

He prayed his nightmares were wrong.

Ivar beckoned her closer with an annoyed huff and a roll of his eyes. Then she appeared, as if from the mist. His fears confirmed. Her green dress was ripped and filthy. Her hair matted and unwashed. But it was the dark circles that lay beneath her dimmed eyes, the bruise on her cheek and the split lip that adorned her face which brought his rage to the surface, festering in his gut. His hands clenched into fists at the sight of her and images of what all she must have endured played in his mind.

The heathen snatched the cup from her outstretched hands, mumbling something in his own language. "Go." He arrogantly dismissed her with a wave of his hand as if she was some pest he detested.

As she turned to walk away, her eyes drifted over to Heahmund and she froze. Time stood still as their gazes locked. He watched as a series of emotions passed over her face- surprise, relief, concern, fear, worry- they all took their turn to shine from her eyes. He wondered if his own expression mirrored hers. Her name, that name that tasted like the sweetest of honey on his lips, danced on his tongue. How he wanted to pull her into his arms and never let her out of his sight. To promise no one would ever hurt her again. To press his lips to hers tenderly. His chest constricted as he witnessed a single tear slip from her right eye, washing away a streak of grime on her cheek. His own tears burned in his eyes, threatening to betray him. Here she was. Alive. But mistreated by these heathens. Something he could never forgive.

"You know this…. priest, thrall?" Ivar's amused voice broke their staring, like a bucket of cold water suddenly thrown on them.

She jerked, brought back to the here and now, that her and Heahmund were not alone. Wordlessly, she lowered her head and nodded.

"Ah, I see." Ivar's shrewd blue eyes jumped between the two as his smirk widened. "You may go to him. I will allow it for now. Ah! And here, give him this." He held the untouched cup out to her.

Hesitantly, she reached out and took it, as if expecting it to get thrown in her face at the last minute. Keeping her gaze downcast, she walked the few steps to stand before Heahmund. Once more, she peered over to the side at Ivar, silently requesting his permission before proceeding.

"Let him drink! I am certain he is quite…. thirsty." The heathen chuckled, playing with his bottom lip.

"Y/n…" Heahmund started quietly but she interrupted him.

"Drink, please." Immediately, she brought the cup to his lips and carefully helped him to drink. At the slow pace she allowed the water to flow, it was perfect to quench his thirst but not fast enough he would choke on it. A skill she must have learned from the many times she was forced to take care of her ailing father. The whole time, he locked his gaze on her face, refusing to look away for even a moment. For fear of her vanishing. For fear of missing even a second of this cherished time in her presence. Even if he was bound in chains like a common criminal.

"Are you well?" He asked once she pulled the empty cup away from his mouth, keeping his voice low for some resemblance of privacy under the heathen's scrutinizing gaze.

She peeked at Ivar out of the corner of her eye before whispering back. "I'm alive."

"Are they treating you well?"

Her gaze dropped to her hands, clutching the cup.

And her silence burned through Heahmund like a wildfire. He knew it was foolish to ask as soon as he uttered the question. The evidence on her face was proof enough. But he had hoped for a different answer. Wanted a different answer. And the truth ate away at him like leprosy. For chained here…. a prisoner…. a prize…. he could do nothing to save her. To protect her.

His nightmare coming to pass.

He swallowed thickly, emotions clogging his throat. "Stay strong, y/n. The Lord knows the challenges we face and will give us strength to endure. We are not forgotten."

She nodded, hastily wiping away another tear that slipped down her cheek. "What…. what about you? What will happen to you?"

Her concern for him warned his soul more than a fire and hot meal ever could. Even amidst her circumstances, she worried for him. She cared about him. Heaven certainly lost an angel when she was born onto this earth. For she was far too good to not be one of the Lord's divine beings.

"I'm deciding if I want to keep him alive," Ivar interrupted, tone all together smug and cocky, "or crucify him, like your god. A fitting ending for his priest."

She inhaled sharply, eyes widening at the revelation.

Heahmund wanted to comfort her, but words failed him as he gazed upon her. For his life was no longer in his own hands. A fate he despised. Before he could speak words that would hopefully bring her some solace, the heathen spoke again.

"Thrall, come here." Ivar commanded. She walked over to him with visible trepidation, cup still clutched in her hands. Instantly, he grabbed her wrist when she was close enough, the movement as sharp and fast as a viper. The cup dropped and bounced on the ground as she gasped. In the next moment he yanked her down to kneel before him, a soft cry slipping from her lips that seemed to spur him on, a malicious smile forming on his face. So reminiscent of a hungry wolf cornering a young lamb, the taste of blood already tainting the air. An allure the wolf feasted on shamelessly.

Heahmund could taste iron in his mouth from how hard he bit his tongue to keep from demanding her release. He could only watch helplessly as this devil toyed with her.

"Hmmm…. what is your name, thrall?"

She said, voice barely above a whisper, eyes firmly planted on the dirt. "Y/n."

Complacently, the heathen tipped her chin up, staring into her eyes for long enough she began to tremble. He chuckled, moving her face side to side and scanning her body like examining an item for sale at the market. "And who owns you now?"

"Ha…. Haakon, my prince."

"Ah. Haakon. A good warrior by our people. But I have heard he is not so kind to his thralls. Hmm?" He stated, but this time his smug gaze was directed at Heahmund, waiting for a reaction. Waiting to see what his latest prize would do.

At his statement, she flinched and it felt like a flaming sword was driven through Heahmund's gut. He made no appeal to mask his hatred nor fury, his eyes hard as stone as he met the heathen's unnatural blue eyes. In his mind, he swore to himself that he would never forget the name she spoke with such a mixture of fear and despair. Somehow, he would kill this man. God, help him.

Ivar grinned, still focused on his prisoner, even as he traced a finger over her split bottom lip, tears springing forth from her eyes. "Maybe I'll buy you from him. What do you think?"

She just stared at the ground, body trembling. Completely submissive. Entirely surrendered.

"You may go. Tell my brother I will join him soon." Ivar said, releasing her chin.

Carefully she scrambled to her feet and took a hasty step back. Her watery gaze flickered over to Heahmund's, meeting his eyes. Oh, how he wished these chains no longer held him. He would slaughter every Dane in York in holy recompense for the abuse she endured. He would shield her with his body, keeping her close until the fear bled from her like poison from a wound, until she was the sweet, vibrant woman he knew.

"I said leave, thrall."

As if startled out of a dream, she jumped at Ivar's shout. Then spun around on her heel and disappeared the way she had come. The cup laid forgotten on the ground, having rolled away.

The bishop dropped his head to his chest. What was left of his heart slowly eroded away inside of him. Why must she be made to suffer at the hands of these devils? Was this why the Lord allowed him to be captured? To save her?

"Y/n…." The heathen rolled her name on his tongue, voice inquisitive with his following question. "What is she to you?"

The Saxon remained silent. He owed his captor nothing. The heathen had no right to say her blessed name, let alone touch her. He was evil, darkness, something to be destroyed. To touch y/n, her perfect soul, was a crime against all that was holy and good.

"Ah, you act like she is nothing but I could see it in your eyes. You want her. Like a man wants a beautiful woman. But more than that…. she means something to you. So, answer my question or maybe I'll call her back and slit her throat in front of you."

Heahmund licked his lips, debating what to say. "She is the Virgin Mary."

"She's a virgin?" Ivar scoffed. "I doubt that's the truth anymore."

"No," he snapped, glaring at Ivar before turning back to stare straight ahead. "She is holy and pure. She is the epitome of benevolence, something you would never understand. She is a soft breeze on a scorching day, the spring rain come to bring new life. She is the candle of fond memories, keeping away the dark thoughts that threatened to cloud my mind. She is…. y/n."

"You love her."

"How could I not?" He sighed, for that was the truth. No matter how hard he tried, prayed for deliverance, she had wormed her way into his heart and planted herself there like an oak tree.

"Well, if Haakon owns her, then she will be leaving soon to journey to Norway with us." Ivar stared at him for a moment before looking away. They sat in silence for several minutes before Ivar laughed and shifted from a sitting position. "Prepare yourself, Bishop Heahmund, you are coming on a journey with us."

"I am already on a journey." He called out, voice unwavering.

"Aren't we all."

He watched the heathen crawl away like an overgrown snake, deceptive and cunning, wondering what this journey meant for him. What it meant for her. Closing his eyes, shutting out his surroundings, he focused on the feeling of her kerchief tucked away under his tunic. Close to his heart.

*****

The crowd jeered around him, a sound beating against his mind like a hammer. The stench of the ocean clogged his nostrils, the fish guts spilled on the docks and ground, the masses of unrighteous bodies pressing closer to have their chance to spit at him. For once, he was grateful that he did not understand their language so his ears would remain untainted by their insults and taunts.

The flaxen-haired Ragnarsson led the parade with Heahmund being the center of attention. Like a spectacle for all to see. A large blond Viking pulled on the chains binding his hands, chuckling at making Heahmund stumble drunkenly to keep his feet beneath him in the unsteady mud. The bishop spat out a mouthful of blood onto the mud. The cut on the inside of his lip a courtesy from a punch to the mouth by the brutish Viking who currently held the chains.

Stubbornly, he yanked on the chain binding him, refusing to let himself be dragged around like some stray mongrel. The brute growled at the Saxon and gave a strong pull, disrupting Heahmund's already unstable footing. In the next moment, he found himself face-first in the revolting mud. The cheers of the crowd exploded around him to new heights at his predicament.

Through sheer determination and a refusal to appear weak to these ungodly wretches, he rose back to his feet. Will unbroken. Though he walked through the valley of death, he refused to fear the evil around him. The Lord would provide a way. Somehow, he would be delivered. Carefully he wiped the mud from his face on his sleeve.

Once back on his feet, he could see Ivar sitting at a nearby table. Although from the way he reclined, he acted more as if it was a throne. The infuriating smug look on his face as he met Heahmund's gaze. All resemblance of vulnerability and unveiled candor from the prior night was gone. Replaced with the arrogant warlord who sentenced people to death with laughter on his lips.

All night his mind wrestled with their conversation from the prior night. How could he fight for this godless heathen? Surely the Lord would smite him for that? Even if in the fighting he only killed more heathens. Was he not also a man of peace like the Lord Jesus Christ? Which was more important right now? Which one was stronger in times like these…. the olive branch or the sword?

He walked with confidence until he noticed y/n standing just behind Ivar. His feet faltered for a moment, shocked to see her. Since their encounter in York, he had only snatched a glimpse of her as he was being loaded onto the boats. His mind wandered to her fate more than he cared to admit. There were many times as he sat alone, he gently toyed with the kerchief she made for him, touching the periwinkle flower sewed onto it. His thoughts on her and all his regrets.

Now his eyes quickly scanned her, noting the different dress she wore. Something rough and bland he had noticed other slaves wearing. She appeared no worse. The bruise on her cheek was gone, the split lip healed. Her hands clasped before her as if waiting for instruction as her eyes followed him. When they finally met, a flood of relief and concern passed between them. For no words needed to be spoken to understand the predicament they both were in. Both of their fates were no longer in their control, only in the Lord's and their captors'.

He could not help but wonder why she was here? To witness his shame? His death? What game was Ivar playing?

As he watched her, his mind returned to his short burst of despair earlier. How he had called out to the Lord for deliverance. But if the Lord delivered him from the hands of these heathens…. would the Lord deliver her also? But did not the Lord send angels to protect the Virgin Mary as she carried Jesus in her womb? How could he then abandon y/n in her hour of need? For it was unthinkable to leave her alone in their clutches. And seeing her now, dressed as a slave, at the beck and call of the blood-thirsty Ragnarsson, Heahmund would rather slit his own throat than leave her alone.

Determination saturating his veins, he tried to move closer towards Ivar but as he took a step, the brutish Viking held him back with an animalistic grunt.

Ivar waved a hand. "Let him approach, Haakon."

For a moment, Heahmund froze, his blood boiling at the name. This name he swore he would always remember. He turned to stare at the brute with a newfound understanding, fury a living thing beneath his skin. This was the man who mistreated the one most precious to him. An unforgivable sin. A heinous crime. And with the mischievous glint in Ivar's eyes, the bishop knew the prince had purposefully orchestrated for them to meet. Tearing his fiery gaze away from the brutish Viking, he walked over to stand before Ivar like a convict awaiting judgment.

"Shhhh…." Ivar hushed the crowd, his voice carrying with an air of authority. "Now will decide if you fight for us." Grabbing the knife out of the table from beside him, he continued. "Or whether I kill you." He paused, pressing the knife to Heahmund's chest. When he spoke next, his voice was low, a harsh truth only to be heard between them. "Nothing is keeping you alive but me."

The tip of the knife pressed against Heahmund's jerkin, not a threat but a promise depending on the bishop's choice. With his quiet sigh, he peered past Ivar to look at y/n one more time. One of her hands covered her mouth, eyes wide with fear. Only now was Heahmund able to see the red marks on her wrist, marking of chains, ones he knew he carried also.

Without hesitation, the Saxon warrior-priest whispered back, "If I fight for you, y/n goes free."

Ivar leaned closer, smirk growing on his lips. "If you fight for me…. I will give her to you."

"Hmmm…." Heahmund's gaze dropped down to the knife still touching his sternum for a second before returning to meet Ivar's penetrating gaze. "Why don't you give me the knife?"

The manic excitement in Ivar's eyes should have scared Heahmund, but right now he needed blood on his hands. With a wicked grin, Ivar handed the knife over, as if already knowing what was to occur next. He accepted the knife with a huff, surprised Ivar gave it to him. Both smiled darkly at one another, the draw and lust for blood staining their lips. Revenge- a language they both spoke fluently.

Slowly Heahmund turned around, the knife pressed to his sternum like he was about to take his own life. Aware of the crowd's eyes on him, he stepped away from Ivar, back into the street. Closer to the brute Viking.

Haakon began yelling in his thickly accented English. "Die! Are you afraid?" He sneered, getting right into the bishop's face. "Do it! Coward. Do it!"

Without a second thought, Heahmund slid the knife home into the Viking's neck. Blood spurting out, coating his hand gripping the knife. As the heathen gurgled, he spat blood onto the heathen's face. The blood on his face was for the punch Heahmund received from him. The knife, though, that was for her. His gift to her. To deliver her from the abuse of the ungodly. He could see death sinking its claws into the Viking, latching itself onto the man's soul to drag him to Hell. With that he let the man drop limply to the mud and threw the knife to the ground nearby.

He gazed over the silenced crowd with his piercing eyes, weaponless once again, and curious if one would fight him for revenge for Haakon. They stared back at him, a mixture of shock and anger on many of their faces. A slow clap and madden laughter startled him. He turned back to see Ivar clapping with an unhinged smile.

"He will fight with us!" Ivar yelled, arms outstretched as if in victory.

The crowd cheered. An example of how fickle a mob can be. As he arrived, being led like an animal to sacrifice, they cheered for his death. Now they cheered for his sword, to fight alongside him.

Suddenly a form slammed into him, almost knocking him off his feet. He tensed, prepared to fight until he looked down to see y/n burying her face against his chest, hands gripping his tunic. Her body trembled against his, muffled sobs reached his ears as she clung to him like a lifeline. The bishop lifted his gaze to meet Ivar's, who leaned forward with a side smirk, eyes intently watching the two. As their gazes met, Ivar made a subtle motion with his hand, a quick wave, as if telling him to accept his prize.

Careful because of the many eyes still on them and not wishing to cause her harm, he brought his bound hands around her, pulling her closer against him. Embracing her in a way he had only fantasized about. Using his body as a shield, blood staining his hands.

"You are safe now." He murmured against the top of her head, a storm of emotion whirling in his heart and mind. "You are safe, I promise. I will not let anyone hurt you again. I am here, my angel."

Silently, she looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, washing away what grime had been on them. But it was the relief and adoration in her eyes that made him freeze. How she beheld him as if a miracle or answer to her prayers. A reverence in her gaze but also joy intermingled.

His heart constricted in his chest; air momentarily cut off by the strong emotion stirring within him. For he knew with every fiber of his being as he gazed down at her, he would do anything to protect her. Would travel any sea to keep her. Fight any army with just his sword by his side. Even sell his own soul to the devil to see her safe.

Glancing up at Ivar and the manic smile on his mouth, Heahmund wondered if he had done just that.

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lesbiansforboromir · 3 years ago

Text

"Yet even so it was Gondor that brought about its own decay, falling by degrees into dotage, and thinking that the Enemy was asleep, who was only banished not destroyed.

'Death was ever present, because the Numenoreans still, as they had in their old kingdom, and so lost it, hungered after endless life unchanging. Kings made tombs more splendid than houses of the living, and counted old names in the rolls of their descent dearer than the names of sons.

Childless lords sat in aged halls musing on heraldry; in secret chambers withered men compounded strong elixirs, or in high cold towers asked questions of the stars. And the last king of the line of Anarion had no heir."

Faramir's explanation for Gondor's ‘decline’ is... incoherent.. what the hell are you on about m’love?

The way this reads is so completely misleading when looking at the actual history and reasons for Gondor's receding borders and the loss of the watch on Mordor. Faramir puts the onus on Gondorian Kings wanting to live longer and not having kids... babe? Did you forget... the plague? Gondor WAS watching for activity in Mordor. For 1640 years! And then there was a plague so devastating that it turned the country’s most populous city into a near ghost town. It took 200 years for Gondor to recover, and even then it never truly reached the population levels it had maintained before. Osgiliath was never the same! And by then Mordor had taken the fortresses at the Morannon!

There is absolutely no mention of Kings or Stewards who were desperately seeking to extend their life in Gondor’s history. Where are these tombs more splendid than the houses of the living? All the Kings not buried in Osgiliath are buried in the Silent Street... There is no mention of achingly elaborate tombs anywhere!

There WERE however some Kings who did not marry or have children! ... Two, there were just two of them... out of thirty three. Narmacil I was Atanatar's son and reigned in the HEIGHT of Gondor's wealth. He essentially allowed his nephew Minalcar to run the country whilst he had a great time writing poetry and kissing men. And Minalcar did a really good job! He fought wars, he made alliances, he built the Argonath and when it actually came around to his time to be King, he had a nice and peaceful reign! And when his son Valacar wanted to marry a Northern Princess? Even though the worry in Gondor was that that would ‘weaken’ the King’s line and reduce their lifespan? He supported him! Gave his blessing!

The other King who never married or had any children was Earnur! You all remember Earnur? Oh sure, he desperately wanted to extend HIS life past its natural limits! Fighting in two wars and then riding off into an obvious trap just because he'd been challenged really gives me a whole 'old man in his dotage fears death' vibe. And that was the ‘last king of the line of Anarion who had no heir’. You know WHY he was the last king? Because the King before his father Earnil II (King Ondoher) and his two sons had died! In a massive fuckall war with the Balchoth that nearly saw Gondor destroyed! PRINCE Faramir was TOLD to stay behind! But he was so anxious for his family and so wished to not simply sit and wait for death that he HID amongst the ranks of the Eotheod and went to war anyway!! AND DIED!! Asking questions of the stars??? Making strange elixirs?? Mused uselessly on heraldry??? WHEN? FARAMIR?? Was Ondoher daydreaming about stars and heraldry as he was cut down by a chariot??? Was Artamir brewing potions mid-battle?? WHAT are you talking about!!!

Where are these men fearing death who brought Gondor into it's decline that Faramir is talking about? Is he lying? No, I actually believe Faramir when he says he would not even snare an orc in a falsehood. The things Faramir says are things he believes. But then how, when he is so well known for his loremastership, can he be so misleading and plain wrong about something so basic to Gondorian history? Well I have a suggestion but it means Faramir’s at least a little homophobic so bear with me and I promise this is relevant.

So, obviously, the ups and downs of Gondor society in terms of queer liberation would be complex and rely upon a diverse number of factors. However, I’d say that, if you looked at an overall trend, it goes up in times of peace and takes a hit during times of strife. The basic reasoning for this is that one of the fundamentals of Gondorian society is the concept of doom and fate. This can give both correct and erroneous impressions of cause and effect throughout history. Gondorians tend to believe everything happens for a reason. And due to the (sometimes quiet but always present) elf-and-faithful-numenorean-ruled thinkers, who push ideas of proper marriage, celebacy, romance-superiority and other cis-het-normative agendas, the ‘reason’ that bad things happen is often blamed on the queer liberation of the times. The populace is open to being given reasons for bad things happening and Academia in Gondor is very much elf-revering, so it is often respected scholars who are pushing that narrative.

HOWEVER, the queerness is rarely what is actually remembered or recorded in history, the wording of records are often bound up in the faithful numenorean rhetoric of ‘heretical kings’ and ‘they fell into the trap of king’s men ideology’ and so on and so forth. Scholars might understand what this means at the time, but it gets muddled further down the road and even academics in the future have trouble finding the intended emphasis. So! By the time we reach 3018 TA, the academic community as a whole has reached a general consensus that ‘the old sins of our past’ are to blame and that, whilst queerness was a part of it, it was more a symptom than a direct cause.

So! The thought process I’m proposing for Faramir should be easy to guess at now, but I’m going to go more specific for the sake of... me uwu.

GONDOR has not known peace for the last 500 years, not since Steward Denethor the first’s reign wherein the so called ‘watchful peace’ ended and Sauron returned to Mordor. NOW, before Denethor, his uncle Dior was the Steward and, as you’ve probably guessed, he had no children and nor did he marry. I would suggest that Dior lived through one of the most tolerant and open portions of Gondor’s history. I think he not only was open about his choice not to marry, but he also had a socially accepted partner and lived with him all his life with only a small, vocal minority voicing their objections.

But then Sauron returned! And it was brutal, bloody and horrific. And that vocal minority saw an opportunity to use Dior’s life as a method to push Gondor once again into it’s regular crisis of conscience, faith and purpose. ‘We betrayed our founder’s’ and ‘We should have been ruled by Dior’s son but because of his weakness against his ill-fate we are doomed, he abandoned his duty! A pitiful fate but pitiful for us as well!’ And so on and so forth, there are reems of academic works written about it.

Now, this doesn’t have an immediate crushing effect on queer rights that one might fear. Denethor I loved his uncle dearly and would not hear a bad word about him, as did Boromir I! And Cirion? Cirion was almost more alternative than Dior. He sold off portions of land when the Stewards had been told to keep them IN TRUST for the king’s return. He made enduring and reciprocal alliances with the Eotheod ‘middle men’, he was very much anti-traditionalist! However, it was after his reign that Gondor truly felt the backlash of all this, spurred on by Cirion’s very alternative views, actions and methods. Because whilst he may have been an effective and charismatic Steward, Cirion had not found so much time to be a good father. And Hallas had been fifteen when his father had left him behind and ridden to war. He had a frightening and lonely childhood and was very open to the idea that his father was wrong, had gone too far, that things should be ‘brought back to normal’. Stability being key and all. The vocal minority had his ear.

And since then, whilst opinion has still fluctuated, the constant unrest and simmering crisis of Gondor’s day to day has made progress against such concepts difficult and slow going. And it’s informed the opinion of history too, a lot more academic writing has compared Dior to Narmacil I (the first unwed and unmarried King) and has tried to find parallels between them and Earnur. Any explicit discussion of queerness has been relegated to Sindarin scripts (the language only really understood by academics and the upper classes), but the underlying tone is there HENCE!

“falling by degrees into dotage, and thinking that the Enemy was asleep“ = Dior ‘abandoned his duty’ and Narmacil I ‘was indolent’.

“the Numenoreans still [-] hungered after endless life unchanging.” = A melding of heretical beliefs that occurred over centuries into one monolith that applied longing for endless life automatically.

“Childless lords sat in aged halls musing on heraldry; [-] compounded strong elixirs, [-] asked questions of the stars.” = This is all both reaching back to heretical practices in Numenor, whilst also harkening back to the periods of time in which Dior and Narmacil lived, peaceful times where more introspective and experimental pursuits could be indulged.

SO! This is where Faramir’s erroneous and misleading opinions come from. And why he is at least a little homophobic. There, I told you all I’d get there.

#soap operas in mannish sindarin #gondor #tolkien #lotr #erran vs tolkien #do I fucking dare put this in faramir's tag... no #no one in there will want to hear this #lotr meta #tolkien meta

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years ago

Note

My dearest bouncey! I have a prompt for you if you like: Witchers as a 90s/2000s boyband 😂🤷‍♀️💖💖💖

Ellie, darling, this started as 500 words and turned into like 3.2k words and also a piece of art so... thank you so much. also shout out to my amazing art pal @mawbwehownets for the little comic!!

this contains lots of 90′s/early 2000′s nostalgia so there is also that

tw: hornyish, smooching, perilous music video situations (corny)

---

“Do I have to?” Geralt groans, letting his forehead thud down against the linoleum surface of their tour bus’s shitty dining table.

“Yes,” Vesemir says. His tone leaves no room for argument or whining. “But what if I let you pick the winner personally?”

“There have to be like fifteen thousand letters to go through! How will I manage that in less than two days?”

“There were a few more than fifteen thousand applications, Geralt. There were probably closer to five hundred thousand.”

Lambert wolf whistles and Aiden claps.

Geralt grimaces and keeps his face hidden against the table, releasing a slightly muffled: “Fuck.”

“Language,” Vesemir frowns. He tugs gently at Geralt’s loose ponytail and the singer lifts his head up from the table again, looking at his manager with beseeching eyes. “Anyway, we’ve narrowed it down to about fifty. You can go through those and choose whichever person you’d like to play your love interest. But you have to give me an answer by Friday. The shoot is in three weeks and whoever wins this stupid competition will need time to make arrangements.”

“I thought we were footing the bill for their food and their hotel room,” Geralt raised an eyebrow. “What would they need to arrange?”

“Not everyone can board their pets at the flick of a wrist, dude,” Lambert scoffs from his seat on the couch. Aiden lies draped across his lap, as usual, and the two of them are halfheartedly watching The Lion King. They can only watch movies when the bus is stationary, otherwise the VHS player might move too much while running and damage the film inside the cassette. Even taking advantage of such a rare opportunity, Lambert and Aiden still seem more interested in each other than Jonathan Taylor Thomas’s voice acting.

“Lambert has a point,” Vesemir sighs. He scrubs his hand over his lightly whiskered face like a tired grandparent and sighs again, more heavily. “It’ll be good for you boys to have a normal person around for a few days. Maybe they’ll be able to put some things into perspective.”

Geralt can only roll his eyes a little bit and thank his manager regardless of his own feelings; he and the rest of TW5 owe the seasoned musical expert their entire careers. Without Vesemir’s help and mentorship they would never have made it past their first disastrous record deal. They certainly wouldn’t have reached the heights they’re at now, enjoying international fame and recognition.

The begrudging frontman accepts a heavy plastic bin of file folders from Vesemir and sets them down next to his bunk. “Are these organized in any particular way?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.”

Geralt digs his hand into the pile and pulls out a piece of pale-pink stationary, eager to get started and, by extension, get finished. He can already tell that it’s going to be a long couple of days.

---

“I want this one, please, Ves.”

“Huh?” Vesemir looks up from his palm-pilot. Geralt is standing in front of him and trying to hand him something.

“I want this guy to be in the music video with me.” Geralt holds out the letter again, fingers trapping the accompanying polaroid headshot with great care. A pair of bright blue eyes stares up from the photo, highlighting the subject’s bright smile and unruly mop of messy brown hair. Vesemir tries to hide his amusement; totally Geralt’s type, if the big oaf could admit to having one.

“Alright. I’ll get everything in order. We start shooting in two and a half weeks so get your asses to the gym, please.”

“Yes, Ves,” all five young men chorus.

“Tomorrow,” Coen mutters a moment later than everyone else, not glancing up from his composition notebook. Vesemir nods in understanding. Coen is the best lyricist of the lot and it’s easier to let him work when inspiration strikes than beg him to focus when he can’t get a solitary idea to stick.

“So why’d you pick that one, Ger-bear?” Lambert drawls. Aiden nods and leans against Lambert’s side. Geralt can’t help the mild jealousy that overtakes him every time he sees his bandmates touch each other with such casual affection. He wants that intimacy, that softness behind the veneer of famous indifference. He wants someone to hold.

“Yeah. What drew your attention to that poor unfortunate soul. Was it the floppy hair, the big blue eyes, or the dopey grin?” Aiden smirks.

“Hmm.”

“Fuck you,” Eskel sighs, looking between the two troublemakers with the tired gaze of an eldest sibling, “Fuck you for even asking in the first place and expecting a straight answer.”

“Straight is the furthest thing from his answer,” Lambert chuckles. He is promptly smacked in the head with one of the couch’s hideous throw pillows. The youngest member of the band rubs the side of his face and chuckles, “Alright, I deserved that one.”

---

“Holy shit!” Jaskier practically screams. “Holy motherfucking shit!”

“What!?” Yennefer comes flying around the corner. “What’s wrong!?”

“Nothing is wrong, Yenna! Everything is awesome! Everything absolutely fucking rocks!”

“Did you get hit on the head by a falling branch between here and the mailbox or what? You were whining about your finals work not five min-”

“Look at this!” Jaskier shoves an open envelope into her hands and cuts her off. Yennefer reads the watermarked documents once. Twice. Her eyes almost pop out of her head when the words and their meanings finally sink in.

“Are you fucking with me right now?”

“No, I am absolutely not!” her giddy roommate cheers, bouncing up and down in place. “I did it! I won!”

“Holy shit.”

“I know! I get to kiss Geralt deRiv!” he practically cackles. Then freezes. “Holy fuck I get to kiss Geralt deRiv.”

“You said that already,” Yen teases. She shoves the paperwork back into his hands and grabs a takeout menu from the junk drawer near her hip. “Since you won the makeout lottery, you get to buy lunch. Lucky bastard.”

---

“So this will be your dressing room,” someone’s underpaid PA says, ushering Jaskier into a small, bright room. “Priscilla will be here shortly to get you into hair and makeup.”

“Oh, uh- thanks!”

“Yup.”

And with that, the young man disappears back down the hallway toward the sound stage. Jaskier jogs his leg anxiously as he waits for Priscilla to arrive, nervous and otherwise totally alone in the huge grey building. As the minutes tick by and his heart rate rises, Jaskier’s intrusive thoughts make an unwanted appearance: What if they forget about me being here? What if there’s been a mistake and they accidentally hired two love interests and I just sit in here for hours all alone while-

“Hi!” a bright, peppy blonde woman flies through the door and startles him back to reality. “Nice to meet you, I’m Priscilla! You can call me Priss; I’ll be doing your hair and makeup for the video this week!”

“Oh… hi. I’m Julian, but I prefer Jaskier.”

“Lovely! Well, Jaskier, is your hair naturally this color?”

“Y-Yes?”

“Perfect! I don’t want to mess with such a lovely shade of natural brown, but do you mind if I give it a bit of a trim? I have a few ideas for styles right here in my book- How do you feel about some feathering back here? I think-” she fluffs a few of the hairs around the nape of Jaskier’s neck “-I could really bring out the curls if I adjusted the length a bit and used some product.”

“Just, uhm, go for it, then! Feel free to make me as pretty as possible!” Jaskier declares. He’s committing to this experience wholeheartedly, determined to allow himself every opportunity for positive change. He wants to really let himself enjoy it, and he needs a haircut anyway. Priscilla spends an hour washing, cutting, drying, and styling his hair into a lovely fringed sweep across his forehead. It ends just above his brows, giving his face a slightly softer shape than usual. He grins over his shoulder, “I love it! I’m going to miss you when I’m back at Oxenfurt. Good stylists are so hard to find.”

Priss blushes and nudges against his shoulder, “Oh, you little charmer.”

“I mean it,” he says, examining himself in the mirror. “I look like I could really be worthy of a heroic rescue! This is going to be such a fantastic memory, and I appreciate it. Thank you so much.”

Priss bites back a genuine tear and smiles, “Now that your natural prettiness has been mildly enhanced, let’s get you over to wardrobe, shall we?”

“Wardrobe? Do I have, like, a costume? What’s the music video even about?”

“They didn’t tell you any of this when you got here?”

“Not… not really.”

“Well, my darling, I think you’re really going to like it; they’ve got you in Versace for the first scene.”

“Versace!?”

Then Jaskier is being ushered into a bright, colorful room full to bursting with grim-faced, middle-aged women and he loses track of his only braincell for the rest of the morning.

---

“You must be Julian!” Lambert declares, bounding up to him and grinning. It’s a feral, animalistic grin and Jaskier resists the sudden urge to take a step back.

“I prefer Jaskier, if you don’t mind too much,” Jaskier corrects him quietly. Lambert rolls his eyes in a long-suffering kind of way and throws a meaty arm around the shorter man’s shoulders, completely ignoring the wardrobe technician’s wincing as he wrinkles the expensive silk jacket.

“No need to be quiet and polite around here, my dude. We’re just a bunch of rowdy idiots, aren’t we, guys?”

“Hell yeah!” Aiden calls back. Eskel sighs like the put-upon nanny in a Victorian Redanian comedy.

“Speak for yourself,” Coen barely lifts his frosted tips up from his book long enough to speak. Geralt is-

Holy motherfucking Britney Spears on toast.

Geralt is the hottest thing Jaskier has ever seen in his short, unfulfilled-until-right-now life. Forget Ralph Macchio. Forget Leonardo Dicaprio and Kate Winslet and Winona Ryder. This man is… Geralt deRiv is… he’s the picture of perfection. And he’s right there, standing in front of an elaborate party set with his thick, beautiful arms crossed over his chest and his eyes trained on the floor, as if willing it to swallow him whole. Jaskier realizes that he probably didn’t have any choice in the matter; maybe this was just as awkward and uncomfortable for Geralt as it was for Jaskier.

“Ger-bear!” Lambert whoops, yanking Jaskier closer to the brooding frontman. If only he were brave enough to struggle for escape; alas. “This is your boy-toy for the week. Goes by Jaskier, apparently.”

“Nice to meet you,” Geralt manages to grunt. “How did you like the script?”

“I haven’t uh- I haven’t actually seen it?”

“Shit. Fuck. One second,” Geralt huffs, disappearing into the crowd of technicians and machinery operators and PAs. Jaskier loves him already, for real. Sure, he was pretty in the music videos and promo material, but the way he said fuck like it was the noblest word he could think of… Geralt interrupts his train of thought by coming back with a sheaf of papers clutched in his hand. He shuffle-shoves them into Jaskier’s arms immediately. “There you go.”

“Thank you!” Jaskier smiles. It’s genuine and shy, more tenuous than his usual goofy grin. He flips through the pages, glancing between the script to his expensive suit, “So I’m guessing we’re at a party for this scene? Or something?”

“This is… where we meet. This is where… you and I uh…”

Jaskier’s eyes scan the page as Geralt’s ability to speak slowly leaves him.

Lover ENTERS LEFT, dressed to the nines. Lover adjusts their tie/boa and takes a look around the room. S/He looks sad and a little hopeful. PULL BACK to Geralt, who approaches slowly. Their eyes meet. HOLD SHOT. PULL BACK as they move towards each other. Geralt pulls Lover into his arms and they begin to dance.

“Oh, wow.”

“I hope it’s okay! If you’re not comfortable with that kind of thing we can-”

“I’ll be alright, thank you. I came here to put my acting chops to the test. Well, that and meet my favorite band, of course. Thank you again, by the way. It’s been wonderful so far and I really appreciate you allowing me to be here.”

“Allowing? Psh. Geralt ha-” Lambert is cut off by Aiden, who elbows him sharply in the side. “Ow! What the fuck, babe?”

“I knew it!” Jaskier crows, distracted. “I knew you two were an item!”

“They’re not exactly subtle.”

“They never confirm anything either,” Jaskier retorts. Geralt shrugs his acknowledgement and moves back towards the set. Jaskier follows after the taller man like a lost puppy, eyes flicking from one thing to the next, hungry for detail even in his anxiety ridden state. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience and he doesn’t want to waste a solitary second of it. “This is incredible, really just...wow. You guys do this all the time? You get to make tiny little movies for already great songs that you get to perform for millions of adoring fans? And you get paid!?”

Geralt hadn’t ever really thought about it like that. He’d been raised in the industry. He’d signed to Kaer Morhen Records as an early teen because his mother was a member of the Board of Directors and he’d been making music ever since; an outsider’s perspective to things was… new. A little strange. “Yeah, I guess that is pretty much what we do.”

“Wow.”

“It’s not that exciting, I promise.”

“Have you ever written a fifteen page paper about the history of lute-string design and manufacturing?”

“No.”

“Then kindly shut the fuck up about what I should consider exciting,” Jaskier grins. Geralt is immediately and irrevocably smitten. Fuck. It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes! “So, which door am I entering from?”

“Left,” Geralt points. Jaskier skips over and begins to introduce himself to the sound and lights crew. His smile seems to be as infectious as his cheer and soon the entire set crew is smiling at one another. There’s been a literal shift in the atmosphere; if he didn’t know any better, the TW5 frontman thinks Jaskier might be some kind of magical creature, because he can’t just be human. Geralt is well and truly fucked, and everyone in the band already knows.

---

“What do you think?” Jaskier asks, slipping anxiously from behind the changing screen. The Versace is gone and in its place are a pair of tight, high-waisted blue pleather pants and a billowing white shirt, which has been strategically ripped in several places to reveal slivers of the lightly tanned skin that lies beneath. He looks like he’s in desperate need of rescuing. He looks like every fantasy Geralt has ever had about the perfect guy. He looks like a fucking dream.

“Nice,” he says.

Lambert and Aiden wolf-whistle and cheer as they approach. Aiden claps twice, loudly, and shoots Jaskier a set of finger guns, “Hot damn, baby. You single? You lookin’ to mingle? Because I am bi and spoon like a Pringle.”

“First of all, babe, I love you but that was the most horrific combination of words yet known to man. Second of all, yeah, I’d dump Aiden for you for sure,” Lambert adds. Jaskier is at a total loss for words. His mouth hangs open and his breath comes in uneven little gasps for a moment.

“Uh… I- Thank you?”

“Oh god, Eskel! Eskel, he’s short circuiting, do something.”

“You absolute-” Eskel groans and makes his way over to the gathered group. He tugs Jaskier away and over to the other end of the set, where a comically huge rocket/bomb (Jaskier can’t tell) is standing at the center of a vaguely science-themed room. A laboratory, maybe? Or like, a really weird spacecraft? A hospital run by rocket scientists? It doesn’t matter, it’s the Evil Lair of the Villain and that’s where Jaskier is being held captive. “Here, Cameron and Elise will help you get set up for the next scene. I’m sorry about the boys they’re... gay?”

“I understand,” Jaskier nods sagely and Eskel relaxes. Then for comedy’s sake he adds an equally dramatic, “I too am... gay.”

The set dresser, an electrician, and a few specialists (likely a rope rigger among them) come over and tie Jaskier to the bomb/rocket/villainous mechanism, ending his conversation with Eskel, who is now in a much better mood than he was before.

Jaskier is told to make sure his hands are crossed behind the small of his back and the director instructs him to wiggle back and forth “as convincingly as possible without actually getting loose or moving the ropes too much”. Which is manageable, he supposes.

“Then, when the chorus comes up, we’ll get a few shots of the boys dancing in front of you,” the director continues to explain. That’s… kind weird, but okay. I’ve seen weirder. “Then we’ll do the action shots, with Geralt rescuing you. Are you okay to do the kiss, or would you rather not? We have dynamic shots with or without, so it’s totally up to you.”

“I’m fine with that,” Jaskier smiles shyly. “I consent to be smooched.”

“Adorable,” Lambert calls. Jaskier blushes and the director shoots Lambert a glare.

“He’s already pink enough, don’t make me change my gels you little shithead!”

“Sorry, Pierre!”

“Fucking sorry my ass,” Pierre grumbles beneath his breath. Then he smiles at Jaskier. “Do something nasty to him for me, will you? Not too nasty but… just a little?”

“I’ve got your back,” Jaskier winks.

“No plotting! Not fair!” Aiden whines.

“You have a team,” Pierre retorts. “Now I have a team.”

“Rules are rules,” Eskel sighs. “Now can we please shoot this damn video?”

“Right,” Pierre claps, getting everyone’s attention. “Places!”

---

Geralt races up the stairs, trying to keep the long sleeves of his black mesh shirt from catching on any of the set pieces. The solid black t-shirt he’s wearing underneath makes his arms and back look bulkier than normal; it’s a visual technique to make him look larger than Jaskier, whose billowing white shirt will hide how wide his shoulders actually are. Fuck, those are some nice shoulders. And the smattering of dark chest hair that peeks from the front of the college student’s shirt? Geralt wants to bury his face in it.

Okay, focus.

He reaches the top of the set and rushes towards Jaskier, ripping the ropes from around his torso and pulling him close. He cups the back of Jaskier’s head with his upstage hand, framing the slightly smaller man for the camera and making him seem even shorter, another trick of angles and body posturing. Geralt plays Jaskier like an instrument, bending him back by placing his downstage arm around Jaskier’s waist, pressing their mouths together and holding them still for as long as it takes the director to yell, “Cut!” with a satisfied tone of voice.

Geralt’s suspicions are confirmed when Pierre laughs and claps some more and cries, “Print it, lads! That was a one-take wonder!”

He tries to ignore the way Jaskier’s shoulders slump as if disappointed. “Good job,” he manages to say.

“You, too.” Geralt wishes he could keep a picture of Jaskier smiling in his back pocket forever. No other sight could light up the world so effortlessly. “Thanks for being gentle.”

“I’m trying to sweep you off your feet,” the singer shrugs. Jaskier wiggles his eyebrows and follows Geralt down the narrow set stairs.

“Are you, really?”

“Is it working?” Geralt asks, turning to look up at Jaskier. The student pauses to look at him and his foot catches on an uneven board. He topples forward with a short cry of surprise and seems surprised when Geralt reaches out to catch him. “Jaskier!”

“Oh my god!” Lambert races over, Aiden hot on his heels. “Are you okay, dude?”

“I’m fine,” Jaskier laughs, a little breathless. “Just a little shocked.”

“You should take him to get a snack or something,” Eskel says, nudging his shoulder against Geralt’s. “He’s been busy all day and hasn’t even been to craft services.”

“You haven’t eaten?” Geralt asks, honestly baffled. Jaskier shakes his head, face heating once again. He wishes he could stop blushing, but Geralt’s presence seems to make it impossible. He wraps one arm around the younger man’s temptingly slender waist and leads him towards the food carts. He shoves a couple of sandwiches and a bottle of punch into Jaskier’s hands, not giving him a chance to argue. “Here, I’ll have something, too.”

“Thanks,” Jaskier smiles, understanding that he is, in turn, being understood. They sit comfortable folding chairs off to the side, food spread across their laps. Jaskier laughs and chats around his mouthfuls, pulling things from Geralt like his favorite color and his least favorite nicknames. Songs he liked and dances he disliked.

“You made it fun again, today,” the singer smiles. “Thank you for that. I wish you could be here for every video shoot.”

“Looking for another member of the band?” Jaskier jokes, doing some half-hearted jazz hands. Geralt shakes his head and laughs.

“I wish we were,” he sighs. “But I guess five is the magic number.”

“Makes the dances look cooler,” Jaskier nods. “I agree with whoever made that decision. I wouldn’t dare ruin the aesthetic.”

Geralt laughs again and Vesemir turns to look, honestly shocked at the volume of the sound.

“Plus, you can’t be the frontman if there’s no front.”

“Shut up,” Geralt chuckles, still grinning broadly.

Vesemir makes a phone call.

---

2 Weeks Later, Backstage in Kaedwen

---

“He’s been sulking like this ever since Jaskier went back to Oxenfurt,” Lambert whines. “C’mon Vesemir, do something.”

“What do you want me to do, make Geralt’s boyfriend appear out of thin air?”

“Not my boyfriend,” Geralt growls, stomping past his bandmates and manager. He can’t help but feel grumpy. Jaskier had been like the sun, bringing light and wonder to everything he touched, and without that joy around it doesn’t seem worth the extra effort to smile. So he’s been moping.

“Fucking hell,” Vesemir sighs. “Thank goodness I thought ahead.”

“What do you mean?” Eskel asks, joining the little group in the hallway outside the dressing room. “What did you think of?”

“Three,” Vesemir smiles, glancing at his watch. “Two… One…”

“Boooooys,” echoes a high tenor. “Where’s my welcome wagon, Vesemir?”

“Jaskier!” Aiden practically screams, leaping out of the dressing room and flying down the hall. Lambert follows at a sprint and Vesemir hears the resounding oof oh fuck of both giddy musicians hitting their mark.

Geralt comes back down the hall at a jog, eyes searching frantically. “I thought I heard-”

“Geralt!”

Vesemir’s heart clenches in his chest at the way Geralt’s face lights up. At the end of the hallway, surrounded by spilled luggage and apologetic boyband members, is Jaskier. Geralt floats to him, it seems, like he’s dreaming the whole thing. Jaskier takes his hands and then releases them and wraps his arms low around Geralt’s hips instead.

“I missed you the most,” he whispers, just for Geralt to hear. “Couldn’t sleep without listening to your CD. I know it’s silly but I really like you.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt whispers reverently into his shaggy brown hair. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to do my thesis on pop culture’s relation to music history,” he says. “And then the manager of TW5 called Oxenfurt and offered me the opportunity to do some… first hand research while I worked on finishing the paper.”

“R-Really? You’re going to be here… every day?”

“Do you… do you not want me he-”

Geralt kisses him before he can even finish the question. It’s a stupid question anyway, of course Geralt wants him here. Wants him right here, kissing him silly. The singer presses his lips desperately, crushingly against Jaskier’s; he never wants to part from this man again. He never wants to be without that glorious laughter and contagious liveliness. Who knew that life could be so full of delight and happiness if he only let it?

He kisses Jaskier for all he’s worth and more, pouring his heart and soul into it. When they pull apart, both gasping for air, Geralt asks, “Stay with me, Jaskier? You don’t have to do anything I just-”

“I’d love to be the big spoon,” Jaskier winks, whispering again. “Thank you, Geralt, for the rescue.”

#geraskier #bouncey's buddies #prompt fill #geraskier fic #geraskier ficlet #geraskier fluff #getting together #boyband au #geraskier boyband au #the witcher five and their hit song 'please lambert stop farting on the bus'#ellie has the braincell #thirsty jaskier #thirsty geralt #soft geralt #protective geralt #clumsy jaskier #soft boys content #bouncey's endless au collection #bouncey's endless getting together fics

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