#The greatest songs are made up of unspoken words of love after all!

[thelostgirl21]

Based on this post by @whimswonders

[hxjikonn]

Hello! Congrats on 143 followers! You deserve it!

Could I request Malleus, Kalim, Vil, Ace, and Jamil with an s/o telling them they're the best thing to have ever blessed her eyes?

A/N: ’M GONNA CRY I LOVE THIS SM 😭♥︎ I have a 3-4 characters limit though so I had to take out Vil and Jamil as I didn’t have time 😔 maybe I’ll add a pt.2 in the future with the two in it! I hope you like it!

Got me Lovestruck

☆Staring☆: Ace Trappola, Malleus Draconia, and Kalim Al Asim

Synopsis: Their reaction to Fem!Reader suddenly saying they’re ‘the best things to ever bless her eyes’

Warnings: Tooth rooting fluff, I don’t proofread my shit so prolly grammatical errors, missing words, etc. I’m sorry💀💀💀

Ace Trappola

You two were doing your usual trouble causing habits, only to be caught by one of the teachers and get sent to detention. “I cant believe we have to write a 500 word essay about why we shouldn’t balance stuff on top of sleeping people’s heads….” Ace groaned quite heavily slamming his head down his desk.

“Like, it’s not OUR fault they fell asleep where we are! That should be an unspoken rule! ‘never fall asleep around Ace or Y/n’ right???” He turned to look at you with a frown as his head still laid there, you giggle at your boyfriend’s frustration and reached over to play with his hair in attempt to calm him down from his tantrum.

After awhile he stopped ranting and just doodle on the paper near where his face rested on his desk, pouting but enjoying the feeling of your hands running through his hair. You found yourself chuckling at the boy’s expression, you always found it endearing how he made you laugh at any given situation…it was one of the reasons why you fell for him…

“Ace you’re one of the best things to ever bless my eyes y’know that?” You blurted out, a soft smile plastered on your face as you looked at him. Needless to say he stopped whatever nonsense he was doing and looked right back at you. Eyes widened and shocked from the sudden confession you’ve made.

Cue Microsoft shut down sound

Wouldn’t know how to react, like his heart is pounding and wants to kiss you right then and there but also a nervous wreck

All his ‘rizz’ that he’d usually brag about would be flushed down the drain, and he has now downgraded into a flustered speechless boy.

When you notice he was acting like a deer caught in headlights, you leaned in and pecked his forehead to bring him back to reality.

He wanted to melt, that’s what he felt like. He pulled you closer to him by the waist and just buried himself in your embrace.

You’d tease him but let him do that until his brain starts running again and is able to produce words.

Once he’s up and running again he’d gather enough courage to leave soft kisses on your collarbone as he’s still too red to kiss your face.

“I fucking love you, I cant- I don’t even- Ughhhh see??? this is what you do to me?? Oh my gosh…”

Malleus Draconia

You two were out on your nightly walks again and he’s going on a tangent about gargoyles while holding on to your hand, you listened and probably know what he’s talking about already due to countless times he’s mention this subject to you whenever it sparks up in your conversations.

Still you listened to him fondly, showing interest to his likings aswell, occasionally you’d ask him questions, and he’d elaborate. You loved how enthusiastic he was when he talks about the things that he likes, the hobbies he does, or anything at all if your being honest.

The horned fae’s voice was like that song you’ll never get tired of, suddenly a question from him cuts you off your train of thought “aren’t they the greatest creatures to bless this earth my dear?” He asks you. “I beg to differ” you protested, he was shocked as you always agreed with him on this, “oh? well then please do” he offers, awaiting for your argument. He was always up for a friendly debate.

You smiled up at him, “They’re not the greatest thing to ever bless MY eyes…because that would be you, my prince” and lifted up his hands to plant a small kiss on his knuckles. “And my opinion wont be swayed so don’t even try tsunotaro” you grinned at him. Suddenly though…your lover stopped walking.

He hears church bells ringing lol

He’d passionately but gently give you a kiss, you’d have to be the one who pulls away frist because this man isn’t stopping 🥹

He was already asking DEMANDING you marry him and ‘no’ isn’t an option. Already has your whole life with him planned in his head.

You’d giggle at his sudden statement and he explains to you that he wasn’t joking. You’d assure him that you knew he wasn’t but ‘not now’

He frowns, but understands and doesn’t push you any further (for now at least) He couldn’t leave you that night, so he stayed over and slept beside you. Coddling you with affection

Would be thinking about what you said to him everyday and smiling, he’d set the whole world on fire if you wanted him to, no questions asked.

After that day he’d keep asking ‘when’ you were going to marry him. And would be stuck to you like glue.

“Malleus…this isn’t your class” “I understand sir Trein but I simply cannot leave my wife…” “WIFE?!?!” “EXCUSE ME??!” “Mal go to your class”

Kalim Al Asim

You two were just hanging out in Scarabia, he was simply laying on your chest, content as he watched vidoes on his phone. These were the days where it was peaceful, the only sounds that were heard were birds chirping and occasionally small talk from the two of you.

Kalim was busying himself with the content his phone provided, making little noises like gasps or laughs from time to time. You just watched him, as his expression changes, finding yourself laughing aswell because you thought he was cute.

He’d look up at you from his phone and ask what you found amusing but you’d tell him that it was nothing and he’d just go back to doing what he was doing. This went on for awhile until he puts down his phone and looks up at you with a pout, “What?? You’ve been laughing since earlier, is there something on my face?…” he whines, climbing up the cushion to meet your eyes and lays down beside you.

You nod, so he starts wiping his face with his hands you only respond with a laugh again, slowly you took his hands off his face and replaces them with yours, “What? What’s on my face?“ he asks, “The best thing to ever bless my eyes” you answered and gave him a kiss. You swore you saw his pupils dilate.

Would cry 💀💀💀 no seriously he’d start tearing up.

You notice this and ask what was wrong, finding it a bit funny that your boyfriend just starts crying for no reason.

He’d burry his face in your chest sobbing, hands wrapped tightly on your waist, mumbling little I love you’s

You laugh at him for this as you thought it was adorable, you peppered him with kisses to make him stop crying.

When you ask him again he’d just say that he loves you so much that’s why he started crying. And once again burry himself in your warmth.

Would rub hearts on your back and leave kisses on your neck sometimes. When you end up falling asleep first he’d watch you sleep and tell you how much you mean to him.

Would always remind you that he loves you everyday from then on. Like ALL THE TIME, you have to tell him to stop sometimes ‘cuz it comes at the most RANDOM of hours.

“Y/n….?” “Hm???” “I love you okay? Very much…” “love it’s 3 in the morning” “I know, I just wanted to tell you that, go back to sleep now, I love you” “Hm…I love you too..” “I love you more-“ “Kalim…”

[imgoingtofreakoutnow]

Radovid and Jaskier - "Extraordinary Things" scene analysis

I literally cannot stop thinking about all the Jaskier and Radovid's scene, but especially their second scene in 3x02 (so SPOILERS for everyone who hasn't seen it yet)

First of all the song... oh, THE SONG! I've seen many interpretations of the song, but I do think that it's not about Geralt and it is more directed to Radovid than what we might think at first.

Keep your words on ice Your gaze lights the fire

After the looks that they've exchanged so far, especially when it comes to Radovid, looking at Jaskier so intensely, I can't help but think Jask's at least a bit talking about him in that second verse.

The first verse on the other hand has an obvious connection to the following ones:

Why waste our words when lips were made for extraordinary things?

Once again, I do believe this is another verse directed to Radovid. Jaskier is very perceptive when it comes to people and I do believe he has noticed Radovid fascination with him, so I feel there's a small, small chance this was also a way to tease Radovid. Plus, when he sings this Jaskier looks directly at Radovid.

They say keep on playing nice But I have no desire [...] It's not a want, it's a need It is paying no heed To what others say to sing

These verses are, in my humble opinion, once again talking directly to Radovid, especially the first two, during which the camera focuses on the prince himself.

The following ones can also work for Radovid, if we consider the "singing" as a metaphor for what people tell him to do, but maybe I am reading too much into this... but media exists to be analyzed, right? So, moving on.

The greatest songs are made up Of unspoken words of love Of them, I’ve had enough

Obviously, this part does reference Geralt and the songs Jaskier wrote for him in the past, confirming that Jaskier has loved him, but that has now moved on.

Also, when he sings the first two verses, the camera actually focuses on Radovid’s reaction (who’s having either a gay panic attack or realizing that the bard was definitely in love with the witcher).

With you, I have enough

This verse is actually nothing special BUT when he says that, at the very end of the scene, you can barely see it but Jaskier, who was looking down while singing the previous verse, raises his gaze to meet (guess what?) Radovid’s eyes!

And I LOVE Radovid’s reaction to the following verse!

With you, I am enough

I feel like this could be either read as Jaskier saying that to Radovid but also as Radovid saying that to Jaskier, especially if you look closely at the prince’s reaction, who first looks away, then gulps down, and then meets again Jaskier’s gaze.

To conclude it all, we get that beautifully haunted and shaky I am enough, which I do think is entirely Jaskier just saying that to himself.

We all know he was treated like fucking shit in the past, especially last season, and it’s already a delight seeing the other characters treating him with the kindness he deserves; but I also think he’s still trying to come to terms to the fact that he’s just a human in the found family he’s found himself in. He has no magic, no super-abilities he could use to defend those he loves, and he wasn’t always treated nicely, as already mentioned. It’s obvious to think that deep down, he doesn’t feel enough. 

And by singing it in the way that he does, while looking at Radovid the way that he looks at him, Jaskier reveals a part of himself to him and him alone. And the small smile he has at the end seems like it’s almost saying: “Well, this is me” and I JUST LOVE IT ALL!

Plus, the way his bard facade immediately jumps back in when he ‘remembers’ about the other people in the room? Dammit, I adore Joey Batey’s acting choices!!!

(I won't talk about the rest of the song but that's also so heavily Radovid coded! Like: "Drop the sweet disguise"????)

Then he walks away (also, it’s pretty funny how the people in the room all try to touch him, as he’s some kind of Jesus) and, even though he glances at everyone in the room, you can tell that the way he looks at Radovid is different. He lingers on him as he walks by and even while the camera pans away from Jaskier to the prince.

We don’t see Radovid immediately after that, it takes a couple seconds before his face is revealed to us and OH BOI! That guy is SHOOK! He can’t even find the words to speak, even though I think part of it can be blamed on Jaskier, who (in the smuggest and sluttiest way possible) sits down and puts his shoes on the table. And I totally understand Radovid because yeah… Jaskier is HOT, no denying that.

But it’s also interesting to look at Jaskier because there isn’t just smugness in his eyes. There’s still attentiveness in them as he studies Radovid and I think that’s what I love most about the interactions of episode 1 and 2. They’re never just talking, they’re always dissecting everything the other does or says, especially Jaskier but this can also be seen in Radovid at times (like in the carriage at the end of episode 1).

Now we come to the scene that pushed me to do this long and useless analysis (and thanks to @i-seeaspaceshipinthe-sky for the gifs):

So, just before this scene, Radovid has stood up with no problems and walked over to Jaskier without faltering. But suddenly, now that he’s speechless, his stance falters. And it’s obviously to confirm the fact that he is drunk. However, Jaskier sees right through it.

The look on Radovid’s face when Jaskier says: “I would, except you’re not drunk”? The way he meets Jaskier’s gaze, his complete attention on him, while also still keeping a stance that could still be considered a drunken one (not entirely upright and slightly slumped)? *chef’s kiss*

Jaskier’s smile is not as smug as one would expect. It's almost soft while he's explaining to Radovid how he could tell he was not actually drunk. Jaskier is entertained; he's having fun revealing Radovid's lie. He's enjoying putting him on the spot because, even though he's the prince, Jaskier has the upper hand in their conversation right now (which he will also reveal to the other in a few moments).

And Radovid's not pissed. He lowers his head, as if he had been caught red-handed, with a smile. He doesn’t think much of it because he thinks Jaskier’s playing the same game he is, he thinks Jaskier’s flirting, so what if he understood that Radovid fancies him?

However, as soon as Jaskier starts talking about ‘seedy taverns’ and ‘great lessons’, his smile disappears. At first he is obviously just confused as to what those things have to do with – what he still thinks is – their flirtation.

That's also when Jaskier's smile disappears. His soft expression changes and becomes cold, in a way business-like. He was playing a moment before with a prince yet inexperienced (or that seems to be so) in the art of lying, but now he's actually showing the upper hand that experience gives him. He’s showing Radovid that he can actually read him and that he cannot lie to him. The happy facade is gone and now he's more determined than ever to have what he came for.

Again, Radovid’s reaction to that is perfect. When Jaskier stands up and walks towards him, talking about the ‘viper’s den’ he’s in, Radovid’s facade also changes pretty drastically. You can tell that’s not what he was thinking would happen. He now stands upright, raising his chin up, and he looks pretty pissed off (especially when he meets Jaskier’s gaze again).

Jaskier seems unfazed by this, keeping his head also high and asking for confirmation regarding the Rience’s ordeal he went there in the first place. And did his eyes fall to Radovid’s lips? Who knows!

Back to Radovid, the anger has left him. I mean, you can tell he’s still not entirely joyous but it’s not either about to kill the bard. He actually seems more fascinated than ever, especially when he speaks again (avoiding the Rience subject a second time).

After “Now I understand”, Jaskier smiles. It’s more a condescending smile than anything else though. He’s indulging Radovid, hoping to in the end get what he wants. However there’s still a glint of curiosity in his eyes.

And then Radovid answers (and again, love that before actually answering he hesitates), and as he does, as he says “[...] not who they pretend to be”, he looks Jaskier up and down, possibly subtly hinting at the fact that he sees who he pretends to be.

Following that, when his eyes go back to Jaskier’s, his expression is quite… sincere. Not weak but defenseless, as if he’s trying to show the bard that he means what he’s saying.

And Jaskier gets that, because you can see the little smile he tries to push down while lowering Radovid’s gaze since he stood up, which is just. so. ADORABLE!

When Jaskier asks: “And the rest?”, he’s not indulging Radovid anymore. He just wants to know, perhaps wanting to see what else this prince can actually see of him. And even though Radovid can’t tell yet what the rest actually is, the fact that he’s “determined to figure it out” means so much. It means he wants to stick around, something that it’s not a normal part of Jaskier’s life. He tends to be the one who sticks around, even when people don’t exactly want him around (ie. Geralt in S1), or the one people go to and only when they need help (ie. Geralt in S2). The other way around it’s new to him, but as we see, he can’t help but smile at the idea, a smile that once again tries to stop, because he still hasn’t entirely figured out who the prince is and wants.

Then Radovid finally gives him what he came for, bowing slightly his head as he assures him he will do what he can to find Rience, and the soft thank you that leaves Jaskier’s lips, followed by another one of those half-smiles. He really seems unable to stop smiling around Radovid, uh?

AND THEN, AS THE CHERRY ON TOP, RADOVID ASKS HIM (after obviously hesitating) ASKS HIM “DOES THE WITCHER KNOW HOW LUCKY HE IS TO HAVE YOU”??? SIR??? YOUR GRACE??? WHATEVER YOUR TITLE IS??? DO YOU WANT TO KILL THE BARD???

I love, love, love how this actually shows that Radovid was listening to the song (which was obviously talking about Geralt, as I said before) but not only that! He’s also saying that is not only enough, but he’s someone that a FUCKING witcher should be LUCKY to have around! And he means it, every word!

AND THAT’S WHEN JASKIER FINALLY SMILES??? SOMEBODY SEDATE ME!!!!

So anyway, that's pretty much it! Hope you enjoyed this unhinged analysis (which might have a second part? perhaps?)

[jaskefer]

Obsessed with the idea of Extraordinary Things being a back and forth between Jaskier and Radovid, with Jaskier trying to draw him out in the first verse, and Radovid finally answering him in the second.

Cause like, with Radovid, Jaskier meets someone who he can't fully read properly. He knows there's something under the front of a drunken, bumbling prince, but he doesn't know him well enough yet to be certain as to what.

So, he tests the waters a bit. throws out a line to see if Radovid will take it—and he does. A little bit. But it's so interesting to me, because it doesn't just feel like Jaskier is trying to nail down Radovid's truth in this verse; it feels like he's injecting elements of his own mask into it, as well.

"Keep your words on ice, your gaze lights the fire. They say 'keep on playing nice,' but I have no desire. Why waste our words when lips were made for extraordinary things? It's not a want, it's a need, it is paying no heed to what others say to sing."

This is Jaskier's read of Radovid as he knows him so far: a man hiding more complex wants beneath the veneer of a drunken party boy. But it's also Jaskier admitting that he knows this about Radovid because he wears the exact same mask himself.

Much like how Jaskier and Ciri speak through Geralt and Yennefer in order to process their own feelings about them later in the season, Jaskier sings through himself in order to comprehend who Radovid is. Jaskier is using the performative persona he's crafted for himself in an attempt to coax Radovid out of his.

All of it leads into the main intention of this song: "The greatest songs are made up of unspoken words of love. Of them, I've had enough. with you, I am enough." I am tired of having to put up a front. I want to be understood. I think you understand me. Prove me right.

And Radovid sees what Jaskier is doing. He comments on Jaskier's ability to see people for who they are and not who they pretend to be. But there's still more he wants to understand. This still feels like a game, in a way.

It's only after Radovid sees the brutality of Dijkstra and Philippa up close, watches them orchestrate the assassination of the queen and threaten to incriminate him if he doesn't fall in line, that he then grasps the vulnerability in Jaskier's lyrics. Jaskier is also caught between multiple conflicting desires, that of his loyalty to Geralt/Yen/Ciri, and that of his work as the Sandpiper & how said work is backed by his continued commitment to Redanian Intelligence. That internal conflict and the desire to escape it is also highlighted in the song's first verse ("they say keep on playing nice, but i have no desire"). Only after all of this, when true fear begins to take over and the game stops being fun, does Radovid truly begin to truly understand Jaskier.

And so, he seeks him out. And he responds.

“Drop the sweet disguise, your heart’s beating too loud. The fairytales and little lies can’t drown out all the sound.” You were right. I do understand you. I know what you really want, because we're the same. You can’t hide it behind a façade of a song and a story and a persona.

“Take this heart and break this heart for extraordinary things.” I don't know what will become of this, or us. I still don't fully know if we can trust each other. But no one has ever seen me in the way that you have.

It's not a want, it's a need. With you, I am enough.

[loki-is-my-kink-awakening]

I wanted to talk about Extraordinary Things and the Geraskier and Radskier elements in the song.

Forgive me if this has been done or is rather obvious. This is just me musing over the lyrics.

Keep your words on ice

Your gaze lights the fire

How many campfires did this happen? Jaskier doing his best to drag even a few words from Geralt while the witcher glares at the fire as if his eyes are stoking the flame.

But eyes of fire really speak of Radovid, too. He may speak more than Geralt did when Jaskier first met him, but there's a lot he doesn't say in words that he says in his eyes.

They say, "Keep on playing nice"

But I have no desire

Jaskier cannot be contained. It's why I love him. He will not be forced into a box. He contains multitudes.

But these lines speak of struggle. Jaskier could be at court if he wanted to, he's a viscount, but he has no desire to be that person. He needs the freedom of the wild.

And the two people that represent this struggle are Radovid (a life at court) and Geralt (freedom/out in the wild). It's kinda obvious who Jaskier is going to choose even without considering what Joey said in interviews (that Jaskier will have a choice, but it isn't a choice for him, he will always choose his found family).

Jaskier has no desire to stay at court, even for love.

Why waste our words

When lips were made for extraordinary things

Jaskier can talk. He can express himself in his songs and with words. But there's some things that can only be truly communicated through a kiss.

And let's face it, Jaskier has waited so long to communicate his feelings for Geralt. He wouldn't waste words any longer, he'd want to show his feelings.

It also links to the later lyrics of unspoken words between them.

With Radovid, there isn't any need to talk because it becomes clear how he feels about Jaskier through singing his song.

But also there is so much they cannot discuss because Jaskier needs to protect his found family.

Kissing Radovid is safer. Jaskier can communicate his feelings that way and can feel Radovid's feelings for him in deeds, not words.

It's not a want, it's a need

It is paying no heed to what others say to sing

Jaskier has never paid any heed to what others said of his songs or singing. But that is also a mask to protect himself.

Geralt told him not to write any songs about him. Jaskier did it anyway.

There's probably others who have told Jaskier not to write songs about them or Geralt that I've forgotten.

But "it's not a want, it's a need" is just so evocative of his heart the love he gives freely, and of him letting his creativity flow through him.

That creativity is something Radovid greatly admires. And I think Radovid also wants to play no heed to what others want him to do; he just isn't as free as Jaskier (the pretty songbird).

Ultimately, what Jaskier really wants is for someone to see him, like he sees others, and for that person to still have a visceral want for him once seeing him.

People have wanted him, his body, his time, his usefulness. Loved ones have finally accepted him as a friend and family member. No one yet has wanted all of him, the magnitudes he contains, the bad parts and the good, the real him. Mainly because he's never had someone pierce his armour.

And if Radovid is using Jaskier I swear to the gods I will rain merry hell on him.

The greatest songs are made up of unspoken words of love

Of them I have had enough

All of Jaskier’s songs contain some element of his love for Geralt. He is his muse, after all.

We all know Her Sweet Kiss and Burn, Butcher, Burn contain it most obviously.

And it's interesting here that we get Jaskier saying he's had enough of writing his love for Geralt. There's only so much you can continue to pour out and not get anything back.

And so, Jaskier has decided that his love for Geralt is platonic as a way to protect himself. If he's not wanting, he can't be hurt.

But we all know when Jaskier said that his love for Geralt is platonic, that it is a lie he is telling himself. Vespula wasn't fooled.

But it's interesting that we clearly see Jaskier longing for the real love he craves in these lyrics. And I don't want to take away the amazing aromatic headcanon for Jaskier or Geraskier having a queen platonic relationship, but there is a longing that is unfulfilled, whatever way you interpret that to be.

That longing can be fulfilled with Radovid.

With you, I have enough

With you, I am enough

I am enough

Again, I see Jaskier saying he is enough with Geralt just to be his friend. After all his years struggling to be his friend and also wanting more, it's interesting to see this friendship now settled as soon as Jaskier stops seeking more.

And a big part of that change between them has to be down to Geralt becoming a father and learning to open his heart to caring about those around him.

But with Radovid, Jaskier gets to be vulnerable, properly vulnerable with his heart. He does feel enough in Radovid's eyes, and that is truly for the first time.

Vespula knows Jaskier, but he doesn't let himself be truly vulnerable with his heart there. He lies about his feelings for Geralt to her (and himself). He gives his body, but does he give his heart? I would say no. They are close in many ways, but not emotionally, not in vulnerability.

Drop the sweet disguise

Your heart's beating too loud

The fairy tales and little lies can't drown out all the sound

We all know about Geralt's disguise: that witchers don't need no one or that they don't have feelings. In S3, we see this façade lift. Geralt shows his true self to Ciri as her father, Jaskier as his friend, and Yennefer as a partner when he forgives her.

Radovid wears a disguise. He's the drunk fool to those who cannot see it. But Jaskier can, because Jaskier also wears a disguise, something Joey commented on in at least one interview.

And I feel like this disguise is definitely shown on screen when Jaskier is with Vespula. He has feelings for her, obviously strong ones, but they aren't the same as his feelings for Geralt or Radovid.

He definitely tells Vespula more than he tells his other lovers. But Vespula isn't looking for Jaskier to be "the only one" for her. She is still pretty switched on about Jaskier’s heart.

So take this heart

And break this heart

For extraordinary things

Geralt has broken Jaskier's heart already. And now Jaskier seems to be settled into the role of friend with his "platonic" love.

And Geralt is an extraordinary thing to Jaskier. Nothing will take that away, not even heartbreak.

But the thing is, Jaskier isn't ready to give his heart truly to Geralt completely. In pieces, yes. The clear barrier of "He's my friend, that's it" has been set (for now).

But with Radovid we see Jaskier let go of his mask, drop down his armour and allow Radovid in. It could very well break his heart, but that won't stop him from loving Radovid.

He has become an extraordinary thing to Jaskier.

For all the years we have watched Jaskier longing, to finally see him with someone is amazing. I don't want his heart broken, but I know we have to accept that it's going to happen.

And here, for the first time since The Mountain, we have Jaskier willing to have it broken again.

Because without taking a chance on being fulfilled and happy, what are we?

Thanks for reading.

[wren-of-the-woods]

the greatest songs (are made up of unspoken words)

Fandom: The Witcher Relationships: Radovid/Jaskier Rating: G Content Warnings: None Word Count: 2.3k Inspired by the @cake-shop-rarepair-bingo prompt "love before first sight".

Summary: Radovid hears many songs of Jaskier’s over the years. Each one intrigues him more.

Also on AO3!

~

The first time Radovid heard Jaskier sing, he was little more than a boy. 

He was attending one of the many parties that were an inevitable part of life at court, laughing and enjoying the wine. There had been a bard in the corner, one who mostly sang the usual entertaining drivel. Radovid paid him little heed. Then, suddenly, something changed. 

Toss a coin to your witcher, the bard sang, and the tune caught Radovid’s ear. It was catchy. The words, as he listened further, were even more intriguing. He had hardly ever heard songs about witchers before, let alone songs so positive and full of adventure. 

A few other partygoers began to sing along. Radovid smiled, enjoying the fun. 

The song ended soon enough. Radovid applauded with the rest, then returned to the conversation he had been having with a rather dashing young count. The song was soon forgotten amid a joyful haze of wine and good company, and that might have been the end of it. 

But the next morning, as Radovid brushed his hair and tried to choose the best doublet to wear for the day, he found that he was humming a very catchy tune. 

~

Over the next few years, Radovid became rather familiar with the name of Jaskier the bard. 

Radovid heard many minstrels play at assorted parties, balls, and dinners, each with varying levels of skill and talent. They played all sorts of songs, from their own compositions to traditional ballads. Some were of high quality. Others were distinctly lacking. But, as the years went by, one thing became more and more constant: each evening, at least one song written by Jaskier was played.

“Another tale by Jaskier the bard,” the minstrels would proclaim, and without fail a catchy tune accompanied by words of love or derring-do would follow. Radovid began to rather look forward to them — they were, unlike many of the other bards' work, reliably catchy and entertaining. Even those of his songs with little true substance never failed to make a crowd dance.

There was something about his tales of the witcher, too, that intrigued Radovid. There was a familiarity in the lyrics, a sense that this Jaskier really knew the witcher, that Radovid had not heard in many other songs. The adventures were depicted with a familiarity, almost a fondness, that suggested the bard had truly been present and cared about the outcome. Sometimes, it seemed that the songs suggested something even more than friendship between the witcher and the bard.

Radovid began to seek out rumors of the bard, listening for tales of witchers and a man with a sunny disposition and a sharp tongue. He heard rumor after rumor. He was told tales of their friendship and their adventures. Some claimed that the witcher and the bard were in love with each other. Others claimed that Jaskier was everything from a former street urchin to a runaway siren prince. It was, to say the least, intriguing. 

Despite the week Radovid spent with The Fishmonger’s Daughter perpetually stuck in his head, he found himself becoming rather fond of the bard. 

~

When Radovid heard The Golden One, he did not suspect anything had changed. It was another song of Jaskier’s adventures, another catchy tune to which crowds could sing along. It was popular, just like so many other songs Jaskier had written over the decades. The lyrics were rather simple, but the masterful melody more than made up for it. 

Then, a few weeks later, the bard playing for a diplomatic dinner announced that he would be performing Jaskier’s newest song. Radovid expected it to be The Golden One again, but the opening chords were unfamiliar. It was a few moments before he managed to make out the soft lyrics over the prattle of the duchess’ daughter beside him. 

A storm raging on the horizon, Of longing and heartache and lust It’s always bad news She’s always lose-lose So tell me love, tell me love, how is that just

Radovid’s eyes widened. In ways he could not quite pin down, this felt different than anything Jaskier had written before. The lyrics were precise, the words were chosen with great purpose, and the melody was elegant and melancholy. 

I am weak, my love, and I am wanting, sang the bard, and Radovid’s breath caught in his throat. There was pain in the singer’s voice. Radovid could only imagine how it would have sounded from the lips of the author. 

Radovid listened quietly to the whole song. He paid no heed to his surroundings until the bard finished, releasing Radovid from the spell. He realized that he had been completely ignoring the woman beside him.

The song was beautiful. There was no other word to describe it. It spoke of heartbreak and longing with such skill that Radovid could almost feel it himself.

Radovid was somewhat more distracted than usual that evening, spending more time thinking about a certain songwriter than any of the politicians and princesses in the room, but given the circumstances, he felt that was excusable.  

~

It was a few months before Radovid heard another song of Jaskier’s. 

He was in another court, visiting some distant relative of his brothers’ wife. He had not paid much attention to the whole thing, preferring to focus on the very handsome steward who had been making eyes at him across the room all evening. 

The band playing announced a new Jaskier song. Radovid perked up. The steward was forgotten. Given how fascinating the bard’s last song had been, he could only imagine what the man had written next.

Then the bard began to sing, her voice sharp, and Radovid’s heart skipped a beat. 

I hear you’re alive How disappointing I’ve also survived No thanks to you

The words were pointed and emphatic. Radovid spared a moment to wonder what had happened to make Jaskier write something like this, but the thought was quickly swept away as he became enraptured in the music. 

The song only grew more vicious and passionate as it went. The band grew louder and more energetic, a man beginning to harmonize with the woman, and they began the chorus. 

What for to yearn? Watch that butcher burn

The singers spit the words like sparks from the fire they sang about. Radovid once again found himself wondering what it would be like to hear Jaskier himself sing this song, because if his imitators could make this so engrossing, he could only imagine what it would sound like in the voice of the man who wrote it. 

Burn, burn, burn, the bards shouted, then slowly grew quiet until the main singer almost spoke the final line. 

Watch me burn all the memories of you, she said, and the band went quiet. 

Radovid let out a shaky breath, his heart pounding. He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as the room around him erupted into applause. Jaskier’s songs were always well-written, but this one was full of so much feeling and vulnerability that it rendered him almost speechless. 

This bard, Radovid began to think, had more talent than any other person he had ever met in all his long years of princely escapades. 

~

Several long months went by. Radovid encountered another song of Jaskier’s, one that was played in rowdy taverns and not in courts: a song about prisons and whoresons that never failed to make an audience laugh. At the same time, Her Sweet Kiss and Burn Butcher Burn were played so often in courts and at parties that Radovid soon knew all the words by heart. 

The witcher, he assumed, was the butcher referred to in the song. He had vague memories of hearing servants talk of a white-haired murderer when he was small. He did not know what had happened between Jaskier and his witcher that could make him write something so vicious, though it likely had to do with the woman who had such a sweet kiss, but he found that he wanted to know. 

If there was a small voice in the back of Radovid’s mind whispering that this meant it was no longer likely that the witcher and the bard were together — that it meant the bard was probably available — that was no one’s business but his own. 

When he slipped away from his entourage to stop at a tavern on his way home from yet another party and heard a bard announce that he would sing a new song of Jaskier’s, Radovid sat down with interest. He expected something new about the bard’s relationship with the witcher or perhaps another well-written breakup song. 

It was not a breakup song.

The bard began to sing words of history, oppression, and hope. It sounded strangely grim for the first verse, leaving Radovid just enough time to wonder if Jaskier had been jaded by his heartbreak when the second verse began. 

Forget all they’ve told you, for history’s fine glow Is tarnished by those who don’t want you to know The power of your stories, your songs, and yourselves To take back the land for the dwarves and the elves

Radovid froze. He listened closely, trying to hear every word over the sound of talking and laughter in the tavern. 

Rise, sang the bard, we will rise.

The tune soared with energy and passion. The words told of people and power. Radovid did not know the story spoken of in the song, but somehow he did not doubt that it was true. 

This was no song of love. This was a song of resistance.

At first, Radovid thought this song was unlike anything Jaskier had written before. Then he remembered all the bard’s songs of noble witchers, remembered Toss a Coin itself, and realized he was wrong. This thread of reputation and resistance had been woven through Jaskier’s career from the beginning, so artfully braided that Radovid had hardly noticed its presence until Jaskier chose to make it plain.

A song like this was bold. A song like this was almost unique in recent times. A song like this, right now, was incredibly dangerous. 

Radovid had not truly realized, until that moment, just how much there was to be known about Jaskier. There was so much to be heard in his songs, so much intrigue and intricacy in his life. There was so much the rumors did not encapsulate. There was so much Radovid did not know. 

When the song reached its conclusion, Radovid’s applause was the loudest in the tavern. 

Without ever having seen him, Radovid knew that Jaskier was different from anyone else he had met. He was truly special. 

And, one day, Radovid desperately hoped to learn why. 

~

Radovid could hardly believe that Philippa expected him to stay behind. 

It was laughably easy to follow her, and any inconveniences he encountered were more than made up for by the fact that Philippa — and, by extension, Radovid — were going to meet Jaskier. Radovid had spent so much time thinking of the bard over the decades that the thought of meeting him in person seemed almost surreal. He could hardly wait.  

When he heard a commotion ahead of him, he knew he had found his mark. He rounded a corner and paused, taking in the scene before him. He blinked. 

A man was standing in the street. He was shouting at a woman on a balcony as she threw various articles of clothing in his direction. Philippa lurked nearby.

Radovid watched as the bard shouted at the woman in the window some more, then was accosted by Phillipa. He looked distinctly disheveled and rather comedic. If Radovid had not been certain of the bard’s identity, he would hardly have believed that this was the same man who had written so many songs of such beauty and bravery. The discrepancy only intrigued Radovid more. 

Jaskier was also, undeniably, very handsome. This was significantly less unexpected.

Radovid approached them. Just as he drew close, the woman on the balcony drew out a lute. Jaskier’s emphatic protests did not dissuade her from tossing it into the street— right into Radovid’s waiting arms. 

Jaskier and Philippa both turned to him. He dismissed Philippa and turned to Jaskier.

“I’ve long wanted to see you in person,” he said, trying to restrain his excitement. “Song of the Seven’s my favorite.”

Jaskier did not spare a moment for thought before speaking. “Slightly ironic, but thank you.” He turned to Philippa. “You see? People like me. I’ve got fans.” 

He faced Radovid again. Radovid ran his thumb nervously along the neck of the lute — Jaskier’s lute — in his hands. Jaskier stepped forward with a grin, his hand outstretched to shake. The bard’s calloused fingers were warm against Radovid’s palm. 

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name.”

“Radovid.”

“Right.”

“Comma, prince.”

Jaskier’s eyes went wide and he started to stammer as the realization of whose hand he was holding sunk in. His surprise did nothing to make him less attractive. 

Radovid held back a smile. He was holding the hand of the man he had waited so long to meet. Here, finally, he could look his favorite puzzle in the eye. Jaskier was even more intriguing in person, full of quick wit and humor and cheer that seemed to mask something more serious underneath. 

Radovid did not yet know what made Jaskier tick. He did not know what made him act the way he did, nor what his true motivations were. He did not know what his tells were, his secret cues that would give away where the mask ended and the man began. He did not know what truly made Jaskier and his songs so irresistible. 

There was one thing, though, that he knew without a doubt. It was knowledge that made it hard to focus, that made him want to burst into delighted laughter and grin from ear to ear. 

Radovid knew that now, after all these years of waiting, he finally had the chance to find out. 

[ajokeformur-ray]

Happy birthdayyyy ~ Rose!!!!🎈🎉🥳🎊

A giftset for my dearest sister @rosesloveletters, without whom I wouldn't know what it feels like to go all the way across the other side of the world, alone, just to say hello to someone and give them a hug. It's stressful as all hell, but magical. Especially when you see them running towards you and you collide in the airport🥺(The gif is an accurate representation of what happened, with you being the redhead and me being slammed into but oh my god, take me back PLEASE🥺🙏😂)

Anyway, honey, happy birthday and I hope you enjoy what I've made for you here!! If not, I'm more than happy to make you something else too!!!🥺💗

First, a letter from me which almost had me in tears🥹❤️🫂

Second, some fics which I had way too much fun with!💗

I'm broke and abandoned, you are an angel // Commodus x Rose.

Summary: you fall back together after years apart, and neither of you can get enough of the other. Commodus is your strength in the dark, and you are Commodus' shining light. You're exactly what the other person needs, even after all of this time. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and sometimes, it solidifies bonds forevermore and reaffirms what you already knew: with your Emperor by your side, an eternity awaited.

This is the song which inspired the title and overall vibe of this fic

Word count: 2, 146.

It had been so very long since you and Commodus had seen one another. So vast an expanse of time that it felt like forever and yet no time at all simultaneously, missed chances and second chances for a life together running parallel to one another.

At first, it had been the right love at the wrong time, with people outside of either of your controls forbidding the love that you shared due to social standings and royalty etiquette but now, oh, but now, it was the right love at the right time. Nothing left holding either of you back, for it seemed that the gods had seen fit to grant yourself and Commodus another chance together, and who were you to defy them?

Who were you to defy yourself, to defy Commodus, in the face of one of the greatest happinesses you had ever known? And, indeed, it was to be a love for the ages, a love to be carved into great slabs of clay, and one which would withstand the test of time.

Though you had not been together, it had already lasted years as the two of you saw fit to love one another from afar.

The day that you had reunited with one another had been nothing less and yet nothing more than the very birth of serendipity; it had been unexpected but very welcomed all the same. As if by unspoken and yet mutual agreement from opposite sides of the palace, you and Commodus had almost collided together in the great hall, your feet on the ground, cracked cobblestones from which sprouted weeds and other plants desperate for life and willing to maintain it by any means necessary, but your heads remained firmly in the clouds. You were together only in thought as it had been for those torturous years gone by. Those days were now nothing more than a distant nightmare as you and Commodus almost instantly picked up where you had left off, but they had taught you much about yourself and about the world.

You were not the same Rose who had last had to leave Commodus, just as he had been much changed by your time apart, but you fell together as if you had never left one another's side. Learning to love one another again, meeting each other half way to everywhere, felt simultaneously daunting and yet completely natural.

"My dearest Rose." Commodus' soft and unassuming voice cut through you like a hot knife through butter, soothing the very same wounds it ripped open as he greeted you for the very first time.

"H - Highness." Commodus. You bit back on the name which wanted to spring forth from your lips, but you remembered your political standing at the very last second and saved yourself from a social faux pas which would have had horrific consequences. Or, it would have done, if you were not who you were, who you had always been: Commodus' greatest and only love.

"It seems our time has come, my love." Commodus leaned forward and his already soft voice slipped into a deeper octave as he said, "I shall come for you before long. Do be ready in your chambers. We have much to revisit."

You stared at him, wide eyed, uncertain, excited, but Commodus only nodded at you, his sea green eyes fixed upon your beautiful face, before he passed you by, a sea of royal blue following him wherever he led. Maximus led the rear of the long line of guards and royal presence, and he gave you a tight-lipped smile as he passed you by; his cloak brushing against you softly. Menacingly.

Commodus had always made you feel at ease, out of everyone in the place you called home. That thought made you wince somewhat, for though you lived in this place, it had not been your home since you had been condemned to a life without the man you loved the very most. Still, if he was to approach you now, then maybe he was to bring you home. To yourself, to a love you once lived, to him.

Your Commodus.

Yours.

Indeed, tragically, no one else had wanted Commodus, and so you had seized him for your own within just a moment, within a blink. People wanted a ruler, a gladiator, a King, they wanted many things except Commodus for the man he truly was. He was not a moral man, he was not a good man, as most in the city proclaimed, but he was desperate for love, desperate for the approval of his father, for Maximus' approval, for the love of those whom surrounded him day in, day out, saw the extent of his suffering and still did not love him.

No one but you, that is.

You, who saw him for who he truly was, and had walked up to him when the paths of your lives had converged, your hand slipping into his, your fingers interlocking with his own, and made his problems yours, just as he made your own his, too. Commodus had made you his and you made him yours, and that was as far as many within the city dared to look. They saw Commodus, a great man with great power, and they saw you, a beautiful woman with a heart of the rarest gold, and they wondered where the love came from. Had he corrupted you, had he... threatened you? Where had you the courage to lay beside him? To let him love you, devote himself to you, just as you did for him? But your bond was never for external evaluation, for your love was yours, and now, after all of this time apart, it was destined once more to be nurtured, so that it may bloom and have its time, forever, burning hot and blazing bright; like the heat of the sun on your hearts for a thousand years.

I would butcher the whole world, if you would only love me! Was a tragic, horrific confession made to his father and later repeated to you within the safety of your shared bedchamber. Commodus had always had to beg for love, he had always had to ask for a full hug, he had always had to bend and break his back for one scrap of approval, affection, kindness, from the people around him, but from no one more so than his own father.

With you, however, love came unconditionally, without strings, it came free and willing and easy, and so Commodus had clung to you, clutching at your shirt, fingers splayed to touch as much of you as he possibly could all at the same time, while your fingers delved into those dark curls and your lips pressed kisses to the very crown of his head; royalty was he despite the way he was frequently passed over for other people to rule, despite his birthright and his political standing. You were practically a goddess, worthy of worship, devotion, love, and indeed every day did he spend time making sacrifices to you, for you. They were not big sacrifices, and only you knew of them; no one else could read Commodus like you could (the truth of it was simply that no one wanted to read Commodus; he had been written off right from the very start as a hopeless case, his fate thrown to the gods before you had picked it up, dusted it off and kept it for your own, tightly tucked beside your heart).

The sacrifices made were surprisingly subtle once you and Commodus had met at his bedchamber and almost instantly picked up where you had left off; he spent a little less time working, choosing for love for you over his love of Rome. He spent less time in council meetings, he dismissed people five minutes earlier so that he could have a full hug from you, the two of you holding one another tightly to your chests as if, should you let go, you would once again be torn asunder and never again together. Commodus chose you, again and again and again, over everything and everyone, just as you did for him in your own ways and means.

You practically screamed your love at one another, even in a crowded room, and yet no one could hear you but each other. That was the way it had to be, the way it was meant to be, and you guarded your life and your love just as fiercely as you guarded Commodus, and he you. It had only been, to your rough estimations, about two weeks since the two of you had reunited, and yet it felt like neither of you had ever been forced to leave the other's side.

It was just as well, really, because the two of you had practically been attached at the hip, truly inseparable by mortal boundaries, ever since you had made the decision to continue your courtship, to spend your lives with one another. It was finally your turns to have the happiness you both had spent your lives dreaming of.

As was customary for the last few weeks - twelve days, not that Commodus was counting - the two of you were lounging on his luxurious bed in the early hours of the morning, the room all rich reds, blues, velvet duvets and silk pillows, a mosquito net surrounding the outer perimeter of the bed and protecting the two of you from flying insects, pests, and a clear view, even with the balcony and main doors open. Sunlight was golden and spilled through the open windows and curtains, casting a dark red halo around Commodus' head against where it rested on the pillows. Ringed hands stroked lightly up and down your arm, fingers gripped at tender skin with reverence as Commodus tried to touch as much of you as he could, always worried that you would be taken away from him within the blink of an eye.

Already, the perpetually dark circles under his eyes were much improved; they were mere shadows as opposed to looking like he had held a circle of ink against closed eyes. You reached up to stroke under his eyes and Commodus tilted his head so that he could press a kiss to the adoring palm of your hand. "I sleep well because I am loved." was a daily prayer of thanks he whispered against your skin, and every morning you only hummed contentedly and curled deeper into him. Commodus met you where you were and lavished you with kisses, his plump lips adoring and your skin willingly compressing under the weight of his affections for you. He never kissed you just once, no. His empress, his goddess, deserved more than just a single fleeting kiss. Commodus often liked to kiss you until his lips were numb from it, your face tingling and your hearts as full and as warm as they could possibly be.

"Being without you was like a... a crazed nightmare!" Commodus' voice was thick with unshed tears, unexpressed sadness and loneliness without you by his side, ruling with him where you belonged. "Father once said that it was like a dream, a frightful dream, life is..." he paused, his eyes looking through you as he got lost in his silent reverie, "and it's true. I have only you to share it with." You continued to stroke his face, your fingers tracing every soft angle and gentle curve of his regal face. You let him speak as he wanted, you didn't interrupt him, and this missed part of being with kept Commodus talking. "You know I love you, my dearest one." Another pause, as Commodus seemed to come back to himself, and then in a lighter, almost childlike tone, he said, "kiss?"

You smiled, for you always wanted to give Commodus your full and undivided attention, and to try to give him so much love that not only did he not know what to do with himself, but also, for all that love to make up for the lifetime which he didn't receive prior to you coming into his life. "You can have all the kisses you want." You kept your voice almost as soft as his was, loathe were you to disturb the peace of the moment, and gave him everything he wanted; more kisses than he knew what to do with.

In time, the two of you would get up and face the world, its cruelties, and the seemingly never-ending to do list which awaited you. But right now, right now, you were in Commodus' embrace and he was in yours. It was all you had ever wanted for years and now that the two of you were together again, you would fight all the tigers and gladiators of the world if it only meant staying together.

Fighting for a chance // Terry x Rose (parental) & Linus x Rose (mentioned).

Summary: you're working as hard as you can as often as you can, treading through water and feeling like you're going nowhere. Your daddy's been there, and he knows how to get you fighting for the chance which has always been yours. There is nothing Rose Benedict can't achieve when she puts her mind to it, when you put your mind to it.

Word count: 1, 594.

Terry Benedict's face was hard to read, even for the most seasoned staff members of the Bellagio who manned the poker tables. He was stoic, calculated, he said what he meant and meant what he said, when he spoke, people listened. He was a formidable figure, he cut such an impressive air around him that people parted like the Red Sea when he moved through the aisles, hallways and stalls of the casinos, and no one dared go up against him - except the Ocean's Eleven. They were your best friends, your family, and sweet Linus was the most beloved of the bunch.

Terry's face was hard to read, sometimes impossible when he employed the use of a decades-long practiced poker face, but even so, when he walked into his office and saw you leant back in your desk chair, your pen held loosely in your hand and your other hand playing with your hair as you stared at nothing, looking through the financial records you were analysing, his face practically crumpled. That is to say, he went from a neutral expression to a very notieable downwards tug of his lips, and he straightened his already straight tie and brushed lint which wasn't there off his shoulder.

Only you could so thoroughly crack through his composure.

Terry stood there watching you for just a moment, his dark eyes held an intimidating look to all but you. No one knew Terry like you did, no one, and so when you snapped out of your thoughts and saw your daddy looking at you with that look on his face, you knew that he was simultaneously filled with concern, pride, love, and in the back of his head was he working on a solution to your troubles. Your daddy had always been an enigma, but he was most proactive when there was something wrong with his casinos, or with you, his daughter.

You were both his greatest pride and joy; you and his section of the Las Vegas strip had grown up together, all of your greatest developmental and life milestones had been punctuated, accentuated, with Terry's empire growing right alongside you, and the Bellagio was your favourite casino, just like it was your daddy's.

Terry's eyes met yours from across the room and his question, to ask after you, died in his throat. He could see how you were, and it made his stomach twist. You looked as overwhelmed as Terry often felt himself; he had seen that current look on your face reflected within his own eyes so many times over the years. You were so much his daughter that it caused him the sweetest pain a lot of the time. He only ever wanted the best for you, he only ever wanted you to be safe, happy and healthy, he only ever wanted you to know that he loved you for all that you were, all that you ever would be, and that no matter what, you were and would always be a Benedict. With all the words in his throat but nothing to say except things he knew you already were saying to yourself, he simply said, "you look as stressed as I feel."

Your workload always increased at this time of year and it was all you could do to keep up with it. You often relied on your previous experience of being a manager to help you to cope with the seasonal demands, but you could only take so much before you started to rip into yourself; eating a bit less or skipping meals entirely, and other 'miniscule' sacrifices which built up into one great big thing which meant more to your daddy than anything else in the world, including his casinos:

Your happiness.

It wasn't that you were unhappy right now, but you were well on your way to losing a little of that glint in your eyes, that something which existed in Terry's, too. Terry had always wanted to protect you, he had always wanted to preserve the parts of you which he knew you were proud of; the parts of you that you held close to you and showed only to him and extremely lucky people; like Linus.

You nodded and leaned forward in your chair, putting pen to paper again as you continued to make notes on the financial summaries of the quarter; with April quickly approaching, you needed to make sure that all financial affairs were in order and cross-referenced across all three casinos. It was a lot of work and all you wanted to do was make your daddy proud. You would do anything to make that happen, you did do anything to make it happen, and even if Terry told you over and over and over that he was proud of you, he knew that you didn't just need to hear it from him. You needed to see it.

Terry left the room momentarily to grab one from the meeting room adjacent to his office. It didn't escape your notice that he let you stay in his chair and went and got himself an ordinary one, and the smile on your face when he came back into his office made him feel like he was doing everything right, just by being your daddy. "Show me what you're working on." His hand landed on your shoulder and his fingers squeezed tenderly, doing his best to show and tell his pride so that no matter which way you looked at it, you only felt loved.

"I'm just going through and sorting out all the - " you filled Terry in on what was happening and he nodded attentively, leaning over your arm to make his own notes or press the tip of his pen into the page so that it left a visible dot; a sign to come back to that part later on without making the page unnecessarily messy.

Every time your breath caught in your throat or you raked a hand through your hair or you put your pen down harder than you usually did, Terry's hand slid onto your back and rubbed across your shoulders, back and forth as gently as possible. Just once, then twice, and then his hand would pause in the middle of your back, stationary until the next time you showed signs of things getting up on top of you. "Just breathe, it's not so scary as all that. Just ink on a page, numbers on a spreadsheet. Easy when you know what you're doing."

Terry sat beside you while you worked, all those long hours and tense moments which usually only you witnessed, seen now by your daddy.

After some time of sitting with you, he pulled his own work towards him, and you worked together, shoulder to shoulder, passing documents and booklets and spreadsheets to each other, erasers and pens and laptop chargers and every other piece of stationary you needed traded hands. Hours ticked past without either of you noticing and soon, your work for the day was done. You hadn't completed everything on the to do list, but that was okay. That was human, and whether you got everything done or some of them or none of them, Terry was proud of you. What got done today got done, and what didn't could wait until tomorrow; it was a harsh lesson soaked in suffering and self-sacrifice, but it was a lesson nonetheless, and one everyone had to learn at one point or another.

Terry's own lesson had been served with sickness from stress many a time over the year, and he did not want the same thing for you, and so for every day you threw yourself in work, he was there too, working beside you, his hand on your back or shoulder, his pen moving just as fast as yours, his workload even more demanding but he handled it, he handled it, and he knew that you could too. Rose Benedict could handle anything the world threw at her, and everyone knew it.

"I'm proud of you," Terry's voice broke the silence of the room for the first time in hours, and you would have jumped if you hadn't been looking at him already. "This... this isn't easy, I know, but you're trying. That's already giving you an advantage over most others." His hand curved to your shoulder again and squeezed before he tugged you across to rest your head on his shoulder. You curled into your daddy's side and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his dark eyes staring at the closed office door. Someone would walk in soon, he just knew it, but he wanted to have more uninterrupted time with you than was typically afforded to him within a day; until day turned to night and the hours became your own.

Broad daylight or midnight or every stress-filled hour in between, Terry was there for you, and he loved you, so much. He often thought of you that he couldn't have been prouder if he tried and yet, somehow, he always proved himself wrong. Just as you proved wrong all the things and people who said you couldn't do it, though Terry expected nothing less of his daughter.

Rose Benedict could do anything she put her mind to, anything. You had the weight of the world on your shoulders, it was true, but Terry was ready and willing to help you to bear at least some of the weight. Whether he held some of it or all of it, he was proud, always.

There we have it!!! Your online gifts are doooooone ~ !!! I am playing around with some more ideas though so my hand may just slip in the next few days and post some more things for you!! Your physical gifts are in the works still; there's one in the post and then another project I'm working on, and I'll ship them as soon as everything is ready for you!💗I am so grateful to you for existing, for being you, for being my sister. I love you immensely and I miss you even more than that. I hope you enjoyed these gifts, and if not then PLEASE let me know and I'll write you some more things to go with the other projects in the works!!!💗🫂I love you loooooots and lots, honey; happy birthday!!!🥳🎉💖

[thelostgirl21]

Somehow, I actually ended up interpreting "Extraordinary Things" in the most straightforward, context specific way as possible.

Because technically, Joey said he wrote the song to replace complete scenes of dialogue happening between Radovid and Jaskier.

Therefore, if you attempt to analyze the song while keeping it very context specific... You can interpret it as:

Keep your words on ice

Your gaze lights the fire

Your words contradict the truth reflected behind your eyes. And if you can't speak the truth when we're together, then I'd rather you didn't use your words at all, and simply let your gaze do all the "talking" instead. Because I can see in your eyes the way you're trying to understand and connect with the core of who I am, and I want to be able to understand and connect with who you truly are, too.

They say, "Keep on playing nice"

But I have no desire

I'm tired of the games Dijkstra and Philippa (i.e. "They") keep forcing us to play against each other and against ourselves. I just want to be able to be honest with you. I don't want to keep on "playing nice" with them, if that means we can't be truthful with each other.

Why waste our words

When lips were made

for extraordinary things

I would rather we "kissed" (i.e. explored that emotional connection between us, and learned to get to genuinely know and relate to each other) rather than be caught in all those games of fancy words and politics.

It's not a want, it's a need

It is paying no heed

to what others say to sing

And the only way we'll ever be able to genuinely connect is if we both agree to stop paying attention to what Dijkstra, Philippa, and everyone else want us to do and want us to say. This is not what I want to see happen, this is what needs to happen between us. Otherwise, any attempt at us building any meaningful relationship together would be utterly doomed to failure.

The greatest songs are made up

of unspoken words of love

Love plays its own melody that doesn't need words and especially doesn't need any lies... Truth and love speaks louder than words.

Of them I have had enough

I'm tired of all those games people play, and the way they constantly end up making us feel like we need to pretend to be more or be less than we truly are to be what they need...

With you, I have enough

I just want to be allowed to see you as you really are, because I feel like that would be enough for me...

With you, I am enough

And, for some reason, you give me hope than just being "me" would be enough for you, too.

I am enough

And I do need that kind of connection... So please...

Drop the sweet disguise

You are much smarter, insightful...

Your heart's beating too loud

...not to mention sensitive, caring, and loving than you pretend to be.

The fairy tales and little lies

can't drown out all the sound

Though you've learned to spin those tales, and tell those little lies, to keep yourself hidden and safe, I can still hear the truth hidden in each of your heartbeats.

So take this heart

And break this heart

For extraordinary things

I know loving you will probably hurt me and break my heart at times - in one way or another - yet I still want you to have it; because of all the "extraordinary things" we might also gain in return... A little heartbreak might be worth it.

So, after looking at a bunch of different interpretations, I ended up basically seeing "Extraordinary Things" as Jaskier's way of telling Radovid: "There's a strong connection that I feel between us, I believe you feel it, too... I think you are much more than you pretend to be and I want to be given the chance to know the person behind that mask. I don't want us to treat each other like pawns in a great complex game of politics. I just want to be able to love you, and be honest with you, without any pretense, any disguise, and any lies."

I kind of like the idea of the whole song being an extremely simple invitation, from Jaskier to Radovid, for the two of them to take the risk of actually being fully open and honest with each other.

And that, when Radovid sings the song back to Jaskier, it has such a strong effect on him not just because he's touched that Radovid has learned to play his song, but basically because he's offering him a clear answer to Jaskier's invitation.

Radovid is essentially telling Jaskier that he has no desire to be working for Dijsktra and Philippa and doing their bidding, either ("They say keep on playing nice, but I have no desire"), doesn't want to lie to him ("Keep your words on ice") and wants to explore that connection between them ("Your gaze lights the fire").

And I also kind of headcanon that one of the reasons why Jaskier was so hurt and assumed the worst when he found that Radovid had attempted to go see Ciri on his own, was because he been scared that he'd been lied to right after Radovid had explicitly agreed to "no more lies", and was scared that he was still working for Dijkstra and Philippa, although he'd assured him that wasn't the case.

Technically, I can't recall a single instance of Radovid ever telling him a single lie to Jaskier after he called him out on pretending to be drunk.

He actually "kept his words on ice" whenever he felt that he couldn't afford to tell the whole truth; but that also means that he did keep some truths to himself, however.

I think I really tend to see "Extraordinary Things" as being more specifically about Jaskier and Radovid because of that quote from Joey: "My number-one priority, which I said to her, was just to make sure that we were doing it right and that we did it sensitively with a care and a kinship, and I wanted to avoid all kinds of stereotyping, really. So there was an awful lot of script rewrites and things like that. We deleted whole scenes in favour of songs. So I brought in a new song, and I said: 'Can we just cut all this dialogue, and I can just sing something?'" (x)

So, it feels a little unlikely that the song would be about his relationship with Geralt when it's meant to replace specific dialogues that would otherwise have been happening between Radovid and Jaskier. That being said, since Geralt is probably one of the greatest ongoing loves (regardless of its nature) in Jaskier's life, and our past experiences do tend to inform our current needs in life, that is not to say it must be 100% completely disconnected from those feelings as well.

Would I ever say "Oh, Jaskier truly is singing about his great love for Geralt, and not his new and intriguing connection with Radovid" while referring to "Extraordinary Things"?

No. If you write a song that is specifically meant to move a relationship forward and replace dialogues you would have had between these two characters otherwise, I think it's fair to assume that it was written with the relationship it was meant to move forward in mind (i.e. Radovid and Jaskier's).

But Jaskier did later try to figure out his feelings for Radovid by comparing them to the way he feels about Geralt. So, love has a way of being interconnected between all the people you love.

And would Joey himself be laughing at fans for finding ways to make the song connect with Geralt as well? I sincerely doubt so.

Art can be appreciated in a number of different ways and forms, and not all of them must absolutely fit with the artist's intent. The way I've personally chosen to interpret the song might greatly differ from what Joey had in mind, too! It's just how it personally makes sense to me given the way that Joey and Hugh have described their respective characters, why they became so attracted to each other so fast, and even how fascinated Joey apparently was with the way the way Hugh made it seem like Radovid was constantly trying to figure Jaskier out with his gaze (so, why I sort of connect "Your gaze lights the fire" with that aspect of his character).

And my ambiamorous arse is totally enamored with the idea of Jaskier being an extremely queer character, with the capacity for having a romantic boyfriend (Radovid), and a queerplatonic boyfriend (Geraskier) and girlfriend (Yennefer)... And an alterous lover (Vespula), and...

And Jaskier not personally assigning any specific sense of hierarchy between all those different types of love and relationships/companionships.

Sometimes a situation requires a spoon, sometimes a hammer, sometimes a rock, sometimes...

Different needs, different relationship dynamics... all precious, loving, and infinitely valuable in their own rights. The idea that "Extraordinary Things" might specifically be about Radovid (and something Jaskier might have improvised for him on the spot), to me, takes nothing away from the idea that Jaskier might have been specifically thinking about Geralt while singing the lines, in "Enchanted Flowers", where he says "My love for you will never die"...

Or "Her Sweet Kiss" being about Jaskier being concerned regarding the threat that Yennefer might pose to his and Geralt's relationship in season 1...

Etc.

Jaskier is a character that needs (rather than wants) interpersonal connections probably more than most characters on the show... His superpower is empathy, and he's got this immense drive to connect to others in a multitude of ways!

At least, that's how I tend to perceive him...

Extraordinary Things

HEY GUYS

WHO WANTS SOME

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟHEARTBREAK

[inacatastrophicmind]

Suptober, day 26: Hum

It had become an unspoken agreement; Dean cooked their breakfast while Cas made their coffee. They hadn’t talked about it, but not long after Cas had been rescued from the Empty, they had found that Cas wasn’t the greatest cook (he had gotten better with time, though), but they had also found that he was the best at making coffee, so their morning routine had quickly been established; Dean took care of the food while Cas took care of the drinks.

Dean loved the familiarity and the warmth that that routine brought to him. It was such a normal task, and yet, it never failed to make him happy.

He was preparing the batter for their waffles; Cas had said while they were in the shower that he really wanted some waffles that morning, so Dean, happy to also enjoy that treat, was making them from scratch, because the was nothing like home-made waffles. He couldn’t wait to add some syrup, some whipped cream, some chocolate chips and some of the strawberries that Cas would later slice. He was in charge of the drinks, but he still liked helping Dean out.

As Dean made sure that all the ingredients were properly mixed, Cas started to hum a song. Usually, Dean was the one who started humming or singing while he made breakfast; Cas was usually grumpy in the mornings and, in Dean’s words, he didn’t become a real person until he had his first cup of coffee. The only times when he got to the kitchen in a good mood before having coffee, was if he and Dean had had sex either in their bed or in the shower.

But every once in a while, Cas could manage to wake up in a good mood even if there hadn’t been any sex before arriving to their kitchen, which seemed to be the case of today.

Dean looked at Cas, who happily kept humming as he went to the fridge to grab some milk.

He was humming Fool in the Rain by Led Zeppelin, one of the songs Dean had added to the mixtape he had given Cas some while ago. He knew Cas had listened to that mixtape every day he was away on the road because he had told him so. Dean also had told Cas that the mixtape had been an attempt to confess his feelings. And Cas had told him that he had dared to hope that that had been the intention, but he was scared that his feelings for Dean had made him seen things that weren’t there.

Dean remembered being nervous when he had given Cas the mixtape. He was basically giving his heart to Cas. He knew that Cas could be oblivious to some human stuff, but Dean hadn’t been subtle with the song choices. So, he waited and waited for the day that Cas would say something about the songs, to address how all of them were love songs. But that day never came. They never addressed the mixtape, even if they both had wanted to.

They had wasted so many opportunities.

And now, here they were, together and happy. Making breakfast in their new home while Cas was humming Fool in the Rain. If only Dean’s past self could know how right Cas was when he said, good things do happen.

Dean couldn’t help but chuckle at that thought.

“What’s so amusing?” Cas asked, finally noticing Dean’s stare. He gave him a confused frown before he grabbed their mugs.

“It’s unusual to see you in such a good mood before having coffee or sex,” Dean answered.

Cas made a face of being in agreement. “I suggest you not to get used to it.”

Dean laughed. “Oh, sweetheart, I know that damn well.”

Cas smiled as he poured the freshly made coffee, first into Dean’s mug and then into his.

“I like it when you hum Led Zepp,” Dean confessed, feeling his cheeks blush.

Cas looked at him with so much love in his eyes that Dean fell even more in love with him. The fallen angel smiled and offered Dean his coffee.

“Thank you,” Cas said, kissing Dean’s cheek before Dean took his mug. “Although I believe my humming skills aren’t as good as yours.”

“Nah, they’re pretty awesome, just like your singing voice,” Dean admitted. Maybe Cas wasn’t the greatest singer, but his deep singing voice was really good to listen to. “I like hearing you hum or sing Led Zepp. It’s really nice.”

“Thank you,” Cas repeated before he kissed Dean’s lips tenderly.

He was about to pull away, but Dean chased his lips for another kiss, earning him a lovely laugh from Cas. Then, when they actually pulled away, they smiled at each other.

“I’m going to slice some strawberries,” Cas announced, caressing Dean’s face.

“Okay, Cas,” Dean said before pecking his lips one last time.

Cas grinned and as he made his way to the fridge to get the strawberries, he began to hum the same song again, and Dean joined him as he prepared the waffle iron. Cas dedicated him a lovely smile when he heard Dean, and they kept making breakfast as they hummed together, only interrupting the song when they shared a kiss.

[thatonebrazilian]

Illicit Affairs

A/N: Hey guys, I kinda have the sads, so I decided to use it for the greater good and ended up writing this based on Illicit Affairs by Taylor Swift. Anyway, not my greatest work, I don't think I write really well in english, but I hope you guys like it.

Word count: 1063

Pairings: Nat x Reader

Summary: You were falling for Natasha and, despite being with Bruce, she couldn't hold her feelings for you back.

-----

It started out with the training. You were the youngest recruit S.H.I.E.L.D has ever had and, as far as non-enhanced people go, you were also one of the most promising ones. So it was natural that the higher-ups appointed you to be trained by the most accomplished non-enhanced person they had, and that’s how the Black Widow became your handler.

During the training sessions, the only thing you could focus on was how mesmerizing Natasha was, you couldn’t keep your eyes away and you had a feeling Natasha knew it wasn’t the training you were paying attention to.

The two of you didn’t become friends super fast, no. Natasha was too reserved a person, she didn’t open up that easily. You, being the personified ray of sunshine that you were, were relentless in your quest to make her feel as comfortable as possible around you.

When you two first connected it was over, weirdly, Natasha’s secret appreciation for pop songs (and only god knows how you managed to find that out).

After that, it only went downhill, for you at least, since you were falling. Fast.

Your first kiss was a ruse on a mission. It made your heart beat ten times faster and you had to use all your focus not to screw the mission after that. You saw Natasha’s dilated pupils, but you assumed it was just desire. Everyone knew the Black Widow and the Hulk were sort of an unspoken thing, so you really didn’t hold any expectations.

And then all of a sudden it seemed as if Natasha wanted more time together, just the two of you. She would call you Kid, request for you to do extra training at ungodly hours together, suggest you revise missions three, four, five times over alongside one another, invite you to buy new weapons with her. It was all a pretense, all to spend more time together.

She was with Bruce, you had to keep reminding yourself, Natasha was with Bruce and all she wanted was a friend.

But then Nat kissed you, not in lust or desire, not as a ruse to an operation, she kissed you after you were wounded on a mission, she kissed you like she cared, like you were important to her, like you mattered. The kisses never stopped after that.

You would always sneak out, then, making sure nobody saw you leave. They couldn’t know, Natasha was official with Bruce now. You would always tell your friends you were going out for a run before leaving the building to meet Nat in some inconspicuous place, after all, you were always flushed when you returned.

Although you knew it was wrong, although you told yourself you could always stop, you couldn’t really hold yourself back, you were in too deep, you were in love with Natasha.

But as time passed you realized that what started in a beautiful room, the grand ball hall where Natasha kissed you for the first time, now seemed to be ending up more and more frequently with meetings in parking lots. You couldn’t blame Natasha, though, not really, the redhead always made it clear she was still with Bruce. You had no hold on her.

That was the thing with illicit affairs, and clandestine meetings, and longing stares, it was born from just one single glance, but it was always supposed to die, wasn’t it? You couldn’t feel it dying, though, the flame Nat felt for you, you could only feel it grow, but it was meant to die, wasn’t it?

You eventually stopped wearing the perfume Natasha liked, the one you picked out just for her. You would leave it on the shelf, hidden away, so when you met up with Nat you wouldn’t leave any trace behind. Like you didn’t even exist.

You felt Natasha a little more distant then. When you would ask, the Black Widow would just look at you for a few seconds before saying something incredibly poetic like “It just scares me how much I’ve been thinking about you lately” or “I haven’t been sleeping well, it feels like I can smell you, but you’re never there by my side, it makes me toss and turn the whole night as if all I need to sleep is you”.

You tried to take the words for what they were, a dwindling, mercurial high, a drug you wished could only work the first few hundred times, but whenever Natasha spoke those things your chest swelled with affection for the Black Widow.

The meetings between the two of you became even more frequent, you wouldn’t just sneak out anymore, Natasha would actually take you out to some nice places. They were like dates, it made your heart soar but your stomach drop. You loved it, you loved being with Natasha, but you knew the possibility of the others finding out was bigger like that.

You felt your heart torn into two, you couldn’t keep up with the lying anymore, not to Bruce, not to the whole team. But that was the thing with illicit affairs, and clandestine meetings, and stolen stares, they showed their truth whenever they were together, but they lied, and they lied, and they lied a million little times to their friends, their family.

You were decided to end it, even if it would break you.

But then Natasha told you she wanted to make it official. You had tears in your eyes, you wanted to yell at Nat, tell her look at this godforsaken mess that you made me, tell her she showed you colors you couldn’t see with anyone else, and all that for what? She was still with Bruce, wasn’t she?

“Baby…” Natasha tried to explain, but you wouldn’t let her.

“Don't call me kid, don't call me baby, look at this idiotic fool that you made me. You have me wrapped around your little finger, it’s like you taught me a secret language I can't speak with anyone else.”

Nat cupped your face and wiped the tears away.

“My love, I broke up with him. I broke up with Bruce.” Natasha said and, like she read your mind, like she knew you were going to ask about the consequences, she just said “And fuck the consequences. You know damn well that, for you, I would ruin myself a million little times.”

[caterpellas]

munich nights • harry styles

summary: touring inseparably as best friends and musicians, yours and harry’s relationship takes a cruel turn in munich.

warnings: smut (oral m recieving) 

genre: bestfriend!harry, friends to lovers(?), angst, smut

pt 1/? (two is here)         word count: 4k

a/n: this is my first time writing in like a year so some feedback would be amazing, pls be kind and show some love to my crumby attempt lol

chapter playlist :D

harry.

he was sort of your anchor. unspoken, of course, that he had taken such a high profile role in your life. he didn’t need to know, to know. you were certain it worked in reverse, that you grounded him just like he did for you.

you’re not sure of the timestamp on the beginning of your friendship, sometime 3 years ago after mindlessly chatting in a shoreditch bar, at the sort of venue you were both cackling over after a couple of overpriced gin and tonics.

“i’m not sure why i came here, it really isn’t my scene,” you said after calming your laughter down.

“me neither. i’m not all that into £18 cocktails made with organic fruit juice,” he jested back, although you felt a hint of sadness in the next, “it makes me miss home.”

after that you clicked instantly.

you both bonded over being musicians; your styles contrasted entirely though. his band, who you met a few occasions later, were the antithesis to yours. mitch and sarah looked and sounded like they were fresh from a 70’s pop rock band, whilst your bassist and drummer, both twins, had buzzed heads and black dr martens on 24/7. the differences between you and him didn’t matter in the slightest. which is why, after 18 months of building the strongest friendship you’d had in your life, he asked you and your band to come on tour with him.

touring with your best friend and now biggest fan was the single greatest experience of your life. you would admit to the apprehension you first felt about opening for harry as your music wasn’t exactly in keeping with his genre- you were a little grungier then his soft style. i suppose the opposites between you is what enhanced everything about your relationship, musically and personally. in articles harry was always praised for his effeminate fashion choices, and since gaining some recognition as his opener, the articles were now mentioning how you dressed too, hyping up your more boyish, ‘can’t be bothered’ clothing taste you’d developed over your years in the band. your shoes were always chunky and platform, your top or bottoms usually oversized and always with the same thick chain around your neck. to some, your style seemed intimidating but it couldn’t be further from the truth. harry knew that best of all.

3 months into the tour now, you had made it to munich for the 1st night of your european portion of the tour. you and harry were sat next to one another on the plane, sharing an earpod each, playing music from your playlist titled “h”. you hadn’t been able to sleep on the overnight flight, after reading a particularly disturbing article about harry’s recent paparazzi shots. “harry styles’ player ways making a comeback?” it read, and pictured him with a couple models you’d met in new york together after going out for the night. you couldn’t place why but the article made you feel sick. you put it down to seeing such a close friend’s name slandered in the press, and you hoped he hadn’t read it yet. harry was often disheartened after reading the gossip people like to spread about him, occasionally involving you as well.

“you seem very deep in thought.” harry’s morning voice could be heard over the sound of steely dan in your ears. turning to him, one of his eye’s peering at you, you reply, “not really- just thinking about the set list.”

“you need to switch off your work brain sometimes,” he grins up at you, “have a little more fun! munich will be great, lots of beer to try.”

“of course that’s what you look forward to most. you know munich is filled with some beautiful architecture and history right?”

“that’s great and all, but you know what else they have?” harry questions you and you shake your head.

“oktoberfest.”

-

you arrived at your airbnb not long after- harry’s band and yours all preferred staying in a large house or apartment then some posh hotel that didn’t feel quite as welcoming. harry’s manager picked the place out, opting for a villa that sleeps 10 people, filled to the brim with oak panelling and a big fire place in the centre of the room. there was a hot tub outside that would probably never be used in your short stay there. the kitchen had a large island in the middle and a big aga keeping the place warm in the late september weather. his manager really outdid herself this time.

“this is place is so beautiful,” you still weren’t over all of the beautiful places this tour had taken you, the short time you’d been travelling had been a sensory overload.

“you’ll really like munich, y/n,” harry said yawning, grabbing both your shoulders from behind. his touch took your mind back to the article.

“harry,” you started, reluctantly turning to face him, “i know it’s none of my business who you, you know- fuck, but i was just wondering what happened with those models after i left?” harry’s calm expression never faltered as he answered, “me and camila kissed in the taxi but then i went back to the hotel. why?” you didn’t have the strength to answer honestly, and tell him it was because the thought of him having a threesome with two supermodels made you physically wretch, but you felt an obligation to give him a somewhat truthful answer.

“i saw an article about it, the paps caught a glimpse of it,” you white-lied. if you were going to be honest with yourself, the reason him with people like camila and gina bothered you so much is because of the way you compared yourself to them. you were overall confident, you were proud of your style and “gives no fucks” attitude you’d built up over the years, but these were literal models. women who were paid, like paid a lot, because they were beautiful. harry’s dating history has had a lot of women you could never measure up to be as good as and that was a real confidence breaker.

“well anyway, are you ready for tonight’s show? we were thinking it would be cool if you guys came on with us and...”

-

harry, as per usual, performed with all of his heart and soul and yet again amazed you. he had been doing this for three months, playing at least three shows a week and his energy levels were still unmatchable. you were back in your dressing room, taking off your stage clothes and putting on an almost identical outfit, wiping the sweat off your brow and upper lip. the monitor in your room played harry’s set, and you had to find any way you could to distract yourself from his performance before you ended up fantasising about the way his sweaty curls cling to his neck and how you wished he was sweating like that just for you, for an entirely different reason.

“thank you so much munich!” you hear harry’s accent through the small tv, and look up to see him panting and grinning, before running off stage. you had no idea why, but tonight there was a small amount of nervousness about you. since reading the article, you’ve had to address the gnawing idea that you could possibly have feelings for harry that were more than just your deep set friendship. would you act differently about the man you loved more than anyone in this world? you didn’t want things to change- they were perfect with him. he’d jest with you when you became too much of a perfectionist about your latest song, telling you to stop thinking so hard or you’ll have an aneurysm. if people commented on his style or yours, he’d laugh it off and tell everyone he’s “the woman in the relationship” sarcastically, and you’d be in awe at how he essentially said a huge “fuck you” to gender norms. he made you comfortable being you and you coveted his ability to be so happy being him. the thought of this bond being broken frightened you to your core. the knock at your door was a good signal for your thoughts to end.

“you coming y/n?” the group of you were all headed to a german beer bar, since harry was so eager to try the world famous pilsner. finding a large lounge space with sofas inside the bar, you all sat and ordered a round, celebrating a good night’s work.

“to the first night in europe,” you toasted, “cheers!” all your glasses clinked together and the nervous feeling started to fade finally. sat next to harry, you discussed the tour so far, he told a story about being in one direction and it reminded you of a hilarious story from when you were 15, when you used to listen to emo music and swore how much you hated one direction, and they all laughed at the irony. if you had told your 15 year old self this was where you’d be at 21, you’d have snorted and laughed till you cried. but life works out in strange ways and you wouldn’t change it for a second. a few drinks in and any of those nervous feelings about what harry was to you had evaporated like alcohol till you eventually had to remind yourself that whilst your hand was on harry’s knee, it meant nothing. and the way he leans forward to you as he laughed at your not-so-funny joke. but those reminders were getting weaker the more his touch started to linger after he went to go and grab his pint the same time you did.

“we really must stop meeting like this,” he jokes as your hand rubs against his for the 50th time that might and you laugh at him because your afraid if you don’t play it off as a joke you’ll lean over and kiss him. you find yourself in need of a distraction from his low buttoned shirt and endless black ink drawn across his chest that you can see in high definition when your this close to him.

“i’m going to get another round,” you exclaim dramatically, telling yourself more than the rest of the group. making your way over to the bar, you can feel harry’s vision bearing into your back as you lean against the counter to get service.

“another round of pilsners on the table’s tab please,” you ask as soberly as you can. you’re not off your face yet, but the alcohol is definitely present, surrounding the corners of your vision.

“i’d rather by you a drink.” a slightly german accent crowds your ears and you look over to see a man, not all that different to some of the guys in harry’s band, smirking at you.

nervous, you reply, “no you don’t need to do that we have a tab here.”

“i insist.” afraid to be impolite you quietly thank him, and turn back to the bar. you can’t even think of chatting to guy at a bar whilst the man you love is sat so close by. even though it’s not returned, the pain of giving him up to flirt with a stranger is too much to bare.

“so what brings you to a local’s bar like this one?”

“me and my friends are working here for the night.”

“just here for the night? such a shame,” his smile, although attempting to seem unthreatening, is making you uncomfortable. the bartender seems to be taking forever with your order.

“i’m staying in a hotel a few minutes away, come and join me and their bar for a real drink?” your heart was pounding. you rarely got hit on so you were a little out of practice on how to deal with persistent assholes like these ones.

“i can show you how the germans like to do it.” that was it- he’d gone too far and you were so embarrassed by this point you were too humiliated to even reply to him. your neck was getting hotter and you could feel your cheeks reddening.

“you okay?” harry’s voice took you out of your panic-stricken state, “you were taking a while.”

turning to harry and preparing to tell him how this man won’t get the message, the german creep pipes up, “she’s fine mate. we were just discussing a date.”

“listen mate, i suggest you back off. alright?” harry grabbed your hand, tightly, and guided you out of the bar.

“harry where are we going?” you could barely comprehend what had happened in the last five minutes to even realise he was hailing a taxi.

“back to the house. i’ll text the others.”

“harry i’m fine honestly it’s no-“

“who said i was fine? i wanted to leave and i thought maybe you did too.” he was angry, which wasn’t something you saw in harry often. he was a happy guy, and optimistic about most things in life.

“is this because of that guy?”

“of course it is y/n.”

“i’m sorry i didn’t realise he’d be an assho-“

“why’re you apologising?”

this shut you up. you didn’t know why. this wasn’t the first time a guy had been slightly predatory towards you and you doubted it would be the last. after the first couple times your in situations like this you tend to see yourself as the problem and not the guys doing it.

“i don’t know, harry.” you climbed into the cab together and harry gave them the address, seeming somewhat cooled off from earlier. your head was buzzing from the alcohol and the fact that harry had essentially rescued you from what could have been a scary situation.

“harry?”

“yeah, y/n?”

“why did you kiss camila?” alcohol had made you more outspoken and you asked the question that had been driving your nervous energy all night.

“why are you asking?”

a little more honestly then last time, you answered, “i’m just curious.” harry shifted in his chair, slightly unnerved by the question. his whole demeanour had shifted entirely from earlier. he was close and warm with you, the friend you’d become addicted to being with. now he was closed off and moody- a rare sight for anyone who knew him well. you could have picked a better time to ask the question, of course, but you had to know. you had other questions too, like why he was so angry right now, and why did he care that i was chatting with a guy at the bar, even if he was a creep.

“because she wanted to kiss me and i wanted to kiss her. the same reason most humans kiss,” there was a slight element of humour back in his voice now.

“and that was it?”

“yep.”

“hmm.” you tried to ponder this, but your attention span was limited when you were this inebriated. your thought process had quickly moved from harry’s sex life to harry in general and his outfit of the evening- a personal favourite. he’d worn white cream trousers with a vest top and an unbuttoned short sleeve shirt, along with the necklace you’d given him last christmas. you could see his two swallows peaking from the straps of his wife beater and your mind wandered to the thought of having your mouth against them. against all his tattoos, individually placing a kiss on each and everyone that you had grown to fall in love with.

you remembered the memory of harry coming with you to get your largest tattoo,  a greek statue on your upper arm.

“harry you know this isn’t the first one i’ve gotten?” you laugh at how hard he was clutching your hand in the chair next to your seat.

“i know but i’m so excited for you. i want you to know i’ll be sat here the whole time to hold your hand,” he squeezes your hand to emphasise his point.

“harry i’m getting another tattoo not going into life-altering surgery.”

but inside, you were squealing at his words.

“y/n?”

harry’s less chipper current voice took you out of your memory and back to the cab in munich.

“you’ve been staring at my chest for a couple minutes,” his brows were furrowed as he studied your face.

“i want to lick it.” if someone had asked you why you answered with that, you genuinely couldn’t give them a good answer. alcohol didn’t do much to you, except allow you to have fun, and lose any sense of a filter. now was a perfect example of the effects. harry’s eyes widened at your candour- and so did yours. his calm expression only faltered for a few seconds though, before it returned to his neutral, warm face.

“what else?”

“i-uh- what?”

“what else were you thinking about?” your heart was beating so loudly you were sure harry could feel it across in his seat. why was harry asking this? you didn’t want him to know about your thoughts- they were far too embarrassing and far too private.

“i was thinking about all your tattoos,” you confessed.

“i was thinking about yours too.” you thought about all of your tattoos and remembered the dog rose you had on the back of your thigh, as well as the koi carp on your hip bone.

“which ones?”

“the flowers and the fish.” you gulped, knowing he was thinking of your most risqué tattoos.

harry, unusually, was completely serious as he said, “i thought about licking yours too.” you didn’t know where you stood with harry now. you were sat in a taxi, having the conversation with him that you thought would never happen. he wants you the same way you want him. he may not want you the same way a nagging voice told you. he could just be looking for an easy fuck, and you thought to yourself that even if that was all he wanted, you’d still give yourself to him.

“harry-“

“maybe we shouldn’t talk anymore, yeah?” you felt like you could cry- how could he not want to talk, and you were on tour together? this was the most gut wrenching feeling to have him tell you not to talk anymore. harry studied your face as you lip began to quiver, “jesus y/n i meant about the current conversation. of course i want to keep talking to you, i love you- you know, like a friend.”

“like a friend?” you couldn’t ever begin to describe how your heart felt like it fell to the pit of your stomach whilst the acid slowly burnt it away. friends is it. harry isn’t yours to have and he never will be, he just had to remind you in words of this.

“well we’re both a little drunk and clearly turned on- maybe just this once it could be more than friends? just for tonight, i mean?” harry’s clear green eyes didn’t stop looking into yours, and he seemed, i’m not sure, hopeful? as if on cue, the taxi took you back to your villa which was warmly lit from inside and you felt a nervous excitement crawl up your arms and legs at what could possibly come next. harry gave the driver the cash and you dashed quickly to the door of the house, the cool september air cutting through you both dressed inappropriately for the time of year. it dawned on you that your outfit- a big vintage men’s shirt with your oldest and favourite pair of dr martens with sheer tights- wasn’t the wisest choice. harry fumbled with unlocking the door and opened it to find the fire lit and the lights dimmed. it was more romantic than either of you would ever mention out loud but it felt like the house was routing for you. you weren’t sure where harry wanted this to go next, the air beginning to stiffen and feel awkward.

turning to face him, you started, “harry i-“ his lips met yours in an instance and any of the awkwardness left in the room had been dissolved by harry’s soft kiss. he tasted good, despite the beer you’d both been drinking and had you not been intoxicated by the pilsner and harry’s gentle touch, you’d probably care about things like breath. harry grabbed you by the shoulders, much like he did earlier that same day, and guided you into the room further, finding the large sofa and pushing you onto it. falling back, you glanced up at his towering figure. harry was already tall, but his powerful presence added a less literal height to him, and his shadow looked over you. you couldn’t help but stare at him as he shrugged his shirt off his shoulders, exposing some of your favourite tattoos of his. you got to your knees so that you were closer to his body and you finally relaxed in his presence, touching all the places you’d dreamed about. your hands raked up his torso to his chest and his head leant down to kiss you again. his lips were perfect and seemed made to be against yours so tightly, and made for the crook of your neck as well as they kissed and sucked there too. the fire in the corner of your eyes illuminated the small amount of gold in harry’s hair and he looked as angelic as he always did in your dreams.

“am i better than him?” harry murmured against your neck. the question caught you off guard. he’d only known one other person you’d had a sexual relationship with since you two became friends and that was a sound tech from one of his old touring groups that you had a small fling with. him and harry never got along and harry even accused him of purposely messing his sound up during a performance once. harry has walked in on you giving him head in your dressing room once and it was incredibly awkward but you both moved past it.

“who are you talking about?”

“you know, that arsehole sound tech from the american tour. do i kiss you better than him?” you could hear the layers to his voice- he was asking with a confidence that you felt straight in your core, but there was another layer to it- insecurity.

“god yes,” you gushed, he had to at least know how he physically made you feel even if you can’t admit your feelings, “you kiss far better then he ever could.”

an idea came into your head at this, “in fact, i bet you’ll feel better in my mouth then he did.” harry jaw slacks slightly and you give him a shy smile. talking like this wasn’t something you ever tried when you were having sex, but harry made you want to be honest. it was the closest you could get to confessing your love to him, and you’d take what you could get from harry right now. stunned into silence, you continue to undress harry, removing his vest to expose his lean stomach and small trail of hair from his belly button, that you kissed all the way down. he let out a sharp breath as soon as you got to the top of his pubic bone, and you finally noticed just how hard harry already was. with a little fascination, you dared to take it to the next level and cupped his length through his trousers, causing harry to groan at the contact. he felt big in your small hand, you couldn’t wait to reveal him, impatiently struggling with his zipper.

“woah, y/n, slow down,” harry puts a finger under your chin and you look up under your lash at him, knelt below him. his smile is a classic harry smile and for a brief second this feels like more than a casual fuck.

“you’re still wearing too much clothing.” harry bends slightly to get to the bottom of your shirt and speedily pulls it over your head, revealing your black cotton bralet and tights. harry’s mouth watered at the sight of you in nothing but your underwear and boots, your long hair falling in messy waves around your minimally tattooed arms. your sure your black eyeliner is smudged and your gloss practically jin existent but harry’s eyes make you feel like he wants nothing more then to fuck you.

“that’s much better,” he smiles again at you, and you take that as a good cue to continue on his member. eagerly, your hands go straight back to his flies, rapidly undoing them and letting his loose fit trousers fall from his hips, exposing his form fitted boxers and you get a much better idea of just how big harry’s cock really was. without realising you mumble, “i want you in my mouth so bad,” under your breath.

“fuck say that again.”

looking under your lashes again, you repeat, “i want your cock in my mouth so bad.” harry groans as his eyes roll back, his words almost being enough without your touch. but your hand still went back to his dick, pulling it out from the restraint of his boxers. it was thick and bigger then you had been with before. without missing a beat, your hand pumped him a few times, and his hips reacted instantly. as if beckoning for your lips to surround his cock, his hips thrust towards you again, and you obliged, licking and then parting your wetted lips for the head of his dick. the pre-cum touched your tongue and it urged you to take more of him further, swiping your tongue on the underside as you push more in. harry moans, gripping your scruffy hair in his large hand, and had to restrain from pushing your mouth around his whole length. as your mouth got acquainted with him, you started to move up and down the length, as harry’s moans got higher and louder.

“y/n your mouth is fucking magic.” the praise went straight to your clit and your underwear was dampening at the knowledge of the dirty things your mouth was doing.

“can you- fuck- can you grab my balls?” you responded immediately and cupped them lightly whilst continuing to bob your head on his cock.

“didn’t know you could you use your mouth for such dirty things, y/n. do i fill you better then he did?”his jealousy fuelled you to go even quicker, this time switching up to concentrating on his swollen head, your tongue lapping against it feverishly, whilst your hand pumped the rest of him. the combination of your hand and mouth was enough to drive harry insane.

“you do so good y/n, i’m gonna cum soon okay?” you release him from your mouth, and keep stroking him, eager for him to orgasm. you couldn’t describe the desperation you had to see the way he looked as he climaxed. if you were to die after this, you knew you would die happy, if only to have seen harry in that state of euphoria that only you could bring him to.

“fuck y/n i’m gonna cum,” harry pants, his thighs tensing and his eyes glazing over. you aim him over your chest and feel his load fall all over your breasts, soaking your bralet as he lets out a breathy moan. his breathes are loud and aside from the fire crackling are the only noise filling the space of the living room. you let his now soft cock go and fall back onto the sofa, too tired to think about all of what just happened, the only thought on your mind is of harry’s moans on repeat. your chest is sticky but you’re too exhausted to care. harry has slowly crept over to sit next to you on the sofa, and you’re unspokenly thankful he hasn’t distanced himself afterwards.

“i need to clean you up.” harry disappears as quickly as he arrived and comes back with a warm flannel. wiping your chest, you watch his face as his brows furrow delicately on his forehead and his mouth is slightly crooked in concentration. you loved every single portion of his face, and suddenly it meant something different. you had seen his face at it’s most real and vulnerable and you had that memory forever.

unfortunately moments like the one you and harry had finally shared don’t last forever, and once harry’s done wiping your  breasts off, he leaves a kiss on your forehead, grabs his clothes and leaves you on the sofa.

[panur]

(totally not against Op's take, just wanting to add my input)

THE THING IS, i do think it is a song related to Geralt, since it seems to make use of specific wording for bath scene scene from S1, but not in a positive geraskier way...

Divorced from anything but what's seen in the actual screen, it just seem like this is just Jaskier being unusually direct in stating that he's done with his one-sided feelings for Geralt.

The greatest songs are made up of unspoken words of love Of them I have had enoughWith you, I have enough With you, I am enough I am, I am enough

He's done silently pining for a man who's never going to return his feelings, a man for whom he'll never be enough -and please note i am not trying to say enough in a negative way, it's just Jaskier admitting to himself it's just not gonna happen- and expressing a hope/desire for reciprocal, equitable love

do I think that he wrote the song about Radovid specifically, in the moment? I'm firmly stuck in the maybe-towards-no camp simply because of their interactions before this scene being very brief and mostly 'chaperoned' by Philippa, prior to this scene all he knows about Radovid is that the guy wants to bone him, which isn't new or novel for Jaskier, even if he doesn't seem to be against the attention.

but AFTER this scene?

Radovid is visibly moved! He's the only person in the whole room who knows enough about Jaskier's backstory + has the perceptiveness to read between the lines to what Jaskier's saying (the love he had for Geralt, that it was unreturned, that he's finally done with pining for it), and addresses it directly by asking Jaskier if the witcher knows how lucky he's been to have this kind of attention/devotion.

He openly admits there is more to Jaskier than he originally thought, and expresses his interest/admiration for what he's sensing is there- and i find very telling that this is the first time Radovid actually looks at Jaskier not like a piece of meat he'd very much like to season but as someone, well- extraordinary.

and jaskier RECOGNIZES it? He's visible flattered and charmed, but we also get the clear sense that, just as Radovid understood what Jaskier meant, Jaskier also got what Radovid is saying to him at the moment, and that it meant a lot to him- to the point his immediate next scene is vespula teasing him about having a crush, which is apparently utterly uncommon (and that jaskier seems to find adorably embarrassing)

ANYWAY, TLDR, my personal take is that Extraordinary things is not a song for Geraskier, it's a song about Jaskier, first and foremost... and hopefully, for future radskier.

full offense but i really fucking despise when geraskier shippers have jaskier writing extraordinary things about geralt in fics. like, the song is a radskier song. it is for them. it is about them. it literally describes their relationship. i don’t care if people think the watsonian explanation for the song is that it must be about geralt (which, no, there’s still no definitive watsonian explanation for it) because it’s not a watsonian song in the first place; it’s a doylist one. it was literally written by joey about jaskier and radovid’s relationship in place of scenes/dialogue between them. extraordinary things is a radskier song. stop making it about geraskier!!! it’s not for you!!!

also, like, y'know what? fuck off because there can, actually, be a watsonian explanation for extraordinary things being about radovid. jaskier literally wrote it in the moment when radovid asked for one last song. he was like, oh you want another song? you want another song? i’ll give you another song. and he wrote it right then and there for him. so there!!!

[mahixa]

so @maxricciardo messaged me earlier today and maybe possibly probably inspired me to write this cute, fluffy lestappen fic. Listen, she’s great and she deserves to read something nice and comforting about Max after today’s race. And for any of you searching for something sweet and a short fic about the boys being happy together - I hope you will enjoy it as well.

You can read it on ao3 [HERE]

ship: lestappen

word count: 1734

fluff. It’s fluff. Boys kissing. Fluffity fluff. Let there be fluff. Max realises his feelings for Charles and thinks Charles is pretty. We all agree with Max.

The interviewer is someone Max has never seen before during their press conferences. He looks like he could live and survive on drama alone. Beastliness shines dangerously in his eyes and the way he tilts his head before he asks Max the question indicates deviousness.

Max doesn’t like this at all.

“So, Max,” his voice is obnoxious already. “We all know how painfully honest you can be. Let me ask you about Charles Leclerc.”

Something stings Max’s chest. It has been difficult couple of days for Charles, with his bad last racing weekend and a lot of family burden going on right now. The Monegasque, if asked about it, would kindly state that everything is fine and there is nothing to worry about.

But Max knows Charles and he is aware when things become too much for him. And it’s obvious that Charles has his ups and downs. Should anyone be surprised by that? No one. And yet the media keep doing what they do best – they wait for the smallest mistake, the tiniest inconvenience, and they dig deep into the topic. They remind Max of vultures, always ready to find a person during their weak moments and portray such person as the biggest victim possible. A loser. Rend their vulnerable skin and make them bleed for the sake of the headline. Pain them black and white.

For the media everything is zero to one. You either win, or you lose. You drive or you crash. There’s no in between.

And Charles is sitting right next to Max during this press conference, and Max can feel him switching his position uncomfortably as they both hear the begging of question.

“Charles seems to like creating controversy,” the man states the biggest lie Max has heard in a while and dares to continue speaking. “And recently he has been loosing his nerves in the most crucial moments. He is, let’s say, not good under pressure these days. Does it even make him a good driver then?”

Something boils inside Max.

“Does any of it have something to do with the upcoming date of Charles’ father’s death? Should Charles continue to drive during this weekend, or is he a threat to others? Clearly he might be, with his mental condition.”

The conference room goes completely silent.

Max doesn’t take his eyes off of the interviewer. He doesn’t even blink. His gaze must look dangerous enough for everyone to make them to look at him and the man multiple times, anticipating the answer. Max lifts his chin defiantly and squints, and it sends unspoken fulmination all across the room. Someone clears his throat nervously.

“You know,” Max starts, joining his hands together. “I think it takes some fucking audacity to come to this room and say such things about one of the greatest driver of this generation.” Someone gasps in the room and everyone lifts their cameras up. “So you come here, and you have your confidence, and well. You have to be confident, for sure, to ask such dumb questions and state such idiotic statements, clearly not understanding what does it mean to be a normal human in this sport, having better and worse days. So no. Charles is more than the questions about his father, he is more than your silly cheap mind games and neither him, or me, will waste our time on you. And he will drive with us on Sunday. He’s the best person out there when it comes to mental strenght and he doesn’t deserve such crap from the media. So shut up. Next question,” he finishes and points at another man.

His heart is beating incredibly fast and he can hardly hear another question. His mouth is dry, palms sweaty and his legs bouncing nervously.

He does his best to ignore Charles’ stunned look on his face and Lewis’ dropped jaw.

When Max comes back to his hotel room he is exhausted and doesn’t really know why. He has dealt with stupid interviewers on more than one occasion by now, and he thinks he should be able to handle this situation better. Not that he regrets saying what he said.

He just doesn’t know why it caused such him such an emotional response.

Before he can think about it more, there’s a soft knock on the door and there’s only one person who knocks like that.

“Come in, Charles.”

Charles’ smile is small and almost timid, as he enters the room and then looks around. Max smiles to himself, observing a very awkward Charles. As if he wasn’t here yesterday to see the room. And the day before.

“I, eh,” he starts, putting his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I wanted to say thank you, Max.”

Max doesn’t know how to react to his cheeks which turn bright red.

Charles has always been like that. Like that? So like what? Max thinks, forcing himself to finally understand what he has been feeling for so long, searching in his head for the best word to describe the other man.

Lovely. Charles has always been quite lovely, he admits to himself.

That describes Charles pretty well, actually. And now Max thinks about all those moments they shared together, from the early karting days too. Their fights and arguments when they were children, and Charles coming to check on Max after their races. Bringing him his home-made cookies or lemonade, and thanking Max. Or saying he is sorry. And these confessions were always a bit clumsy, always a bit awkward, but the words were always there. Charles might not always look the most confident during moments like this, but he always is there. Ready to speak and be tender when other people hide themselves and run away from confrontation. Charles is ready to say the things Max is often unable to.

Today’s press conference was different, though. It was the first time Max said so many things about Charles. In a room full of people, on top of that – people who were paying attention to his every word. Wasn’t that rather stupid, to go off like that? But that question has to be one of the dumbest and most arrogant he has heard in a long while. And it was about Charles.

No one should ever talk about Charles like that.

Not about Charles. How dare they? Have they ever seen the way he drives? The way he trains? How he can stay under pressure? The way he achieves his goals and keeps his cool even in the most stressful moments?

Have they seen the way Charles smiles? The way he rolls his eyes when he sees something silly or the way he wrinkles his nose when he laughs, but truly, truly laughs? Have they seen the way Charles can’t cook or dance, but he likes to do these things and it makes it even more enjoyable to observe him?

And what about the way Charles sleeps, with his lips slightly parted and his strong chest moving up and down? Or the way he gets excited over the stupidest TV programs Max doesn’t understand, but doesn’t mind when Charles asks him to watch them together, already too fascinated by the way Charles comments on things? And the way he plays the piano. The way he chooses songs and hums to himself when he plays.

The way he sneezes and then apologizes for it. The way Charles can assemble furniture from IKEA, and refuse to use any instruction, but somehow his chaotic energy helps him manage? And Max knows how it looks like.

Because Charles helped him with his furnitures.

Charles has always been there. When Max was sick and didn’t want to take any pills, Charles was there. Brining him his mum’s soup and talking how much he likes the fact that they both live in Monaco now. And when Max got completely wasted in one of those bars they like to go to, it was Charles who helped him get clean from all the unpleasant post-party aspects of the night. And he didn’t complain. He didn’t make a sound. He took off Max’s clothes, leaving him in nothing but his boxers, and helped him shower. He made sure Max made it to bed and he placed a glass of water on his bedside table.

Charles was there when Max won his most important races and he was there to celebrate it with him. He was there when Max argued with his father and when it all looked like a lost cause. He was there to rub soothing circles on Max’s back with his gentle hand and embrace him with his soft voice.

And he always says “thank you” and “I’m sorry” when other people could never do it, for different reasons. Charles has always been brave and able to rise above others. Be a bigger person.

Charles is kind and lovely.

And so damn handsome.

It all makes Max’s head dizzy. The realisation of his feelings washes over him and he has to grab the chair not to stumble. What now?

Charles looks beautiful in his blue hoodie, messy hair and his confused smile. He looks way too soft to remain reasonable or sensible about this.

“Those things you said during the press conference, did you mean them?” he asks, finally breaking the silence between them.

Max nods, coming closer to Charles who doesn’t move away. His eyes are focused on Max’s and he licks his lips.

“I meant every word,” Max says, his voice becoming almost a whisper, as he moves even closer and cups Charles’ face with his hand. “Jesus, Charles.”

Charles closes his eyes at the contact and breathes in through his nose. He looks stunning and Max is mesmerised.

“Kiss me,” Charles whispers, not opening his eyes. “Please.”

Max feels like melting. He slowly cups Charles’ face with both his hands.

“Look at me,” Max whispers back, and when Charles opens his eyes slightly, Max places a kiss on Charles’ forehead.

Then on his cheek. And then the other.

And then they kiss. They kiss and kiss and kiss, Charles’ arms around Max’s shoulders and Max’s hands on Charles’ waist. It’s the softest thing to kiss Charles, his lips eager and opened and lovely, lovely, so, so lovely, and warm.

Max moves them around the room so Charles can fall on the bed, and as soon as he does, Max climbs on top of him. The way Charles’ reaches out for him, the way he holds him closer, kissing him harder and deeper – that definitely goes on top of “the different ways of Charles Leclerc” list Max has made.

And Charles is beautiful under his touch, and he glows like a golden, Autumn sun, and he sounds like the softest, warm melody.

“I meant every word,” Max says between kisses and touches, between moans and sighs. “Every word.”

[stars-trash-18]

Hi boo!! I just saw your Paz request and I was wondering if I could sort of get a continuation of that.... like maybe after that Paz has started to call the reader “mesh’la” and the reader was gone longer than usual from a supply run but they’re back now and it’s just pure softness between Paz and them - @remmysbounty

I never wrote something so fast, because I found a bumping playlist that gave me the wind I needed to ACTUALLY finish it.

Ever since the training incident Paz continued to call you mesh’la, simply because it distracted you and Paz never misses a chance to mess with people. Even if his face secretly burns under that bucket every time you scrunch your face up in a blush, Paz adored that look on your face. You knew it meant beautiful, the only time you were called it was from the other pilots who wanted a short fling and creepy drunks at the cantina. So when the giant blue tin can who once held a blaster to your head called you beautiful with the softest voice you’ve ever heard the only thing you could do was let your face catch on fire from how quickly the blood raced to your face. 

But every time you wanted to talk to him about the training incident, he somehow weaseled away from you in what your friend told you was a , “Ba'slan shev'la,” a strategic disappearance. You tried for weeks to talk to him but every time he’d get away, he’s like the legends you heard about mandalorians, you don’t find them they find you. Even though he actively avoided you when you sought him out, he’d always pass you with a quick “morning mesh’la” and “be careful out there mesh’la”, the last one happening in front of most of the covert as they sent you off for one of your bigger supply runs. You never heard the end of it from your friends and the Armorer dragged you into an interrogation, the woman was worse than the gossiping aunties on Alderaan as she drilled you for any info and you could hear the gears turn in her head as she sized you up for a proposal dagger. 

But nonetheless your heart continued to skip a beat everytime the tin bucket called you that little pet name, the tone of voice changing with every meeting. You had conversations more frequently, even after Paz finished your training, and so long as you avoided the burning questions you wanted to ask you could enjoy his company.  This went on for months, and you would hear the nickname in your sleep.

You hoped you’d hear it again as you landed on some backwater planet crawling with ex-imps and spice dealers. The only reason you were here was to look for a hermit healer (ha say that 3x fast) who was the only one willing to sell a year long asthma treatment. One of the foundlings had severe asthma from living in the filthy Coruscant air, and even though medicine was advanced it was still expensive to get a long lasting treatment, and you were gonna be damned if a foundling went without.

You breathed in deeply and stepped out into the hangar, tossing a stack of credits to a nearby droid to care for your ship as you began trekking into the forest, following the coordinates of the healer’s last known location. 

=====>>> POV CHANGE AND TIME SKIP OF 3 WEEKS<<<======

Paz was sweating as he paced the Karyai, you had gone to get medicine for a foundling, a trip that normally took a week. But it’s been three weeks and not a single word from you. At first when you didn’t show they thought maybe you had gotten lost (you were good navigating the stars, but put you on foot and you’d get lost in a paper bag), by the second week those that had doubted your commitment to the covert spoke their scathing remarks about you (that was shut down after Paz punched one of them out cold). By the third week Paz wasn’t seen too far from the hangar, he was always pacing the length of it or working at his weapons bench at all hours, Paz simply couldn’t sleep worrying over you. The Armorer said if you were still gone after the fourth week mark then they could organize a search part, but because they were in hiding they needed to wait to make sure. 

Just when Paz was about to say screw it and go after you himself or send Din the proximity alarms went off. He immediately booked it to the hangar, the feeling in his gut telling him it was you, he could feel how his heart sang the only way it would when you were near him singing like when beskar hits beskar. The sweet song carrying him the 80 feet to the hangar, the volume increasing with every step he took towards you. 

=======> POV CHANGE<========

When he entered the hangar he saw your ship touching down, and when the ramp finally opened he was already running to reach you in the cockpit. You nearly had a heart attack when you saw the blur of blue heading straight for you, but the moment you felt warm muscular arms encircle you as you were lifted off the ground you felt at peace. Paz rested his helmet onto your shoulder and you could feel his breath puffing out from under the lip of it, and you could feel him truly relax as he slowly lowered you back onto the ground, where he rested his helmet onto your forehead so that he could look at you.

“You scared the hell out of me Mesh’la, thought I lost you,” he said as he rested a hand on the back of your neck so he could pull you closer into his embrace. You rested your hands on either side of his helmet, if it were anyone else Paz would have shot them, but it was you and he let you pull his head so that you could place a kiss onto his neck. To many it was a kiss that is sexual but to you and him it was the only place you could place a kiss onto his skin, and it caused Paz to practically purr 

“Paz you never would have lost me, I never told you I love you yet,” you said, after the ordeal you went through you weren’t going to hesitate anymore. You weren’t going to let these feelings and words go unspoken, you had suffered enough in life that if there was a chance you can put something good into it you were going to jump. That good thing just so happened to be covered in blue beskar and had the greatest hugs you had ever felt.

Paz went rigid, at first you panicked thinking he was going to reject you before you could hear the words whispered into your hair, “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum,”. He pulled away from you to look into your face before he pressed the button to close the ramp and moved his hands to either side of his helmet. It was almost an instinct for you to squeeze your eyes shut and look away, but when you heard the clang of his helmet hitting the floor you felt his hands rest on either side of your face. 

“If you don’t want this mesh’la tell me now and I will back away, but if you do when I kiss you open your eyes,” He said, his words causing you to gasp and latch your hands onto his wrists.

“Paz are you sure?” You asked, your breathing picking up at the anxiety building on this life changing decision. You felt his thumb brush your cheeks to soothe you before you felt his forehead lean against your’s, finally relaxing at the contact to his skin on your’s in the familiar Keldabe Kiss.

“I want you mesh’la, and only you so when you open your eyes I will marry you here and now because for three weeks I only thought of you and the thought of spending another moment without you sounds unbearable,” he said before hesitantly brushing his lips onto yours, to give you time to pull away.

But you didn’t, and with a final sigh you leaned fully into the kiss and fluttered your eyes open to look upon the face of the only man who made you sing with happiness. In that moment both of your hearts sang the song of beskar, you both finally finding the only person the other’s heart would ever sing to.

[oksana-moods]

Ghost of you - Part 9

Summary: Ghost realizes that, no matter how hard she tries, she can't run away from her past. When Carol's presence do more harm than good, the only way to come clean is to take a dive. A/N: Thank you again for all the support, and to let you know that we reached the point where things start to change. Starting for the song theme. Now we’ll go with ‘Writings on the wall’ from Sam Smith. We’re halfway through, lovelies. Trigger Warnings: Violence, language (a bit too much, I believe), mentions of death… if you find others, let me know. Oh, sort of WandaVision spoiler. Angst. “I've spent a lifetime running, and I always get away”

With my hands involuntarily clutching the tag, I’m sitting at the roof watching the sun slowly but inexorably going down in the horizon. Once, I heard that this is what life feels like. We born just like the sun raises, we reach our greatest point then we start to set till night embraces us. Death, just like the sunset, is inevitable. I find myself agreeing with this metaphor.

It’s been a few months since our futile attempt to overturn Thanos’s snap. And now, each one of us went different ways to try to cope with this catastrophe.

Steve, Natasha and I were still living at the compound we had nowhere else to go so we’re pretending that we were taking care of things, that we’re moving on.

Tony and Pepper are about to get married and, honestly, I hope they find happiness. While Bruce went missing again, Thor went to New Asgard, he lost everything but still had a Realm to rule; Rhodey was working for the Government in a high position, or so I heard. Wakanda lost all the royal family but Okoye was holding on, as best as she could. Rocket and Nebula stayed a bit but returned to space with promises of visiting whenever they could.

Oddly, the logo ‘Avengers’ was scattered all over the universe. We were broken, but we would still protect whom needed protection.

And there is The Avenger, the original one. Carol barely touched the ground coming back from Garden and took-off claiming she needed to check on Skrulls. Not even three weeks later she was back, and that caught me off guard. I’ve never expected for her to return, not that quickly, at least.

She’s been trying to talk to me, but I dodged all of her attempts.

Until now.

 “Hey, Mav.” I close my eyes when her voice reaches my ears. “The view from here is amazing.”

I was sitting at the edge of the roof and Carol was leaning with her elbows at the rampart.

“Yes. It is.” I answer. “What do you want, Carol?” We both know she’s not here for the view.

“To talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” I got up from my seat, I’m standing in the roof starting to make my way to the door. I flinch away when her hand touches my metal arm. I shoot an outrageous look at her.

“Please.” Her eyes are so soft against my gaze that something inside me stirs. “You’ve been avoiding me. Natasha told me that you lost most part of your memories.” Her brows are so furrowed that is clear she’s upset. Why is she? I turn away from her, I’m looking at the horizon once more. Her gaze was too overwhelming, right now.

“What do you want to know?” I shove my hands inside my pockets. Damn, why am I so nervous? “Most of my memories are gone. The last four years is all I have without gaps. Wanda…” I close my eyes, still hurts to think about her. I think it always will. “She helped me to unbury whatever she could.” I saw Carol leaning at the rampart. She was trying to get closer, but I needed distance.

“I crashed after your crash.” She nodded, of course she knew this. “Whatever happened to you with the tesseract, spattered in me too. That’s why I haven’t changed, just like you.” I could feel my hands shaking inside my pockets, I was uneasy. Something about her was pulling me to the edge.

“But, what about…” She hesitated “What about your arm?”  Why is she pretending to be concerned? She’s getting under my skin and I’m feeling cornered. So, I do what every cornered animal do. They attack.

“Will you fucking stop beating the bush? Ask me what you fucking want to ask.” Oh and so she did, she was exasperated with me acting like an idiot. What was she expecting?

“I came to earth around 2007. I went to Maria’s and she told me you were at war but never make it back. I… I saw your stone. I… I…” She ran a hand through her hair. “I thought you were dead.” Her voice was a whisper but that made something burst inside me. I grieved her, even when I knew she was alive. She chose to go away and wanna play the broken-hearted role?

“You and me both!” My voice was harsh and loud, but I wasn’t yelling yet. Yet. “What do you expect me to say, huh? That I am sorry someone lied to you? That I am sorry you were sad?” The setting sun illuminating her face, making her look gorgeous than ever, made me hate her even more. “Well, news flash for you, hon. YOU’RE NOT THE ONLY ONE! I still see you die every time I fucking close my eyes.” I yelled. I couldn’t take this anymore. “I SAW YOU DIE OVER AND OVER AND OVER.” Her eyes were glossy, there was something shining inside them that I couldn’t decipher. And, Fuck. It hurt so bad. They hurt me so bad. She hurt me.

“I… Lara, I am so, so sorry they did this to you” She whispered again. She didn’t want to fight, but all I know is fight. And I only stop when I see blood.

“When I was taken by Hydra, they made me watch you die, they made me watch you leaving." My voice was low and hard, this time. "So no, I can’t stand this. Hydra took everything from me. They beat me and oh, they hit me hard. They cut off every single piece of me, and they put me through hell. But you Carol, you broke me first.”

I turned in my heels and left the roof. Each step my feet tried to betray me, make me to look back, but I kept going til reach the door. I knew I was far too harsh, my words probably cut her, but if she was bleeding so was I.

 -----------------

 Days went by and I didn’t see Carol since that day in the roof. Steve told me she took a room for her at the compound, she’d be staying a bit longer. Of course she is. Like I didn’t have a lot to deal with already. Since there weren’t any assignments going on, all the workout in the world couldn’t help to ease my mind. Or heart.

  I park my motorcycle at the parking lot and pick up the flowers from inside my jacket. I check it to see if they still look good. I shrug, they’re good enough.

I walked inside the Hospital and expertly made my way to my friend’s room. It pained me to know she was sick, but she was too strong to give in that easy to cancer. She was a fighter. She inspired me. If she could go on even with her decease and losing her child, so could I.

“Buying flowers became a struggle nowadays.” I said with a smile.

Her smile lit up the whole room. “Good thing you’re not going out on dates, then.” My laugh filed the room.

“Please Maria, you’re too old to be that sassy.”

“You’re just as old as I am. The difference is just that you still look good.”

“You still look good, Ma. I’d take you out on a date.” And it was true, she was around her sixties but still look beautiful. Few lines near the eyes, but only complimented her.

“Awn, you flatter me” She put a hand on her chest, faking innocence. “I don’t go out with women, hon. But I’d definitely accept the invitation, I’m craving real food, not whatever this hospital calls food.” Instantly, this blows the air out of my lungs and I’m forced to face reality. My friends are gone and soon, Maria will be gone too. Carol told me once that her biggest fear was to bury all her friends. Fuck. I understand what she meant now.

“Geez, Mav. It was only a joke. Next time, don’t bring me flowers unless you’re bringing fries too.”

I forced a smile at her.

After the whole ordeal with the ‘Accords’ I was arrested alongside Clint, Scott and Sam. Cap came and rescued us, but I went on the road since I was an outlaw too, so my visits to Maria and Monica stopped despite keeping in touch. I wouldn’t forgive myself for the time I lost.

“Carol came to visit me yesterday.” That’s the Maria I came to know, never holding back her words. “Apparently, you’ve been giving her a hard time.”

“Oh. Did she come to cry on your shoulder?” Every time Carol’s name was brought up, I felt my brain short-circuiting. I don’t know why, but I hated it.

“Naa. I was just gossiping around, I’m an old lady, after all.” She laughed lighting up the mood. “Does it feel better to yell, to be a bitch with her?”

“What?”

“C’mon, Mav. You changed a lot, but I can still see through you. You need to vent whatever is stuck in your chest; you need to put it out.” I was frowning at the floor. “That’s the only way both of you will move on.”

“I hate her, Maria. Seeing her makes me feel like my wounds are cutting open once again. I don’t see how we can move past this, how I can forgive her.”

“If that’s true,” She pointed at my chest, and I knew what she was going to say. “Why do you still wear her tag and yours together?” All of a sudden, the Tag was heavy in my chest. Tons and tons of unspoken words, feelings, and pain weighting too much.

“I… I don’t know. It kinda feels right.” God, I’m so confused. Is it possible to be friends with Carol Danvers again? Will I, one day, forget everything Hydra made me feel with those memories? I wonder if that hopeless feeling will ever go away. Because right now, all I can think of is that, at any moment, she’ll turn her back on me or she’ll die. It’s hard to look at someone expecting, waiting for the pain that usually comes with their face.

“I know it does.” And she changed her tone to her bossy one. “So, stop acting like you have a stick shoved inside your ass and talk to her. Promise me you will.”

“All right. I promise.” I answered, it was no use try to avoid this. Maria wouldn’t drop this.

“That’s better.” She had that look like she knew that I’d comply with her request.

“Doesn’t upset you? That she left and forgot about us?” I was looking out of the window, looking at the cars outside, people were, slowly, trying to find their bearings. Trying to figure out what should be normal now. They were trying. Should I try, too?

Maria’s voice made me look at her when she replied. “It used to hurt, yes. But I’m dying, Mav, I don’t have time or patience to fight anymore.”

 After Maria scolded me enough for not talking to Carol, our conversation was lighter. She complained about the overprotective nurse, she complained that tv never had good things to watch, gossiped about other patients, and when I said my goodbyes, she made me promise to sneak some food for my next visit.

However, all the way home I kept overthinking these things I’ve been building up inside me. Something about Carol made me uneasy, like I’m exposed in a field filled with enemies, with nowhere to hide. And I don’t like it on bit. There’s something about her eyes, and I hate the intensity in them when she looks at me, it’s like they can pierce your soul, see what’s underneath… And I’m way too afraid of all the terrors that she might discover. I’m not Lara anymore, I’m not who she thinks I am, no. I’m someone else.

 -----------

 “You stole my spot.” I said as I reached the roof. The woman who I was addressing to, turned her head to look at me.

She was wearing a simple jeans with a blue t-shirt and her hair was framing her flawless face, how this woman could be so beautiful even with so common clothes was beyond me.

She gave me a tide smile that never reached her eyes, they were somewhat tired.

“Oh. It wasn’t my intention; I’ll leave you to be.”  Yes please, leave me alone. I thought to me myself, but then my conversation with Maria from last week came to my mind. Fuck. I hate making promises. She was preparing to leave when I spoke.

“There’s room enough for both of us, though.” I said with a shrug, pretending that I was okay with her company, pretending that I wasn’t uncomfortable with this proximity. Her head snapped at me, she looked at me like I had grown two heads.

“Okay.” Her voice was so soft that immediately put me on edge. I felt exposed again. What was happening with me?

 We stayed there for a while with a heavy silence between us. The tension was so thick that I’m sure we couldn’t move, that’s probably why none of us left the roof yet. There was a sea of unspoken words and as much as I hated it, we couldn’t ignore this anymore. If she’s going to stay, we’ll have to dive into this. We’ll have to work together at some point, this wouldn’t be healthy during even the simplest mission.

“You know, I’ve been in a lot of places, but none of them had such a beautiful sunset.” Her voice startled me; I wasn’t expecting at all.

“Well, it does have something peaceful, doesn’t it?” She seemed to ponder what I just said.

“One may say that this might be a spell. That there are a lot of beautiful places out there, but nothing compares to home.”

“Is it?”

“What?” She looked at me, confusion written all over her face.

“Is Earth you home?” At this, she frowned.

“Look, I know what you’re implying. I… I don’t know how much you remember from… before.” She seemed nervous. “What do you recall?”

And that’s it. There’s no turning back now, I needed to dive into this sea and hopefully I’ll reach the other side alive.

I looked forward; eyes set at the setting sun. I couldn’t deal with this and look at her at the same time. My hands started to shake so I wriggle them together to stop them, somehow.

“I remember us.” I felt a pang in my chest. Shit. What is this? “I remember you were always going back and forth to Earth. I remember when you went for good, ‘we’re too good at goodbyes’, yeah?!”

She signed heavily. “While helping Talos, I realized that a lot of people needed help. I wanted to stay, but I just couldn’t ignore innocent people dying.”

“People were dying here too.” She was frustrated, she threw her arms around impatient, but I continued before she could speak. “I know, I know you wanted to bring peace to whoever you could. And Earth already had its saviors.”  

“It’s not just like that, I…” She turned to fully look at me. “After I found out about your… death,” She struggled with the word, it fell heavily from her tongue. “I felt so helpless, so stupid for wasting away the time I could’ve had with you, I…” She was staring at me, eyes locked, and I felt myself being dragged inside. “I couldn’t forgive myself for loosing you for good.” She half whispered as if afraid of this becoming true. Like I could turn into a mirage, out of blue.

She was diving in the sea of what was left unsaid too, there’s no going back. “And when you died, part of me died too. Then Earth wasn’t home without you on it anymore, that’s why I never came back after. But then I received Fury’s emergency call, only to learn about Thanos… only to find out that you were alive this whole time.” Her eyes were glowing with such intensity, that my feet were glued to the ground. I felt a hand wrapping around mine. “I wanted to come back, back then. After I went through your door, I regretted at the very same instant, Lara.” Her voice was so soft when she spoke my name, it was like her tongue was made of velvet and it took the air out of my lungs. “After all, I wanted… I wanted so damn hard to be happy… with you. But I couldn’t find my way back, it didn’t seem right. I didn’t want to hurt you. I’d only do more damage than I already had. And I’m so, so sorry for hurting you.”

I was so entranced in her eyes while she was speaking that up until now, I hadn’t realized how close she was, or even that her hand was gripping my flesh hand. She’s so close that I could see the fading sunlight brightening her freckles. She was so, so close that my brain was at loss.

I didn’t know if the sun was illuminating her face or if it was the other way around, but such perfection made something inside me stir, I felt strange. I felt an urge to reached out and touch her face, like I needed to feel her skin under my touch just as much as I needed oxygen.   “Why are you here now, Carol?” My voice was so soft that felt foreign, almost like a whisper. “My heart is at Earth.” She whispered back, like she was afraid of breaking this spell, this trance that was keeping both of us from moving away.

[wren-of-the-woods]

2023 writing roundup

Thank you so much for the tag @bambirex! I posted 13 fics in 2023, mostly Witcher with a few other fandoms towards the end of the year.

January

Sometimes It Takes A Prison Cell

When Yennefer is thrown in a cell to await execution, the last thing she wants is a cellmate. She gets one anyway: one who is loud, annoying, and convinced that he will be rescued by a witcher. She expects his company to make her miserable. She does not expect it to slowly become bearable, to grow fond of him, or to want to help him — and the last thing she anticipates is that the rescue might actually happen. Or: Yennefer and Jaskier meet in a dungeon. It goes, all things considered, surprisingly well.

March

Spoons and Other Signs of Devotion

After the dragon hunt, Geralt finds that the spoon Jaskier gave him is missing. A story of kindndess, rebuilding, and love.

April

Of Magic, Meddling, and Mice

When Jaskier leaves his prison cell together with Geralt, Gordon tags along. This changes far more than one would think. (Gordon may not quite be the ordinary mouse everyone expects him to be.)

Love, Joy, and Kittens

When Geralt and Yennefer finally get a room at an inn after weeks of travel, Jaskier expects to spend a calm evening with his lovers and sleep in a real bed. This plan is derailed when they find an unexpected creature in their room. Or: In which Geralt, Yennefer, and Jaskier meet a kitten.

July

the greatest songs (are made up of unspoken words)

Radovid hears many songs of Jaskier’s over the years. Each one intrigues him more.

Words of Love

“I should warn you,” Jaskier said between kisses in the soft darkness of the shed, “That I know some… very interesting people. You may want to avoid meeting them.” “I’ve dealt with the Redenian court for decades. Your friends can’t be worse than that.” Five times Radovid meets Jaskier's friends and family, plus one time they are alone.

A New Work of Art

When they make camp in a beautiful forest, Yennefer and Jaskier are happy to sit by as Geralt draws — but the subject of his piece makes them far more emotional than they would have expected. 

True Slug's Kiss

When Geralt finds himself entangled in a magical mishap, Jaskier is prepared to save him as usual. What he is not prepared for is the sheer strangeness (and sliminess) of the situation— nor the feelings that it will force him to reveal.

A Dance By The Sea

In which Jaskier and Yennefer go to a festival on the coast, and Yennefer reminds Jaskier that he is loved.

your gaze lights the fire

When a close encounter with Rience leaves Jaskier in desperate need of somewhere safe, he goes to the only person he knows will take him in: the prince he swore he’d never see again.

October

It's Just Like Falling Snow (I Am Above You, And I Love You)

Cassian dies. What comes next is far less lonely than he expects.

To Catch The Wind

In which Fëanáro begins to invent the Tengwar.

December

This Accident and Flood of Fortune

Lizzy and William are looking forward to a quiet date watching their sisters perform in Twelfth Night — but when they discover that George Wickham is waiting in the wings, they must use Lizzy’s wits and their combined nerdery to help William get his revenge. Or: In which Lizzy comes up with a scheme, and even Shakespeare would be proud of the chaos that ensues.

Tagging the people I collaborated with this year, @bloodsoaked-rainbows and @thequeeninyellowlace, and @ghostinthelibrarywrites @dreamofbecoming @jaz-the-bard @cherryjuicegf @damatris and anyone else who feels like it! <3