#also it's more peculiar as he fucking hated their father

[burnmyloveaway]

I was thinking about Franz as one of the very first people with Capek who saw the twins as newborns and there's something, idk, so intimate in seeing those newborns for whom he, in his own way, felt the strangest form of love, for the first time again in years as adults.

[in-her-shadow-if]

Ok but fairly angsty ask??? That validates my feelings lmao. So, what if MC was born sickly on top of it all? Like they were easy to fall sick with colds, ferver and stuff... there was a fragility to their build, if you pushed them they would break etc etc... reactions of the ROs. Cherry on top pretty please if guin being guin and daddy dearest only make her condition worsen :)) would the ROS be protective???

The ROs would be protective in their own way.

I'll-fight-these-fools kind of protective mixed with waiting on MC hand and foot to comfort them: Arthur, Lancelot

Death glare to Guin / Bran while plotting revenge: Merlin, Kay

Resisting the urge to set Bran on fire mixed with comforting MC and taking them away: Morgana

Reactions (warning: some assume touch is okay, reaction would vary for MC otherwise, also: fire):

Arthur - He notices the exhaustion in your eyes after Guinevere left "MC? Are you unwell?" A soft hum from your lips tells him yes. His own body was heating up from annoyance at your sister. But he didn't notice as he gently scoops you up and into his arms. "Let's get you to the bed, love. And then I'll grab you favorite pillows and a glass of water." Arthur glanced down at you. "And that book you love - I'll read it until you fall asleep." And then I'll find Guinevere and give her a taste of her own medicine, he thought.

Lancelot - "Hey! Time for you to leave," Lance growls as he steps in to shield you from your father. Bran glares at the Knight. "How dare you talk to a King like that!" Lancelot chuckles and takes step forward, his chest touching Bran's. "I dare much more than talking, Your Majesty. I suggest you leave before I do something you regret" he responds. The King sputters, unable to respond before giving you an annoyed look over Lancelot's shoulder and turning to leave. Lance turn to look at you. His face softens. "Want some fresh air in the garden?" You nod and he wraps a gentle arm around you shoulder, pulling you close so you can rest your weight on him. Fuck, I hate that guy, Lance thinks.

Morgana - You sigh at the feelings coming over you while your father talks. All things you've heard so often. You wish he'd leave Camelot so you could be in peace. Well, partial peace considering Guin's presence. "Dammit, are you listening to me, MC?" You meet your father's eyes but before you can respond he lets out a yelp and starts jumping around. Your eyes widen and you stumble back, bumping into something soft. "Help! I'm on fire!" Bran swats his arm sleeve as he struggles to get his robe off. You hear a soft giggle and look to your side. "How peculiar!" Morgana says. "You don't see that everyday, do you?" She winks at you before turning back to watching the flailing Bran.

Kay - Your eyes search for a way out. You're trapped with Guinevere and its already brining on a headache from her entitled demands. Guinevere grabs your sleeve, drawing your attention. "Listen when I talk to you," she says, annoyance flashing in her eyes. Her grip is broken by a lady Knight in shining armor. Kay glares at Guinevere, a look so severe that you shiver. "MC is needed elsewhere. I've come to retrieve them." Your sister rolls her eyes. "Whatever," she says before turning away. Kay turns to you with a bright smile. "Shall we?" You follow her out of the room, noticing how she glances at Guin on the way out with a balled up fist. The day will come.., Kay thinks to herself.

Merlin - Guinevere opens her mouth to continue but both of you turn to look as a portal opens and Merlin steps out, tossing an aggravated look at her. Xe stops in front of her and huffs. "Your grating voice carries to the tower. Don't look so surprised, I told you this the first day you arrived in Camelot. How can I get work down with you in the same building?" Guinevere lets out a small shriek. "You can't talk to me like that! I'm the QUEEN." Merlin rolls xir eyes and turns to you, a small smile tugging at xir lips. "See what I have to put up with it? It's insufferable." Xe turns back to Guin. "And I won't tolerate it. Sleep with an eye open." With that, Merlin guides you out of the room with a barely contained smile and sparkling eyes.

[anamazingangie]

gauche // Rhaenyra x Daemon 🐈

🐈 Rated E 🐈 39.5k words 🐈 Complete 🐈 by AmazingAngie 🐈

This beast is a lighthearted modern AU in which the universe gives Daemon a cat, who turns into Rhaenyra, who turns out to be the best thing that ever happened to him. There is an adjustment period though, because she is kind of hard to explain- and she also makes him really really hard.

The story is told over nine chapters, mostly from Daemon POV but with insight from his assistant, chef, and maid who all have thoughts on the pretty girls peculiar behavior. AND includes a lil epilogue! :)

Official Summary:

Daemon finds a kitten in the pouring rain and he isn’t a monster, ok? He didn’t expect to keep it. And he DEFINITELY didn’t expect it to turn into that.  Or: Rhaenyra is a cat until she’s not

tags: Modern AU, Familiars, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Attempt at Humor, daemon's unique moral compass, when you're so lonely the universe gives you a cat and then she turns into your girlfriend, surprise it has a plot now and somnophilia and incest!, rhaenyra is a human for the vast majority of this fic, her cat characteristics are emotional not physical, rhaenyra hates clothing and is hungry for cream

💕🐈 Read on Ao3  🐈💕

Individual chapter summaries and banners below the cut!

🐈 Chapter One 🐈

In which Daemon discovers a cat and is feels too guilty to leave it behind to shiver in the cold rain.

...and in which he wakes to discover the cat is no longer a cat at all.

🐈 Chapter Two 🐈

When he had regained the ability to move, Daemon scrambled out of bed, pushing the girl off his legs in the process. She tumbled into his bedding and looked up at him, her forehead creased into a frown.   “I wanted the cream.” She whimpered, her gaze pleading, as she reached towards his dick which was very  confused, but still very hard. It almost looked proud, as if its height was a testament to the perseverance of mankind and his personal libido.  He brushed her hand away and pulled a sheet up to cover himself somewhat, even though the girl seemed unconcerned with nudity. She was naked too, and fuck if it wasn’t glorious. Truly, It said a lot about just how fucking hot she was that he was distracted by that and not the fact she had been a cat just a few hours ago. 

🐈 Chapter Three 🐈

Daemon is forced to leave her behind while he tends to a work emergency. His assistant is unimpressed when tasked with finding clothing for the girl. Especially when Daemon offers a bra size estimate and nothing else.

Plus! chef!Laena and her POV on the pantless girl in Daemon's apartment.

🐈 Chapter Four 🐈

Rhaenyra is unimpressed with her new wardrobe. Daemon is TOO impressed in her new underwear. A trip to Macy's is made to buy something more modest- but it ends in his humiliation, too.

Rhaenyra is unfazed and delighted to finally get the collar she has been asking for.

And they both ask google some questions about her.

🐈 Chapter Five 🐈

“Have you ever had a bath before?” He asked the girl, who nodded, “When I was a human.”  Oh good. So her last memory of water was hopefully a positive one.  “Do you want a bath now?” He asked, but her eyes narrowed like it was a trap.  “No.” She said, firmly.  “Human’s take baths, Rhaenyra.” He said, equally firm.  She brightened considerably, “Oh—so we’d take one together?”  “No. Definitely not.”  She was back to glaring. “Why not?”  His mouth opened and closed, “It’s inappropriate.”  Still glaring, “Why?”  How could he possibly explain this to her?  “It’s something people in relationships do.”  She looked nonplussed, “We’re in a relationship. I’m your pet.”  “It’s—people who don’t have a sexual relationship don’t bathe together, Rhaenyra.”  She smiled, “Okay—so we’ll have sex first!”  “No.” He insisted. 

🐈 Chapter Six 🐈

Day two with his Rhaenyra. Humanity is returning to her brain at last, she is still a handful but she is one who remembers where she came from.

Or, rather, who her father is.

It's someone Daemon knows too. Sort of. Because they are technically brothers.

🐈 Chapter Seven 🐈

“Rhaenyra.” He hissed, only to get a sleepy. “Hmmm?” In response.  “Did you pretend to be asleep just to get out of wearing clothes?” He asked, almost aghast.  He felt her shift, tilting her head so she could shower his chest in kisses.  “That isn’t an answer.” He said firmly.  “Don’t be mad at me,” she pleaded, followed by,  “It isn’t my fault that it worked.”  He snorted. “I’m not mad at you.” He said, and he meant it—he was mad at himself for falling for it.  He sighed, stroking her soft hair and enjoying how warm she was. How could he possibly be mad at that? “Goodnight, kitten.” He said, as she nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck.  He was almost looking forward to the morning. To spending more time with her. God he really was fucked.  But as long as he didn’t actually fuck her it was fine.  Or, that was what he told himself—it helped him sleep at night.

🐈 Chapter Eight 🐈

Daemon's maid comes to tidy things and ends up dirtying someone's mind in the process. Rhaenyra might have hissed at the vacuum cleaner and her offer to help change the sheets went unaccepted when she refused to stop sitting on the sheets.

Meanwhile, Daemon's dick is very confused. It isn't helped by Rhaenyra's incessant texting of her new discoveries (and photos) found while googling human cream.

🐈 Chapter Nine 🐈

“I want kittens.” She told Daemon, pouting up at him from her place on the floor. He was nearby—on the couch—on his laptop—ignoring her.  The jerk.  Sometimes she mourned the days where she could show her displeasure by peeing on things. She knew that was inappropriate human adult behavior but ugh. How else was she supposed to train him? “Daemon.” She reached out, tickling the bottom of his foot to get his attention and giggling as he jerked and swore, laptop slipping onto the cushion beside him.  Good.  “I want kittens.” She repeated now that she had his attention. The ones surrounding her at that moment obviously didn’t count. They were from the rescue, under her 24/7 at home care given their small size and age. It was a responsibility she was soon granted, given the creature's obvious ease around her, no matter what background they came from. But they weren’t hers.  Daemon shook his head. “You are enough for me, kitten, I can’t handle another.” He said.  That was their deal—she could foster kittens but not adopt any. Not yet. But obviously, she wasn’t talking about real kittens. She huffed, turning back to the fluffy tabby that had crawled onto her chest. It butted against her breast and wailed. She sighed apologetically, “Sorry, I can’t make cream like daddy does.”  Daemon made a strangled noise behind her, whether to the reference to cream or to him being a daddy, she wasn’t sure. She didn’t really care. She was distracted, stroking the kitten that nuzzled more insistently against the little nub that protruded from the printed cotton of her bra.  I can’t make cream like daddy does, yet. She thought to herself.  Maybe soon, though.

those give you a taste but as i said, the whole thing is on ao3!

comments mean a lot as do likes and reblogs :)

💕🐈 Read on Ao3  🐈💕

[roxineedstosleep]

god, gotham knights jason with battinson,,,,, the sheer cuteness of bruce having a son THAT big :'> I just know he'd be so protective over his quiet soft spoken dad!! can we get a one shot with maybe one of the batkids being mean to bruce bc he can't be there for something important to them! while he tries placating them and paying no mind to them being rude, jason is behind him entirely and glares at his sibling. he hates seeing bruce said. god help you if you make him cry in front of jason

(Jason, behind Bruce, during a discussion between he and an of his brothers)

Children can be cruel.

God, and everyone who interacts with children, knows that children are truly peculiar beings.

They are innocent, mouldable souls, have no real control over all their emotions and are always in constant development and moulding of their persons.

And well.

If a child in a structured home, no matter what form their home takes, they can be cruel at times.

Bruce can say that he was not so lucky.

I mean, he knew he wasn't the best of children. After his parents, it's a miracle Alfred didn't leave him with some distant relative or in the care of the state or in a full-time boarding school. Fuck. He had repeatedly been a walking nightmare and to this day he doesn't know how Alfred could have had so much love and dedication to him to keep him from getting lost along the way.

And after adopting, raising, and fighting with Dick? well, he learned that children are a tricky business.

And he does the best he can. He really tries.

The mistakes he made with Dick, he avoids making with Jason. After Jason died, he reframed his whole upbringing with Tim. And with Damian's arrival, he happily had all his kids to support him in the process.

"It takes a whole town to raise a baby."

It never felt so real.

Now that Dick had grown up and matured in his own way, had lived his own experiences, you could say they had a better relationship. With Jason things were tragic, but at least now they were in a safe place.

But Tim and Damian… they were something else.

He really tried, Dick and Jason were different. Each of his sons was. But the circumstances of their arrivals and the timing also played a big part in that.

Dick was basically an accidental baby. As if Bruce had gotten someone pregnant in their teens and was thrown into his care when the mother no longer wanted to raise him. Bruce was a teenage father with Dick; in the best of terms. He wouldn't eat his own vegetables and had to make sure a depressed, angry kid ate his without tearing up half the room. Without Alfred things would probably have gone south quickly.

That explains their constant bickering during Dick's early youth. It explains why they can feel close and hate each other at the same time. They were both children emotionally when they got together and one was in the care of the other. It was unfair, but love was stronger… at least until the differences came and they had to hurt each other and separate in order to get back together.

With Jason, Bruce felt like a young single father. How if in the middle of college he finds out he's a father and has to take care of it. Sure, he's more mature, knows a few parenting tricks and has more of a sense of responsibility about childcare. Thank God Jason was a good, rocky kid, but with a heart of diamond sitting down with the best of intentions.

Jason was a boy who needed love and wanted to give love to whoever had the desire to give him love. That's where Bruce comes in.

Bruce adored Jason, learned from the mistakes he made with Dick and took advantage of his maturity to do better with his new son. If it weren't for the mind game and the fact that Bruce himself couldn't get over his parents, and therefore couldn't help Jason with his own. It really would have been the healthiest relationship he had in comparison to the rest of his children.

But Bruce isn't perfect, and that along with Jason growing up in a place where Bruce and Dick had arguments and there was a lot of elite pressure in front of him. Jason left, they fought, he died and when he came back things were not good for a long time.

Now they are. Of course they are. But neither of them really want to remember those bad feelings. They have a different kind of love.

Tim and Damian are different for different reasons. Clearly and justifiably different reasons.

Tim arrived when Bruce was at his lowest point. Damian came in demanding and believing something of Bruce that he was not.

And they're still kids, still in training, and Bruce needs twice as much patience to be able to raise them both and to be able to accommodate everything he can do for them based on the needs of both of them.

It's not easy.

It's not always happy.

But he loves, LOVES, his children, and for that very reason he won't stop trying.

Even they come to hate him. He will console himself with the idea that at least he fought to the end.

And Jason, now that he's grown up. He knows that.

He knows that Bruce loves every one of them with every cell in his body. Every part of his mind and soul is dedicated to him and all his brothers. No matter what happens, Bruce will put them first in any situation.

So now that Bruce is actually an adult and can really deal with his children… it pains him to realize how unfair his siblings can be to their father.

Of course, there are things that Jason doesn't forgive his father for, and he himself accepts that he is not a complete victim of everything that happens between him and Bruce. But at least he understands that there is a backstory and tries to get to a point where they both don't lose control.

But his brothers don't seem to understand that.

He sees how his father, his poor father, tries on more than one occasion to reach out to his brothers, to argue about things that could be better, about the unnecessary risks they take. But his brothers only shout and smash everything their father gives them.

That's why, although he doesn't always get into the fray, he subtly sets the record straight.

When Bruce is away, which sadly has happened on more than one occasion, he and Dick have taken care of their younger brothers. And not having the same patience and focus as his father, he has come to have a kind of impact on his siblings. So, take advantage of that.

He casually stands behind his poor, distressed father. And he looks at the booger on duty and gives him the same look he usually uses on the fucking sons of bitches he deals with every night. He do not do any kind of harsh mad expression. Only a simple glance, thats all.

And that's what's enough.

That's all.

Of course that's enough. Bruce still gets yelled at, but at least the yelling subsides a few at a time until all that's left is apologies and a well-deserved hug.

He fucked up with Bruce before he died and then disappeared for years.

He doesn't want his brothers to experience that. No.

And he doesn't want Bruce to experience that feeling of losing a son at a bad time either.

(Jason's "you better put your fucking shit together bro, or u gonna regret it" glance)

[devinescribe]

Hi darlings!! So I’ve been absent, as usual. I’ve decided to take a small break from writing for AIB. I’m very burnt out from it.

However:

I am still writing.

Just for different fandoms/characters.

Right now, I’m mainly focusing on Hunger Games: Ballad of the Songbirds and Snakes because it is my latest hyper fixation ❤️

Of course, I will make one shots as usual, my specialty (tee hee)

But I’ve also started writing a book

Because I hate myself

My favorite character in the book is Treech, from district Seven. He’s such an interesting character to me, and the movie, while it definitely watered down and changed a lot of him, I still love him and his character.

So… uh it’s no surprise that it’s about him 🤗

Here’s the overview and A/N I write before any book/story, and kinda just tell me what y’all think

Years ago, she lived in seven. Years ago she was happy. Of course, no one was *truly* happy during the war, but she wasn't aware. Her father, in helping the Capitol, received a spot up in a shiny new penthouse apartment.

Making her leave the people she loved the most. More like the person she loved the most. 7 years later and she is a mentor for the tributes for this years hunger games. When she sees a familiar face assigned to her, she does almost everything in her power to keep them alive.

"Hey there sunshine... long time no see..."

"Hi there lumberjack... did you get caught up in a tree?"

Specific warnings will be inside, I am obsessed with this book/movie, and he is my favorite. I'm going to try and stay a bit closer to the book than the movie, but some of it will stay the same as the movie for ease

Beginning information:

Y/N will have no specific looks or a name. Please stop marking your books as x reader when it's an OC 😭

There will be swearing, uhh negligence?, weapons, canon typical gore, blood, canon typical violence, and slight sexual undertones to some things but I do not think I'll write smut unless that's something people want? Uh.... Men, men being gross, MEN, uhhh Coryo needs his own warning....That's about it for now

* some things to clear up:

You are going to be from district 7 originally. You're kind of like Sejanus in a sense, and he is your bestie. Your dad grew an empire off of helping the Capitol and was offered a spot there.

* You join the Capitol school in around fifth grade, so it's been about seven years

*you and Treech were best friends

*you're both 18 in this story

*uhhh no more spoilers

Mwuah

If you have come from my AIB books wondering what the fuck are you doing why you no update other books 😕

Uhhh I'm burnt out from those and wanna write a new story with new characters, and also

I get to write like how I sound sometimes!!

Darlin'

Sweetheart

Heart’s pounding' like a jackrabbit

And other cute little phrases 🤭 you're kind of like Lucy Gray in a sense with your "odd" and "peculiar" words and phrases .

Well, I hope y'all enjoy this because I've been dying to write for something <3

PLAYLIST AS USUAL BB HERE YOU GO

Let me know what y’all think Mwuah Mwuah platonic kisses on the cheek and head pats for you all

[sydney-the-faithful]

Heeeeeeeeeyyyy Sydneyyyyy : ) Buddy! Pal! Bestie! How've you beeeen welcome to tumblr hope everything's good I just have uh a teeny tiny smidge of a favour to ask you-

P L E A S E ask your father to stop showing sex tapes in class. Your dad's swell, I help at his shop sometimes it's cool, but I see so so so much more of his bare ass in a week than I'm comfortable with and it's always for a lesson he's taught us about 20 times already. I think we're all clear on the fact that porn lies to you.

Allow me, your guide on this journey, to paint a picture for you. So you can understand my feelings.

It's 9am. Neither me nor my poor twin sibling have slept. I was at one of my jobs, they were uh... Staring at the ceiling. We're both just fucked. Our good pal Sydney's dad comes in for a fun and informative science lesson! Yaaaaaay! But then for some ungodly reason your old man decides to show us all a sex tape! The poor bastard I popped out with's sat next to me. Let that knowledge sit with you.

Now I've seen my share of butts. I'm accustomed to them. My sibling? Not so much. Kind of person that regularly throws their little cardigans at me to make sure I'm covered up enough to be okay outside. They aren't coping with this whole your dad's bare ass on screen situation. I think one day their sleep deprived brain will crack and they'll start crying in class and make a scene.

Apologies for the superlong message no rush with the response or pressure to match the length at all but this was important + also wayyyyy too awkward to tell you in person for obvious reasons. Pls help.

~ @poorsadorphanposting (Esmee •⌄•)

Esmee!! Greetings! :D Everything's fine. This Tumblr thing has proven to be... strange so far. I fear a lot of people have gotten too comfortable with the anonymous feature, though. It was foolish of me to not expect that.

As for the favour, I... Um. I don't really know what to say. I'm not too familiar with how he runs his classroom, but that certainly sounds... peculiar?? The way you painted a picture of your day was convincing and I have no reason to believe you're lying.

I hate to say this, but... It makes me glad I don't take his class. He always tries to lecture me about those kind of things, and that's strenuous enough. To be shown a graphic demonstration, countless times??? Oof. That's unnecessary. I hope Edin is alright, I too would be very rattled.

I'll talk to him for you. Teaching the same lesson 20 times over is redundant and exhaustive. I mean, really. How many times do you need to see something to get it in your head? Not that many. :/

Uh... Before I do, though. I just want to clarify...

1) You're sure sex tape is the right word? It's more graphic than just a teaching demonstration?

2) What is the lesson he's teaching exactly? Why does he think it's necessary to show that?

3) You're sure its... him? I mean, in your message you were very clear that it's my "dad's bare butt", but... Hm.

Thanks. Sorry for my hesitance, I don't mean to pry, but this is the first I'm hearing of any of this. I want to make sure I've got everything clear.

[troutfur]

Last night I was contemplating Bluestar/Rosetail/Snowfur/Thistleclaw and how much Bluestar and Thistleclaw’s hating each other and their having to raise Whitestorm together while hating each other would be heightened in a pfurr, so if you want to do anything with that, I’d love to see it!

Great minds gathering on my ask box it seems!

Bluefur/Thistleclaw/Snowfur is also one of the pfurr dynamics that I have Thoughts(tm) on and which I think illustrates an interesting aspects of this dynamics in play. Much as Thistleclaw and Bluefur may hat each other's guts they share custody over Whitekit by virtue of sharing a nest and the polite pretense that his siring is in any way uncertain.

Thistleclaw can't revoke Bluefur's custody by declaring his siring, that's not a privilege he has as a pipfurr --a non-birthing parent. And Bluefur can't split from Thistleclaw either, the custody battle is certain to go in his favor given that even if there is a polite pretense to uphold in siring uncertainty with regards to a cis molly, there is still a concept of right to custody by siring.

Now adding Rosetail to the mix though! I'm thinking the play here for the girls would be to try expulsion! So, here we are, Friday night and I'm writing cats strategizing divorce court tactics. What's my fucking life come to?

(If you want to accelerate my rapid descent even further, send a prompt. For the next few days I'm looking for dynamics that fit within the pfurr dynamic worldbuilding concept I have. So if you go with something like that you've got a good chance I'll pick yours.)

Bluefur dragged her paws behind her as she headed for the warriors’ den for a well deserved late-afternoon nap. Without a care she collapsed right on top of Rosetail, where she brought her paws to her face and let out a grumble of frustration.

“Tough day?” the molly under her ventured, soon slipping out to better accomodate herself around her empf --her nestmate-- where it would be more comfortable for her to groom her tired face.

“Take a guess as to why,” Bluefur replied.

In the moons since Snowfur’s death Thistleclaw had been wearing her down ever more. It wasn’t uncommon for them to have multiple fights a quarter moon, although no longer as had been their custom over his overly aggressive approach to border defense to which he hoped to convert everyone. It all came down to their son nowadays, how he’d encourage him to pick fights with the other kits, how he’d encourage him into recklessly aggressive games, how he himself played with him.

Ever since they’d lost Snowfur there was no recourse with him. She always had a way to assert herself against him (and Bluefur a way to voice her concerns so that they became her sister’s as well), to remind him that as wipfurr --mother, the one unique parent-- she had ultimate say. But now that all that Whitekit had nothing but pipfurrs --fathers, the interchangeable parents-- his equality in their position had emboldened him like nothing before.

Bluefur sighed. “Whty haven’t we expelled him yet?”

Rosetail frowned turning to Bluefur. “You’re joking right?”

Was she? “It at least wouldn’t be the worst idea. We could even make him a hug’koo,” the word means cuckoo but refers also to someone who has been kicked out of a pfurr --their peculiar form of family based on sleeping in the same nest-- “on the spot, just refuse him entrance into the nest when he comes by later.”

“Bluefur!” Rosetail chastised before giving out a sigh. “If you really want what’s best for Whitekit why don’t you try finding more of a middle ground with his ssuf ?” that’s sire, in their language, “Wouldn’t that be more helpful for him?”

“What would be helpful is that he stops trying to turn him into some sort of frenzied boar like him,” Bluefur retorted. “I know he is your brother, but surely you can’t stand him either as of late, right?”

Pointedly she ignored the question regarding her littermate. “How do you think it’s going to go if you just try to cut him off like that? Who do you think the Clan will side with as to who should be responsible for Whitekit?”

“I would think the side that can offer Whitekit more than a single pipfurr has a fair chance against an ul-arrapipfurr,” Bluefur argued. The word means ‘lone father’, something any kitten would be extremely unfortunate to only have one of. “Think about it. Please. I have seen you and I know it bothers you as well. We can end it easily, in no time.”

“Just go to rest, Bluefur,” Rosetail finally said, shoving her empfs face into their nest as she shuffled around in the nest.

[fluffypichu876]

my thoughts on dark souls 1 so far!  

- i honestly believe that people exaggerate a little about the difficulty in this game. sure, it's a challenging game that will kill you over and over until you learn to play it, but it isn't the nightmare some make it to be! in fact, i find it to be quite forgiving in its own very peculiar way. i dunno man, maybe sekiro over-prepared me for this game xD

- on a similar vein, i didn't find the controls to be clunky at all. of course, there are some weird design decisions, like the roll being executed at the release of the button, instead of the press (creating a small delay ok this is certainly my gaming masochism speaking but i actually like the roll delay. it makes dodging feel strategic instead of just mindless roll-out-of-anything-you-see), but it still feels very comfortable to play. i think most players are at first caught off-guard by the slower pace, the stamina system, and the full action commitment, but with time you get used to it and start to notice how much this type of design adds to the game.

- the level and map design is simply amazing. i'd say it's one of the game's biggest strenghts. everything is just so well connected and coherently put together that the lack of fast-travel (until anor londo at least) doesn't bother me at all. this complements really nicely with the slow pace, as it ensures that you're actually paying attention to the enviroment and taking note of every path you take (i got like 95% of the whole game map so far memorized. i can easily tell the shortest path from one area to another just by recalling each shortcut). as a metroidvania fan this makes me very very happy!

- guidances, summoning and bloodstains are very interesting takes on online co-op. fromsoft has this habit of making sure every mechanic fits seamlessly within the lore, vibe, and immersion of their games, and i really appreciate that. there are barely any ui menus that take your mind out of the world of lordran, and instead items that you can use like anything else in your inventory to engage with other players, complete with some in-universe lore about it.

- the bossfights are cool, fun, and fair but sometimes they feel a bit samey. (unsurprisingly?) the duo bosses (gargoyles and O&S) are my absolute favorites so far. they just flow really well with the combat system.

- the ost is very good and the boss themes really deliver that feeling of standing against beings far more powerful than yourself (i know i'm talking about ds1 but sekiro's ost is very underrated. how come no one talks about the father owl theme? it's sooo damn good!). the game is pretty silent though, and most of the time you only hear the sounds of your own footsteps, the clinging of your armor, the goddamn archers in anor londo...

- not sure why durability exists? it's kinda pointless tbh. most weapons and equipment last for a very good ammount of time, and repairing them isn't that costly at all. it's not like botw, where durability is a motivator for exploration (still not the biggest fan of that system tho), here it just, exists.

- miyazaki you evil bastard why did you create curse WHY

- also FUCK THE WHEEL SKELETONS ALL MY HOMIES HATE THE WHEEL SKELETONS

- solaire my beloved

- siegmeyer my beloved

- lautrec i'm going to fucking murder you

- solaire my sunbro he is the best

- black knight sword is such a wonderful weapon i love it very much.

[thelampisaflashlight]

Valid but Copia starts threatening to put the ghouls in the home whenver they misbehave. Meaning he makes them knit sweaters and do very cutesy arts and crafts... some ghouls love it the others hate it (also if Sister Dorothea is Copia´s kid does that make her like.. 1/4 demon.. is she magic.. or does it just give her a kind of fucked attitude... /pos)

Copia keeps them busy for sure, or else the chaos would be nonstop... though this doesn’t stop one or... eight... ghouls from misbehaving now and again.

As for Sister Dorothea, there’s a couple options as to who her biological father could be, and since Copia is kind of flighty on the matter, she’s gonna work on that whole paternity test thing at a later date.

If you asked Dorothea’s mother, an unwise decision on two parts, she’d probably blame her daughter’s peculiarities on demonic possession, but it’s less so demons and more so that growing up somewhat isolated made her a bit... well, there’s nothing that says it isn’t demons exactly... but you get the idea.

Dorothea is by and large just like that, I suppose, though there’s definitely more to it than that.

Magic wise, Dorothea hasn’t noticed any special powers or anything of the sort, but it could be a lack of guidance/self awareness that’s preventing her from actually being able to do so. Maybe Sister Imperator has some answers... although it’s probably best not to ask.

[diospyros-kaki]

Turns out I still very much hate cooking.

Long rant under the cut, of course.

Sooo. Today was pasta day, which is a lot of work (why the fuck did I ask the father what he would like to eat), and since I know this and, well, hate cooking, I woke up already in a bad mood (mentally, if it makes sense, because my anger tends to be the quiet kind. I don't huff and puff or yell or slam doors or whatever, though I can be curt depending on circumstances. I prefer to go to a corner and bottle up and die from it someday).

Anyway, cooking in general takes a lot from me and the result is often simply passable, so I expect to invest time and energy and reap frustration. And since I came to the childhood house, all meal prepping goes on me, because the father is a shit cook and is unwilling to learn because, get this, it takes a lot of time that he could better spend on his own needs/interests. Funny. But uhh I'm getting off track I think. The point is every time we go grocery shopping I get more spices in the so far futile hopes of getting the smallest reward for my efforts, because by the time I'm done and we get to eating I can't taste anything anymore. Anyway, so, the pasta I've been making consists of, well, pasta, grinded meat and store bought tomate sauce (I know, hang on) that I touch up with real stuff, but this time I had to make almost each one of those at a time because I was so irritated I couldn't watch everything at the same time (see: left the pasta in hot water for too long after turning the heat off and overcooked it). All in all, this time around everything together (other than what I cited above) consisted of:

One real better-suited-for-salad tomato;

Two real better-suited-for-sauce tomatoes;

One whole onion;

Something like half a dozen garlic cloves;

Bell pepper;

Tasty-but-not-spicy pepper (don't know the name in English)

Black pepper;

Pepperoni pepper;

Basil;

Oregano;

Parsley;

Nutmeg;

Ginger because I was desperate;

Bacon;

Salt.

And what did I taste once I was at the table? Bacon. And not even overpowering, just kind of there. Every time I try to go heavier on the spices, and every time it still tastes like nothing. At this point I don't know if I'm doing something wrong (still putting too little somehow, since my hand is independently cautious, or at the wrong time or with the wrong technique, etc...) or if it's simply the effect of being overexposed during the process.

The father's opinion doesn't help: he can only say it's good, but there are several problems with that: first, he gets hungry early, meaning if lunch is anything past one thirty in the afternoon (which is what happens more often than not because *I* don't get hungry that early and making lunch is a bitch) he eats quickly without tasting anything; second, I actually doubt his capacity of tasting, or at least paying attention to flavor, because of things such as he didn't smell the potato he left in water to sprout going bad, or, he seemingly can't tell very well the peculiar taste of the store bought sauce (I use it to puff up the sauce because making enough of it completely from scratch gets expensive); third, he is very much unknowledgeable in food making in general by his own volition.

Like, what should I do at this point, put the whole herb packages in?? I'm using dry herbs, is that the problem???? Fresh might be more complicated to obtain... Is it overexposure even if I still can barely taste it in the next day? Is it too little spice? Is something wrong in the process? Is something wrong with *me* somehow? (I doubt that is the case, I can taste other things as normal) Also I forgot I wanted to try olive oil instead of regular oil this time, maybe it could make the smallest difference. Should I just go for more outlandish seasonings?? If so I'm open to suggestions.

I feel like giving up, honestly. Just use simple pre made seasonings and stuff where I can and call it a day, since I am seemingly wasting my own efforts apparently only for the benefit of someone who can barely appreciate it (the problem is, pre made often does taste stronger, but also... not badly but uh dunno, weird. Distinctly pre made, you know?) . It's all too tiresome and makes me hate cooking even more. And asking the father to help is useless, because as I said he knows barely anything of the subject, and he's also taking care of providing our bread and cakes* for breakfast and snacks so he thinks we're even.

(*He wanted to spend less on groceries and have better quality things to eat, so he bought a machine for that; all he needs to do is put the ingredients in and clean up afterwards. There's no machine for making lunch tho.)

In short: cooking is terrible and I will probably hate it forever.

[frank-a-mori-son]

“Extremely detailed character sheet template”

Character Chart

Character’s full name: Frank Daniel Morrison Reason or meaning of name: The name Frank is after his Grandmother, Francesca and Daniel is his Fathers name. Character’s nickname: Killer, Frankie, “Hey asshole!”  Reason for nickname: First for obvious reasons, second also, last one is just heard enough for it to be. Birth date: February 14th 1977

Physical appearance

Age: 19 years old How old does he/she appear: he could be confused for someone down to the age of 16. Weight: 65 kg/ 130 pounds Height: 173 cm/ 5′8′’ Body build: Lithe but athletic Shape of face: Heart Shaped Eye color: Brown Glasses or contacts: None, but he’ll need it once older Skin tone: White with neutral undertone Distinguishing marks:  2 visible facial scars, beautymark under right eye Predominant features: Large neck tattoo Hair color: Brown Type of hair: Straight Hairstyle: Currently an undercut Voice: Tenor voice Overall attractiveness: He’s got rouge-ish charms, so pretty attractive Physical disabilities:  Hypermobility in his joints, unknown condition. Usual fashion of dress: Pretty casual, borderlining grunge and punk rock Favorite outfit: band tshirt, faux leather jacket and jeans Jewelry or accessories: He’d love piercings but has none, always wears some type of gloves.

Personality

Good personality traits: Resillient, loyal, brave and charismatic Bad personality traits: Bad temper, snarky, self critical Mood character is most often in: Agitated Sense of humor: Dick jokes and slap stick Character’s greatest joy in life: Making decisions for himself Character’s greatest fear: Becoming his parents Why? Due to how they ruined not only their lives, but that of an innocent child too. What single event would most throw this character’s life into complete turmoil? At this point that has already happened, making a grave mistake with unthinkable consequences...  Character is most at ease when: With people he trusts/cares about or if completely unnoticed Most ill at ease when: Overwhelmed by attention from strangers, feeling judged by peers. Enraged when: Made fun of, harrassed, hit or when someone he cares about is hurt. Depressed or sad when: Thinking of past mistakes, regrets and worrying about present/future. Priorities: Himself and those closest to him Life philosophy: Enjoy while it lasts, they or you won’t be around forever. If granted one wish, it would be: Freedom for those he cares for. Why? They do not deserve to be trapped in this realm, but he feels he does. Character’s soft spot: Quentin, Susie and dogs. Is this soft spot obvious to others? Quentin is very obvious to most Greatest strength: His will to keep fighting Greatest vulnerability or weakness: His own mental health and trauma Biggest regret: Dragging his Legion down with him Minor regret: Failing at ending himself Biggest accomplishment: Accepting his own sexuality Minor accomplishment: When he made it onto the basket ball team Past failures he/she would be embarrassed to have people know about: The one time he got himself roofied on accident Why? he was trying to impress some older kids and failed badly. Character’s darkest secret: The fact he killed someone. Does anyone else know? His Legion and Quentin knows

Goals

Drives and motivations: Motivated to keep himself and those he cares for safe in the Entity realm. Immediate goals: Spend as much time with his boyfriend as possible, get many smooches Long term goals: Somehow, find a way out of the Entity realm. How the character plans to accomplish these goals: He has no idea, but he knows he can count on Quen to help How other characters will be affected: Hopefully, it’ll be a positive effect

Past

Hometown: Calgary, Canada Type of childhood: Rough and unstable Pets: None First memory: Being locked in his bedroom, the stench of sweetened smoke coming through the door crack and loud angry shouting from below. Most important childhood memory: His Grandma coming by on Christmas morning with a gift for him Why: because it was the first time he got a gift for xmas, it was sadly also the last time he saw his Grandma. Childhood hero: He really looked up to one specific foster dad, a good man. Dream job: Veterinarian  Education: High School Dropout Religion: Christian but not practising Finances: Shaky at best, below poverty line.

Present

Current location: Ormond, Canada Currently living with: Foster dad, Clive Anderson Pets: None unless you count house flies Religion: Agnostic Occupation: Unemployed Finances: None existing. 

Family

Mother: Lorraine Beatrice Morrison Relationship with her: Strained, disconnected Father: Daniel Patrick Montgomery Relationship with him: Tense and disconnected Siblings: Step-sister, Step-brother (both Fathers side) Relationship with them: None, he doesn’t know about them. Spouse: Quentin is his boyfriend Relationship with him/her: Good! very good, they’re very much in love. Children: None Relationship with them: Nothing Other important family members: Grandparents (Mothers side) who are still alive and miss their grandson.

Favorites

Color: Red, black and green Least favorite color: Pink and yellow Music: Death metal, Rock, Punk, retro Food: He’ll eat pretty much anything, has a huge sweet tooth Literature: He’s not a fast reader, so he doesn’t read. Form of entertainment: out with friends, listening to music, exploring and sports. Expressions: “Well, fuck” and “heck!”  Mode of transportation: Other people’s cars, otherwise, his own two feet. Most prized possession: His faux leather jacket, as it’s bought with money he earned honestly. 

Habits

Hobbies: Basket ball, art and climbing Plays a musical instrument? No, but he would’ve loved to learn Plays a sport? Basket ball! How he/she would spend a rainy day: Probably at a friends house or at their usual hangouts. Spending habits: he spends very little money as he rarely has some, but he does shop lift often. Smokes: Yes Drinks: Oh yes Other drugs: Usually just weed, though he has tried a few other things once or twice. What does he/she do too much of? Getting in trouble, drinking and smoking What does he/she do too little of? Eating, sleeping, bathing, just generally taking care of himself. Extremely skilled at: Most physical activities Extremely unskilled at: Reading, writing, maths....  Nervous tics: Foot bouncing, pacing, lip biting Usual body posture: Looks relaxed, but shoulders tensed. Mannerisms: Talks with his hands a lot Peculiarities: He’s a basic bitch in secret, he likes the big ass, sugary, cllorful and extra frappes but he’ll get them in secret like they’re illegal. 

Traits

Optimist or pessimist? Pessimist, or realist as he would say. Introvert or extrovert?  Ambivert! He can go both ways, depends on situation. Daredevil or cautious? Daredevil!  Logical or emotional? A little bit of both, though most often ruled by emotion. Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat? More like Disorderly neat, he doesn’t have enough stuff to make a mess and though he doesn’t enjoy it, he’s often the one to do dishes and laundry at home. Prefers working or relaxing? He really likes relaxing, but if he’d like working if he got a job he enjoyed Confident or unsure of himself/herself? He’s faux confidence most of the time. Animal lover? Yes. Very, very much so. Especially dogs.

Self-perception

How he/she feels about himself/herself: he considers himself damaged, unworthy and incabable of love. One word the character would use to describe self: Survivor One paragraph description of how the character would describe self: Out loud he’d call himself “a badass free spirit”  What does the character consider his/her best personality trait? His ability to get up even when knocked down. What does the character consider his/her worst personality trait? His insecurity What does the character consider his/her best physical characteristic? He thinks he’s got a pretty nice bod, all things considered. What does the character consider his/her worst physical characteristic? His scarred hand, his big ears and his slight buck teeth. How does the character think others perceive him/her: As a bad boy, rebel, problem child and misfit. What would the character most like to change about himself/herself: Many things, though he really like to be taller 

Relationships with others

Opinion of other people in general: They just want something from him and they’ll leave once they’ve gotten what they wanted. Does the character hide his/her true opinions and emotions from others? Often until he trusts them, then he’ll start opening up. Person character most hates: Clive, his parents, Ghostface Best friend(s): Julie, Joey and Susie Love interest(s): Quentin Smith, but Steve is handsome too. Person character goes to for advice: Depending on what it is, Quentin or Susie Person character feels responsible for or takes care of: Susie is like a little sister to him Person character feels shy or awkward around: Jeff, it’s all very complicated Person character openly admires: Jeff, again, complicated Person character secretly admires: David. He’ll never say why. Most important person in character’s life before story starts: Nobody. After story starts: His Legion and, the light of his life, Quentin.

Snatched from here

[whump-town]

Was Hotch Abused?

I offer you my 2,300+ worded thoughts on the matter with episodes included. There's going to be lots and lots of talk about abuse so you're going to want to steer clear of that if that's something you're not cool with but for those of you interested... I give you all the proof I could think of:

Natural Born Killer.

In the eighth episode of the first season, “Natural Born Killer”, we meet Vincent Perrotta. His father was abusive but from the outside looking in, no one knew a thing. Perrotta started drinking at fourteen and committed petty crimes, as well as assault, for pleasure. Going as far as to kill his own father not too long after. But Perrotta is a monster and a psychopath so it’s clear we’re not supposed to sympathize which makes his interaction with Hotch so peculiar.

Hotch is our “Captain America”. A true neutral with an infinity for doing what’s right so it’s inconceivable to compare him to Perrotta and yet Hotch gives us some rather conflicting lines to dissect.

Before Gideon hands the interview over to Hotch, he spends a moment talking with the others out in the bullpen. The whole time he’s leaned back and he’s watching Morgan and Hotch. Now, at this point, we don’t know about the sexual abuse Derek Morgan faced at the hands of Carl Buford but there’s something about the way that Gideon spends the entirety of the conversation only looking at the two of them. Waiting for them to put together what he clearly already has and when Hotch does…

Hotch jumps straight into Perrotta’s profile, asking: “You grew up in a house that looked normal and happy, didn’t you Vincent?”, “But your father beat you every chance he got”

Perrotta excuses it with a shrug, “he smacked me around some, didn’t everybody’s old man?”

Abuse is a complicated thing and, often, abused children just don’t know what their parents are doing to them is abuse. It can be a subtle and outright thing but there’s an element of normalcy to it. The parent’s abuse is as habitual, as minimal as biting your nails to the child. Adults often can’t identify their parent’s past abuse.

With Hotch you learn that his lack of expression is often as telling as his expressions and as Hotch looks back at Perrotta, there’s something so sad about his eyes. His voice goes from loud, assertive to his whispered answer to Perrotta’s question. “No.” As if, well, maybe that’s a question he’d raised once too.

Perrotta doesn’t care about that though and he taunts “well, maybe if yours had you would have learned to fight”. But is it not more telling that Hotch didn’t make a sound? Perrotta got in several hits and the only sound Hotch made was when the wind was literally punched out of him. Not even when Gideon called to him and at that point, Perrotta did not the garrote around Hotch’s throat. That’s another thing mentioned before in the profile and something Hotch mentions to Perrotta directly. You learn to take the beatings, smile even. So, it’s just a little odd how little Hotch responded…

But that’s all nothing, you can take that how you want

Which leads us to the fateful, not everyone comment.

"You were just responding to what you learned, Vincent. When you grow up in an environment like that, an extremely abusive and violent household... it's not surprising that some people grow up to become killers"

That can’t mean NOTHING, there’s so much there but there’s something about Hotch’s subtle wording. The way he’s unconsciously slipped himself in there (a very real thing that people do) and he hasn’t even realized it. Doesn’t even know he’s done it until Perrotta pushes and he pauses, asks what Perrotta means. And the subtly of it, the way he doesn’t even mean to that says more than anything else.

“And some people grow up to catch them.”

It’s a super-specific comment to make. He can’t possibly be talking about Derek because he doesn’t even know about Carl Buford yet not to mention saying that about him would be incredibly rude if he were talking about Reid (and again, he doesn’t know about Reid’s childhood yet). So… that really only leaves him because JJ, Garcia, and Elle were not abused.

“P911”

In season two, episode two “P911” the team is hunting down a man trying to sell a young boy, Peter, on the black market. Kevin Rose is an underage boy “selling” himself on the internet while his abusive father has been in prison. I’ll let you just guess who it is that leads the team on finding out more about Kevin.

Your guess is more than likely right-- Morgan and Hotch. Now, we know about Morgan but come on. Nothing to say about it being Hotch who makes the emotional appeal?

The camera even follows his gaze, he’s crouched down (to appear non-threatening because he’s so close) and we watch his eyes take in the scars on Kevin’s chest. You can also note that while Gideon remarks that Kevin’s father was “always drunk, you never knew why he was hurting you, why he was so angry” both Kevin and Hotch look away from him.

AND FUCKING TRY AND TELL ME THE “some grow up to catch them” LINE WAS NOTHING TRY BECAUSE GUESS WHAT GIDEON SAYS? NO, NO GUESS--

Gideon: “At night you’d cry yourself to sleep hoping someone would come and save you”

And it’s HOTCH, HOTCH IS THE ONE TO SAY: “You have the chance to be the one who saves someone, Kevin. You can be the one who answers him, the one who stops his pain.”

PARALLELS PEOPLE THE PARALLELS

“Profiler, Profiled”

I bet you weren’t expecting this one, huh? But there’s something about people who faced trauma that makes it so perceptible to other traumatized people-- they sniff it out like coke to a drug hound. And, just guess, who it is that spends the majority of his time fighting with Morgan? Who knows (like I said about the bloodhound) immediately there is something Morgan’s hiding.

Hotch is angry, he’s upset that Morgan would hide anything. Mumbling about there being “larger implications” and how the team can’t have secrets. With the knowledge of exactly what that secret is it makes Gideon’s eye roll a little telling. Because it’s like they both know but neither will say. Driven home by Gideon turning the attention to Hotch, asking “would you want us profiling you?”

And again Hotch is the one to leap onto the abuse. The one to put the pieces together. Hotch’s anger makes no sense. He says he’s angry that Derek’s keeping a secret but the team has many, way too many. Over the years the team unwraps all kinds of secrets, he’s never angry then. So, it’s not about the implication of a secret at all. It’s what the secret is, like misplaced anger. Anger with himself may be leftover from his own abuse. But still…

Hotch lets Morgan escape. Knows exactly who and what Carl Buford is but all he tells the team is that “he won’t even speak about him”. He always knows how to find the abuse… like I said, a bloodhound.

George Foyet

I know you’re going to find this so fucking surprising but guess who also was abused? George Foyet was beaten by his biological father and his mother didn’t save him so he hates women (bleh, men are disgusting what’s knew).

Now, blah, blah, blah Hannah, I know you’re not about to say Foyet and Hotch are a lot alike-- no of course not. Don’t be silly. What I’m going to say is that they’re foil characters? They accent one another in an opposites sort of way. Foyet is a manipulative narcissist who doesn’t work well with others. Hotch is a guilt-ridden team leader who can’t let The Reaper’s case go. There are meant to be comparisons drawn between them. A good villain does that. George Foyet shows us that Hotch is not at all this removed, cool guy that we’ve previously assumed him to be. He cries in an alley because he blames himself when The Reaper kills a busload of people.

We see he has a rather compulsive nature. He never let The Reaper case go and has very personal ties in this case. Not even after Foyet attacks him, if anything it’s worse. He brings the case file home.

But it’s certainly interesting to see yet another “villain” with that same tragic abusive father and submissive mother come into play with Hotch. We’re nearing a point where it’s getting hard to call it coincidence (and according to David Rossi, there simply is not such thing).

Haunted.

In the second episode of the fifth season, “Haunted”, Hotch voice’s over a Dickinson quote: “One need not be a chamber to be haunted, One need not be a house; The brain has corridors surpassing. Material place.” These quotes are often cheesy, if not a little cliché, but given the premise of this episode is in exploring the ways in which a man’s traumatic childhood has left him now grappling for a truth he can not define… well, maybe we can say the writers were onto something here.

Darrin Call, debatably the Unsub of “Haunted”, was abused by an alcoholic father. We see several signs of it throughout the episode-- Darrin’s delayed speech & severe neglect that leaves Darrin in dirty, hole-riddled clothing. If what we see is not enough, the reports that the team is given on Darrin explicitly state that he was extremely physically abused. It is this abuse that leads to the PTSD that he’s diagnosed with.

As sad and disheartening as Darrin Call’s life is, overall it’s the sort of episode that is forgotten over time. When it’s placed right after the episode that viewers have to watch Hotch say goodbye to Haley and Jack then, who is Darrin Call when compared to the agony of watching Hotch show genuine weakness? After watching Hotch lay in a hospital bed, tears in his eyes wondering if his son will remember him? His fears become our own and after watching George Foyet disarm and mutilate the one guy we’ve been led to believe for five seasons is infallibly, unflinchingly never going to break… well, Darrin Call has it bad but our focus is elsewhere.

It’s on Hotch, right?

The guy who is coming back to the job after only a month (and a day) off to recover. Who Morgan worries might have PTSD but he knows they can’t easily measure because Hotch wrote the questionnaire, he knows all the right answers. Who we see has had new locks installed since the attack and has Foyet’s file sitting open on a table for easy access. Who hears Darrin Call’s life (worked the same job without promotion for years before getting fired, no wife, no kids, a hermit) and bluntly asks why Darrin hasn’t just killed himself.

And let’s just take a moment to break down that comment. Hotch, who in the episode previously lost his wife and child, wants to know why a man who is steadily starting to sound a lot like him hasn’t just killed himself.

And I don’t say “sounds a lot like him” lightly.

Darrin Call has PTSD. Hotch, more than likely, has PTSD

Here are some signs just from that episode: hostility (he yelled at Garcia over something very small), self-destructive behavior (he ran into Darrin Call’s father’s house without a vest, back-up, or telling the other’s what he was doing), and guilt (blamed himself for missing the eye twitching Darrin exhibited because of his years of antipsychotic use)

Darrin Call was abused… this marks the second HEAVILY implied time that Hotch has been compared to another man abused by his father

Vincent Perrotta was the first with that hard to forget the exchange

George Foyet and his notably exactly the same past as Perrotta

“Haunted” feels like it’s supposed to prove to the audience that Hotch is losing it. He distances himself from Morgan, leaving every room that Morgan is in. He doesn’t pick up Garcia’s calls after Darrin Call attacks his therapist. The only glimpse we see of the old Hotch is with Emily, pulled to the side, but his guilt burns and he even brushes her off. Shaking his head and turning his back to her because somehow he should have seen something no one else did.

Throw in Reid’s comment about Call “victims are often drawn to the scene of their first trauma” and we’re painfully reminded of Hotch’s apartment. A place you’d think he’d want to escape but didn’t. The man was stabbed nine times in his own apartment and stayed in that same place. Almost sounds like that statement could be applied to Hotch too.

A dash of Hotch’s own comment about where Call would go to in his confusion and he says “to what he knows”, even the importance of how that orphanage is “where he became Darrin Call”. Where does Hotch go? What does Hotch know? The job.

So… we tally now three total Unsubs that Hotch has this direct relationship with. Three Unsubs with abusive fathers and mothers who couldn’t protect them. Hmm… coincidence?

Brothers Hotchner

Supervisor Special Agent Hotchner is a master of hiding, that is undeniable. It’s hard to see anything behind those furrowed brows and impersonal suits and that’s likely for a reason. However, anyone with a little sibling can tell you that no one on this Earth can and will annoy the ever-loving shit out of you like a sibling.

But that’s not really important. Sean and Hotch don’t talk about their parents. At all. Ever.

Hotch says that when Sean was in the first grade he got sent off to boarding school. “I was the screw-up making bad choices”. Interesting enough of a statement to make but you throw in the rough ages of Sean and Hotch at that time and it’s a little more than just “interesting”. You have Hotch at roughly 14-15 getting into trouble just like Morgan did at that same age (coincidence???).

(now you can certainly look at Hotch’s parentification vs. Sean’s immaturity doubled with substance abuse problems but we’d be stretching. “The Tribe” touches on the parentification but Sean just calls it “the big brother” thing and tells Hotch that he’s not Sean’s father and it’s fine it’s whatever. Hotch is a bit pushy. That’s not new. Substance abuse can just be a problem, it doesn’t have to be bc they were abused but again… a little coincidental)

So... was Aaron Hotchner abused as a child? I certainly think so

[thewincestgospel]

Wincest and J2 High School Fics

2028 AD by inlustwithsammy 

It's in 2028. Sam and Dean got reincarnated and they have no idea who they were in their past lives. They live a normal life as high school students. They grew up as best friends who live close to each other. Dean is still a playboy. Sam is still a nerd. Some things never change.

a first time for everything by riyku  In which Jared announces that his family is moving, and Jensen suddenly becomes very concerned with time.

A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More "Touch Me" by gothpandaotaku

Sam Winchester, the jaded new kid at school. Dean Winchester, the school badass who rides a motorcycle to school every morning. When they collide, sparks fly- the wrong kind. It's hate at first sight. But over time they find they have a lot more in common than they thought...

All The Other Kids  by AureaMediocritas   Dean and Sam roll into another high school. The first weeks through five students' eyes.        

Baby Steps by cherie_morte    AU: Jared is nine years old when his mom marries Jensen's dad.

The Ballad of the Invisible Boy by dollylux   This is a story of adolescence. This is a love letter for the slow burn, for Led Zeppelin, for the 90s. This is the first of two sets of stories about how Sam and Dean didn’t fall in love. They never had to. It was always there, this desperation between them, like a real, breathing thing. When they came together, it was inevitable. As sure as continents colliding, as the phases of the moon and the life and death of stars. This isn’t a love story, but it’s a story of love.SeriesPart 1 of Invisible Boy.

Becoming What We Pretend To Be by locknkey  In a fit of pique Sam brags to his high school friends that he can get Dean as his boyfriend. Dean's never been able to say no to Sam. Pretense is a slippery-slope when you're romancing your brother and it's all too easy to for the lines between what's real and what's fake to become blurred.

Bend and Break by Winmance  If Jared had to describe his life, he would say that his life is lonely. Between the bullying and his parents lack of interest, the only true joy he has is Jensen, the baseball player with who he's having sex. But everybody has a limit and Jared is about to find out his own.

Best Birthday Ever by ballsdeepinwinchesters prompted for: w[ee]cestiel + bottom!Sam For Sam’s sixteenth birthday, he only asked for one thing. He didn’t want a car, or money, or even a dog (Dean hates dogs). All Sam wanted was to get f***** by Dean and his friend, Cas.

Bitchface No.5 by bookworm1805   There's a new kid in school and Sam is being a bitch, but Dean doesn't see how the two things are related.5 stars

The Craziest Thing by thefourofswords  Sam and Dean find themselves de-aged back to 18. The only solution anybody seems to have is to go back to high school.

Crown and Anchor Me (or let me sail away) by Sena Sam Winchester is fifteen years old, at yet another new high school in yet another state, he doesn't get along with his distant, distracted father, he's figuring out that he likes guys just as much as he likes girls, his clothes never fit and his limbs ache at the joint ever since his growth spurt started, he has to study for the PSAT and, oh yeah, he's a little bit in love with his brother, Dean, who's taken a break from hunting monsters to work at a local garage for minimum wage.

Flagstaff by  Linden  John tracked Sam down in Flagstaff, four days after he got home to find him gone.

Go, Dean... by orphan_account  Prompt: Teenage Dean joining the football team and Sammy cheering him in the stands, Dean calling him his little cheerleader and making him wear the outfit while he rides his big brother... How's that for enduring football?

“Thought you wanted to be my little cheerleader, Sammy,' Dean said, tossing the gathered supplies onto the bed and crawling back between Sam’s legs. His lips sealed themselves to Sam’s, and he kissed him breathlessly. 'Loved watching you bounce up and down out on the field, everyone watching you, wishing you were theirs.'”

Good as New  by  sixtysevenlmpala  When an asshole at Dean and Sam's high school breaks Dean's amulet, he doesn't react well. But as always, Sam's there to make it better.

Hope You Don't Mind by compo67  Jared has no problems being an introvert in a family of extroverted women. He enjoys his alone time as a freshman in high school... that is until signs for prom start showing up. With both his sisters going, he begins to wonder if maybe his time alone is a little lonely.

I'll Give You What You Like by soulmatecest Jared is, by all means, the worst cheerleader in the world.He absolutely fucking sucks; Jensen’s not even sure how he made it to the cheer squad and why would anyone take a look to his really bad dancing moves and still think ‘oh yeah, we definitely need to get some of that for the team.’Jared is honestly a disaster at this.And yet, Jensen has done pretty much nothing apart from staring at him most of the game as Jared dances terribly in a short skirt. Because even if Jared sucks, he’s also the most beautiful omega Jensen has ever seen.

The Jock and The Nerd by JuniperLemon  Unrelated Wincest High School AU. Sam and Dean go to the same school. Dean asks the school nerd, Sam, on a date. Little do they know that it'll lead to so much more. Is there more behind Sam than what meets the eye and how will John react to Dean's bisexuality?

Kiss Me by lotrspnfangirl  Worst case scenario: Jensen would be freaked out and spend the next three weeks until graduation, completely avoiding Jared and not speaking to him. And as much as that would hurt… It was only a dollar to get a kiss from Jensen at the kissing booth.

Little Pieces by compo67 Jensen the Bad Influence is better known as the town hellraiser. He stays out late, skips class, and takes bets on chess games after school. His partner in crime happens to be Jared, raised in a strict Catholic-Protestant household, and reigning chess champion. Together, they've skimmed five hundred dollars from their classmates with no end in sight.If they can survive high school, conquering the rest of the world must be a piece of cake.It just happens that the world has something else in store for them--something no one planned for in a million years.

Mr High School by  kinkylittlered This is for a bingo competition on livejournal. Each chapter has prompts. AU Sam is a popular boy in high school and Dean is an invisible boy who is coming to terms with his sexuality. Each chapter will have different warning, eventually leading to slash

Putting On A Show by BewareTheIdes15  Lightning fast Dean's grin slants into sly and Sam's stomach lurches hard enough that his lungs get jealous and jump in on the action. Without so much as a glance in Sam’s direction for approval, Dean lifts one shoulder and says, "I'll make out with Sam."

Say the Words by dollylux  A new boy rolls into town, and Jensen Notices. (And... his girlfriend notices him noticing.)

Touch and Go by versaillesatnight  Dean Winchester doesn’t date. He fucks around, sure, but the whole dating thing? He’s never seen the appeal. Enter Sam.

Verses Like Yours and Mine by rivers_bend Sam and Dean are regular brothers--no hunting, no demons--who fall in love anyway.

White Knight by echoes_of_another_life  Jensen is a senior and protects shy freshman Jared, who is being bullied.

Worth It by saltandbyrne Turns out the only thing more uncomfortable than sitting through class with a half-woody and a pair of panties wedged up your ass is doing it while your panties are soaking wet from your brother's mouth.(Sam is 14).

You Didn't Listen When You Went To School by Posse Magnet (rhink_is_my_kink)  The kids at school know the new Winchester brothers are different. Everything about them is strange. From the way Dean effortlessly completes any physical challenge that gym class can throw at him without even breaking a sweat. To the way Sam is the smartest kid in all his classes, even though he's a freshman, and all his classes are college-level and full of seniors. But the most peculiar thing about the Winchesters, the thing that everyone notices: the way they come tumbling out of empty classrooms, closets, bathroom stalls, untidy hair, messy clothes, cheeks flushed with a color that’s almost as intense as the color of their lips.

you're a real f*ing page-turner by  grace_fully Jared's days pretty much all run together, one big muddy mess of emotional turmoil and confusion and shitty friends and shittier classes. not to mention that his best friend is equal parts awesome and a complete jerk, his little sister is also kind of a jerk, and he thinks privately that someday his books are going to be the only thing to stand by him in the end. luckily, life has a way of turning things around on him.

Your Pretty Face Is Going to Hell by sonofabiscuit77 While the Winchesters are living in a small-town trailer park, sixteen year old Sam accidentally spies on his brother with an older man. The discovery triggers feelings in Sam that lead him and Dean down a path which will change their lives forever.

[jacks-wylan]

Follow me home

Here’s my @thewitchersecretsanta for @itsmajel. Sorry for the late, darling! I hope you like it, even if it’s not what I had in mind at first and rushed a bit at the end (life got in the way sobs). Still, i hope you appreciate geralt and jaskier being horse girls, the almost-not-fake-marriage and a little cameo of Valdo Marx that does nothing at all (but come on, everyone wants Valdo to be present at Jaskier’s wedding right?)

                                      ❀

The missive is delivered right in his hand one fine morning, at the start of spring. Geralt is minding his own business, sipping a piss–tasting ale in the darkest corner of a tavern in Oxenfurt, and he's waiting for his bard to deign him of his flamboyant presence as he has done for almost twenty years now.

Jaskier is late, though, and Geralt can't help but frown, worried, when a boy – a young boy, dressed in a rich uniform – bows to him and calls him Sir Witcher, handing him the letter. To be honest, the whole gesture scares him: no one ever bowed to him before.

When he opens the missive, Geralt sighs, recognizing immediately Jaskier's flourish handwriting.

“My dearest friend,” he reads, and that is not a good sign. “If I only try to write the real reason of my absence there by your side in Oxenfurt, a single parchment would not be enough, and I am quite sure you would not even read the whole ordeal, ignoring my request of aid. Once you reach for me here in my birthplace, I will explain everything. Please, my friend, I beg you to come here in Lettenhove as soon as possible. I don't have much time left.” Geralt blinks, “What the fuck.”

Geralt feels his heart dropping down in his stomach, dread pooling there as he scrambles up from the chair, grabs his swords, leaves some coins on the table, and runs outside. He doesn't even mind the next words written in the missive, the gentle, “Yours always, Jaskier.”

He just puts the already crumpled piece of parchment in Roach's saddlebag, hops on the horse, and heads towards Lettenhove – ignoring the shouts of the same boy that has delivered the missive. He knows the way, he doesn't fucking need company, and also, whoever he was he would just slow him down.

And Jaskier hasn't much time left.

He rides for a day and a half, avoiding inns and taverns, sleeping just when needed. He follows the seashore, remembering from conversation that Geralt pretended to ignore that Jaskier passed his childhood bathing in salty waters, breathing fish–smelling air. He remembers that whenever he played in Kerack courts, he always said that it felt like home.

Jaskier never once mentioned Lettenhove, though.

Geralt arrives in Lettenhove by twilight. It's a cheerful city, decorated for a festivity he has no knowledge of. There is a bonfire in the middle of the marketplace, already lit, with some people dancing and drinking wine around it, children laughing and screaming as they play catch. He watches around, in search of a familiar colorful figure, but he sees nothing of importance, so he heads toward the nearest tavern, set on asking every single soul if they know anything of Jaskier the Bard.

He growls at the stableboy, when he takes Roach's reins from his hands. “You know of a bard around here?” he asks the boy, helping him take the saddle off Roach.

The boy nods, guarded, “Well, yes! A bard is going to play tomorrow, for the wedding!”

“Wedding?”

“Don't you know, sir?” the boy cocks his head to the side, watching him from the other side of Roach. Another one that calls him sir, that's kind of creepy. “The long lost Viscount is finally going to marry tomorrow! That's why we are all celebrating.”

Geralt hums. Jaskier probably has been called to play at his birthplace court, and he needs assistance for this. Maybe one of the many ladies he loves is the future bride of the Viscount, who probably Jaskier hates for no reason at all, and for this Jaskier has brought misfortune upon his head: what if he's imprisoned? What if tomorrow, instead of his performance, Jaskier will be hanged beside the bonfire because he fucked the wrong maiden?

Damn him and his cock, “And this bard, you remember his name?”

“No, sir. I'm just a stableboy.” the boy shrugs, “Don't know who're the lord's hosts. But I got a glimpse of him when he came the other day, and he's really...” he scrunches his young face, “Excessive.”

Gods, yes. That's definitively Jaskier.

Geralt nods as a thanks, trying not to think about the the worst, and heads towards the inn. It's not the first time Geralt has to pay for Jaskier's debt in order to take him out of prison, and it's definitely not the first time he has to help Jaskier escape from imprisonment, and yet, now something seems... off. Geralt can't quite pinpoint what, though.

He eats soup, and drinks water. No one is looking at him feed himself alone at a table, too busy in the wedding's arrangements to pay attention to a lonely Witcher – as weird as it is. He takes a room, and the innkeeper doesn't grimace nor make him pay more while handing him the key, and it's probably the merry time around that makes all this people happy and all, but it still feels so damn strange.

“We will tell the Viscount of your arrival!” says the innkeeper, as he goes upstairs. Geralt just shrugs: he doesn't know why, and he doesn't care. If they have a job for him, he can ask Jaskier's freedom as a payment, at least.

For now, he just drops his belongings on the floor next to his bed, and lays on it to try gaining some sleep. Tomorrow, whatever happens, surely Geralt has to fight against something – be it a drowner or two, or a regiment of soldiers.

The next day, Geralt wakes up with someone stomping as they run up the stairs, stopping in front of his door and knocking loudly, too loudly. He groans, and glancing at the window he left open the night before, he notices that it's barely dawn – he has a half mind to just ignore the nuisance and go back to sleep, but he suddenly remember why he finds himself in Lettenhove in the first place and thinks better of it.

Slowly, he gets up, passing a hand on his eyes to wipe the sleep away, and the person on the other side of the door hasn't enough patience nor time, this morning, because they knock again and shout: “Geralt! Open up, I know you're awake, you oaf!”

Geralt blinks. That voice is definitely Jaskier's.

He walks to the door and unlocks it. Immediately, Jaskier pushes the handle, and if Geralt wasn't a fucking Witcher with quite good reflexes, the angle of the door would have definitely hit his forehead. Not a great start, for the day, it would be. “Geralt! My darling friend! You are here just in time!”

“Jaskier.” Geralt says, calmly. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“What does it mean, what the fuck I am doing here?” Jaskier passes under his raised arm to enter inside his room, in his hand a heavy bag from where a mouth–watering smell comes. “That was I that called you here, remember? I believe you got my letter. I brought breakfast!”

Geralt grits his teeth, following him as he makes himself at home. “Yes, that's why I don't understand why you aren't in prison.”

Jaskier frowns, as he puts fruits and sweet rolls out of the bag. “I totally have no idea why you think I should be in prison right now.”

“You little– here, look.” Geralt grabs his satchel and takes out Jaskier's letter, showing him the peculiar words he'd chosen. “Please, my friend, I beg you to come here in Lettenhove as soon as possible. I don't have much time left.” he reads with a growl. Gods, seeing him here safe and sound is a relief, but he feels like he's been mocked, and it irritates him. “I though you were in danger, Jaskier, so I came here– wait, why you signed it...? Yours always...?”

Jaskier tears the letter off his hands, a panicked expression twisting his face, “It was in the heat of the moment, alright? I though I was gonna die any day without you – I mean, without your help to take me out of this mess. Don't mind it!” he folds the letter and puts it in his silk trouser's pocket. “Anyway, I think that explanations are in order.”

“You think?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. Then, he motions at the food he's served on the bed, “In the meantime, eat. The tale is long, and kinda boring.” Once Geralt is seated on the floor by the bed, a sweet roll in his mouth, Jaskier seems to be enough satisfied to start explaining. He does it with a huff, blowing a strand of hair away from his eyes – and Geralt no, he has totally not followed the motion with barely concealed awe, “My friend, before your arrival, I really thought this would have been the end for me. You are my only hope to make it out alive.”

“What have you done?” Geralt asks, flatly.

“Absolutely nothing – apart being born. You see, my darling Witcher, there are things that are... expected from me. My father actually pretends those things that I, no, I totally refuse to do. One of those things, is marring a completely unknown rich woman just for the sake of... you know, I really don't know why. Perhaps is because people will now stop spreading rumors about me, or worse yet because my father expects an, ugh, an heir. From me! My sister gave birth last summer, and he still expects me to have an heir! Isn't one enough, I wonder? How many heirs a Count needs, to be in peace with himself? It's really beyond my comprehension.”

“Jaskier, wait.” Geralt almost chokes on the sweet roll he is swallowing at Jaskier's words. Did he hear it right? Is he talking about marriage and children? Is he really Jaskier the man in front of him, or he's a doppler trying to fuck up with him? “The wedding is yours?” he asks, and that was really the last of his worries, but evidently all his mind and mouth were able to elaborate is just that.

“Unfortunately, yes. Thank all the Gods that you are here just in time, Geralt! One more day, and it would have been one day too late.” Jaskier walks towards the window, and looks down at the decorations with a dreadful grimace pulling his mouth. “Can you believe that hateful man how far is gone with this farce? With this charade? Hell, he even called the worst bard of the entire Continent to play during the banquet!” he sniffs, outraged. “But you're here! I shouldn't have doubted you! I have a plan to make all of this blown up, and you are the centerpiece of it.”

“The stableboy mentioned this bard. I thought it was you, by his description.”

Jaskier gapes, widening his big, blue eyes in a comical way, “Sad that he's gonna lose his job for this! Gods, how dares he compare me to that... that scoundrel–”

Geralt shakes his head, an amused smile tugging his lips. He's gonna admit it, he feels mostly confused by the stream of words coming out of Jaskier, as always. He just understands that he has an important role in his plan to not get married, and he guesses that he will help him regardless of his motives. Jaskier is... a free spirit. Geralt can't see him married off with someone, unless his wife–to–be is alright in never see him again because he'll be too busy walk the Path with him.

Hm. That is why the thought of Jaskier married is so foreign, so strange, so unbelievable? Because that would mean Geralt will never have him around again, in that case?

Geralt frowns, and raises his eyes to look how the bard is still muttering offenses against the young stableboy, “Isn't the Viscount the one who's gonna get married?”

“Yes, 'tis I, Julian Alfred Pankratz, the willingly estranged Viscount that has finally returned home to his so boring obligations and blah blah blah.” Jaskier motions in the air with his hand. Then, he blinks, looking down at Geralt, “I did never tell you this, didn't I?”

“That you were a fucking Viscount? No, Jaskier.” says Geralt, and he knows that he's able to conceal the bitterness in his voice – and yet, considering the guilty faces Jaskier is making, he probably didn't do it right this time.

“I beg for your forgiveness, my friend. I never told you this not because I don't trust you, because I do. You know that, and never doubt it again.” Jaskier sighs, and finally he walks away from the window to sit next to him on the floor, “It's just that... I always run away from this life, even in my mind it's always been like I've never lived here before, never borne here, that there weren't people waiting for me to stop being egoistical and take my responsibilities. This is the reason I never mentioned it before, you have nothing to do with that.”

Geralt can understands this, and he'd be too hypocritical of him to say that he doesn't do the same – he, too, runs away from unwanted, from scaring, responsibilities. So he just nods, and Jaskier smiles, relieved.

“I bet you are wondering why I am here, then. Why I don't run away from here once again.”

“I bet you're gonna tell me anyway.”

Jaskier gasps, a hand dramatically posed on his lips, “That I'll do! How did you know that?” he chuckles, then gets quiet. “Mhh, well, it's for another egoistical reason. I'm just tired to run away from... from what is my home, after all, I hate it or not, it still is. My mother died this summer, and I wasn't here to give her one last kiss. Actually, I don't ever remember the last time I've seen her, and now all I have is a grave.” he shrugs, as if he doesn't even care. Geralt can smell, though, in his scent, a touch of sadness, and regret. “My sister gave birth to the chubbiest baby I've ever met in my entire life, and I wasn't here for her. I wasn't here for her for her wedding either. What I'm trying to say, Geralt, is that I want too much to be free to also come here, just once in a while, to bring present to my nephew and lay flowers on my mother's tomb.”

Geralt clears his throat, slightly uncomfortable, “I'm sorry for your mother.”

“Don't be. Last time I've seen her, I was eighteen. My sister almost didn't remember my face, when I came here a couple of months ago.”

Geralt hums, and grabs an apple. “So, this plan?”

“Yes, the plan.” Jaskier claps his hands, and absentmindedly accepts the apple Geralt is handing him. “Today is the wedding day, and I'm going to meet the lovely lady my father has chosen for me, but! Listen this, because you will totally praise my brilliant mind this time.” he takes a bite at the apple, munching with fervor as he tries to gather the words to explain his so brilliant plan, and Geralt feels a smile tugging at his lips at the sight. He's ridiculous. Geralt is, too, obviously. “I organized a horse race.”

Geralt frowns, “Good.”

“It'll make sense, hear me out. I somehow convinced my father to accept this my... caprice. He thinks that it is just to entertain the guests, but I made very clear that it will be the winner who's gonna marry me! At this point, I guess my father doesn't really care who will be my bride, as long as I'll be married once and for all. And, and,” he stops Geralt before he could ask clarifications with a finger closing his lips, “I will participate. You will do in my behalf, of course, you know I can't ride a horse for shit, and I am so sure that Roach will make the other horses eat her dust! I will win the race, and I'm gonna marry myself.”

“That's...”

“Brilliant?”

“Stupid. It will never work.”

“Whaaat?” Jaskier pouts, crossing his arms against his chest, “Why? It has to work!”

Geralt knows that nobles gets embarrassingly excited by these kind of things – the scoops, the scandals, and whatever they comports – but he doesn't think that a scam like this will work. Not that Geralt knows his father at all, in what way he's going to react at Jaskier's, hm, trap, but if he really wants Jaskier married and soon–to–be–father, he won't surely accept the whole 'I won at a game so I will marry myself' thing.

Hence, this is stupid. But looking at the sad pout on Jaskier's face, Geralt can't find in himself the power to tell him that his plan has all kinds of holes in it. So, he mutters, “If... if you're sure about it.”

“I am! So, you're on?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Of course,” Jaskier rolls his eyes, fondly, as he does every time Geralt says something uncalled for. “You always have a choice, my dear. After all, there will be a lot of nobles, a lot of meaningless chatters, a lot of stabbing behind the backs, a lot of songs from a terribly bard. I wouldn't wish it even to my worst enemy. Well, sure, without your help I'd die within the day, slicing my own throat with a cutlery out of desperation and boredom, but this is not a forcing towards you by any means.”

Geralt smacks his shoulder, and Jaskier shrieks an amused ouch, massaging the hit spot. Put like this, he no, he really doesn't have a choice. How could he leave him be, when Jaskier is looking at him with those puppy eyes, with his lower lip slightly protruding, with those desperate words about his demise?

Well, he knew that he wouldn't have any choice since he received his letter back in Oxenfurt.

“Fine.” he sighs, then, “What do I have to do?”

“Nothing too complicated, darling. You just have to be faster than my... fiance's horse. Actually, I think Roach would do most the work. Never joined a horse race before?”

“Have you ever seen me in one?” he asks, rhetorically. No one would challenge him in anything, nor offer him to join a competition that, usually, is for noble's entertainment, so it's naive of Jaskier to ask something like this. But Geralt knows that Jaskier, most of the time, doesn't fully comprehend how people take Geralt at arm's length, and gets mad when he witnesses the – maybe deserved, maybe not – cruelty they have towards him.

“No, but maybe you have in my absence. Who knows what you do when I'm not around!”

“I do what I always do, Jaskier. I walk the Path, I fight, and I try to survive. I have no time for games.”

Jaskier scrunches his face, clearly discontent of his words, “So unfair.”

It doesn't matter if it's fair or unfair, it's still Geralt's life, and Jaskier needs to understand that nothing will ever change, no matter the fact that he doesn't like it and he deems it humanly wrong.

So Geralt doesn't respond, and a quiet silence falls on them whilst they finish their breakfast. Jaskier wipes away the apple juice from his mouth with the hem of his luxurious chemise, and the gesture is so little nobility that Geralt still doesn't believe the fact that in front of him there is a Viscount. That the bard that followed him for almost two decades is a Viscount – and he had no clue at all.

Jaskier winces and grimaces, when people start to shout and sing and claps from the roads outside. “We need to go. My wife–to–be is probably arrived.” he rolls his eyes, raising from the floor and reaching out to help him do the same. “I bet my precious lute that she is as unhappy as me about this arrangement. Gods, I don't even know her name! She probably doesn't know mine either! This is bullshit.”

Grabbing his stretched hand, Geralt prepares himself to what's about to happen.

He doesn't have a good feeling about this.

Jaskier's fiance is flawless, with a curved body and straight blond hair. She's not a teenager as Pavetta was during her wedding – the only banquet Geralt has ever participated, and he's for the first time in all his long life praying that this won't end like hers ended – and she walks with her chin held high, an expressionless stare pointed in front of her. Maybe it's her face, but Geralt thinks that Jaskier is probably right, and she's as unhappy as he is in this whole situation. After all, a lot of years passed since Jaskier was twenty and ready – for his father, at least – to get married: she has probably found someone else to love in Jaskier's absence, because her brown, stricken eyes resemble so much Pavetta's.

Well, Geralt thinks. Maybe Jaskier's plans will work, if he has his fiance's support.

Geralt watches as Jaskier and his fiance's meet for the first time in the farthest corner of the main square, with Roach neighing quietly next to him. Jaskier's eyes are full of pity, as he, with a sweet, small smile, kisses the back of her hand, so lightly that his lips doesn't even touch her sun–kissed skin. They don't exchange words apart for empty pleasantries, and Geralt feels an hollow inside of him at the sight.

He doesn't want a meaningless, unloved marriage for Jaskier.

He nudges Roach forward as the cheerful crowd follows the soon–to–be–wed couple to the magnificent palace at the end of the main road. He doesn't think Geralt will be welcomed there inside, no matter what Jaskier wants – he is too busy with his father and fiance, right now, to mind his comfort – but he thinks that, at least, he can go in the Pankratz's stables, considering that Roach will be one of the horses that will compete.

He is surprised, though, to find a servant in there that shows him the way inside the palace, indicating him where to go to the chambers allocated to him. He's too confused to try asking for explanations, and too stunned to growl at the stableman as he takes Roach's reins from his hands.

Maids prepare him a bath, and new, perfumed clothes are brought to him. Geralt doesn't feel enough relaxed to take off his armor and stay only with the clothes Jaskier – obviously – sent to him, so when he heads to the stables again, he tries to ignores the confused stares from servants and maids as he walks the corridors with frilly, clean clothes under his stained, clearly old armor.

In the stable, he finds himself to be surprised again, when he sees Jaskier nuzzling Roach's nose, hugging her neck from time to time as he murmurs sweet nothings in her flicking ears. “You will be my forever heroin, Roach, if you win this race. I know, I know, it's child's play for you, my horses – or, everyone's horses, don't get so offended, Gods – are snails compared to you, my girl. Still, you have to give all your might, regardless of the incompetence of others.”

Roach snorts, and tries to bite Jaskier's fingers. Geralt suffocates a laugh just to not interrupt whatever is going on between her and Jaskier.

Jaskier gasps, but the idiot doesn't take his hands off the horse, “You're so touchy! I didn't say that you are incompetent! Gods, sometimes you are worst than your owner. Ohw! I said sometimes!” his words are followed by a couple of kisses on her muzzle that she tries to shy away from – with not much force, though. Geralt knows that Roach is totally able to headbutt Jaskier out of her way, if she really wants to. “Anyway, what I meant, you prickly horse, is that mistakes are not allowed. Not if you still want me run after you throughout the Continent! And I know you want me. Who else is gonna give you this, if not me?” he asks, taking a small sugar cube from his pocket.

Roach stops stomping her foot on the ground, suddenly very docile.

“Yeah, I know. If you help me, dear girl, I will give you a whole bag full of your favorite treats. All for you, to eat all at once if you wish!”

“Are you done spoiling my horse?”

Jaskier jumps and a bunch of sugar cubes falls from his closed palm, “Holy shit, Geralt, do you perhaps want me to have a heart attack? You almost succeeded here!”

“Dramatic.”

“I'm serious, Gods.” Jaskier leans on Roach hugging her with an arm, and she doesn't mind at all, too busy eating all the treats fallen on the dusty ground. His other hands is posed against his chest, at the height of the heart. “That's why Roach is my favorite: she at least huffs and snorts to make her presence known.”

Geralt caresses Roach's neck, and her ears flick in acknowledgment. “Trying to bribe her won't work.”

Jaskier pouts, and frowns at the now clean ground where just second before the treats he brought for Roach laid, “It was working before you interrupted so rudely. By the way, did you rest? I see you changed with the clothes I had sent to you. They are really nice on you, I have to admit, but, dear, you don't need your armor in a horse race.”

“You will never know.”

Jaskier raises an eyebrow at him, “Aaand that's why you are the wise one between us. Uhm, I'm gonna buy you a new armor, though. This one is falling to pieces.”

“You don't have to buy me anything, Jaskier.” Geralt sighs, and drops his eyes off Jaskier to pay attention to Roach, distract himself in adjusting her saddle and controlling her shoes. If she has to race, she has to have all the needed comforts – in no way Geralt would ride her with a broken shoe or a loose saddle.

“But I want to! Whatever. You are saving my life, it's the least I can do. Money won't be a problem at all, on the contrary: for the first time, my father's money – also mine, I'd like to stress – would be finally used for something useful. He spends all our wealth in women and wine, the old fucker!”

Geralt almost says that put it like this, Jaskier isn't so different from his father, but he thinks better of it. So he just hums, letting him continue blabbing about the disgraceful ways his father lives even before his mother's death.

He really has a lot to say regarding this argument. Distractedly, Geralt wonders if Jaskier will remember that they have a horse race to win before it's too late, or if he'll be too preoccupied in blaming his father for all his bad habits to notice the hours pass. He will probably find himself already married the moment he'll finally stop talking.

Suddenly, Jaskier claps his hands, “Now, Geralt, we have to go, we wasted enough time in chitchats. I already talked to my father, and he knows that you will be the other participant. You are competing against the best knight serving my fiance's family – I didn't even bother learning his name.”

“Do you at least know your fiance's name, now?”

“Yes, but I want to forget, as she wants to forget mine. We want absolutely nothing do to with each other, and believe me, for the first time in my entire life, I'm relieved to know that someone hates me.” Jaskier shrugs, and takes his hand in his, tightening slightly his long fingers around his much larger palm. For a second, he gets distracted by the casual gesture: he will never comprehend how a man's touch can be so warm, how can it make his skin tingle so strangely and yet so pleasurably. “Let's go now, I want to show you where the racecourse is located. It's a circular racetrack, really, the horses have to run around the stands where my family and my fiance's family will be to watch the... the challenge, and the first one that reaches the starting point is the winner.” he sniffs, “I feel strange, Gods, I'm starting to feel anxious. Don't get me wrong, I know you are going to win without any doubt, but I can't get out of my mind the feeling that something will go irremediably wrong.”

Geralt has the same feeling since the very beginning, but he just follows Jaskier silently out of the stable after giving Roach a see–you–later kiss on her muzzle. He doesn't add anything more to Jaskier's worries, and he mostly ignores the townsfolk that stop them on their way to the racetrack, giving Jaskier gifts as small bouquets of wildflowers and flower crowns.

A young girl tries to give him one too, and Geralt almost panicked as he crouches before her and she puts the too small crown on his head. Her mother doesn't even try to snatch her away from him, and Geralt supposes that it's thanks to Jaskier's influence. The whole town is acting as he is just one of the many guests came here for the wedding.

Thankfully, Jaskier doesn't comment Geralt awkwardness.

Jaskier shows the racecourse when they finally reach it, situated in a dusty clearing just out of town. Geralt doesn't care as Jaskier starts telling him how the workers have built this in no more than a week time, but he is particularly aware of Jaskier's hand still closed tight around his.

Jaskier stops midsentence when a sudden strum of a lute echoes around the empty racecourse, and the disturbing scent of anger and disgust coming off Jaskier imbues his senses. They both raise they stares and up on the stands, seated there with no care at all with a lute posed on his lap, there is a bard, apparently.

“What the hell is he doing here?!” Jaskier fumes, and if only stares could kill, the bard would be dust on the ground. “Hey! What the hell are you doing here?!”

“Practicing for you wedding, Julian.” the bard answers, throwing them an amused grin, “There's chaos out there, and talent needs tranquility to reach its peak. Speaking of, why are you doing here? Shouldn't you be back in your chambers to get ready for your grand day?”

Jaskier stomps a foot on the ground, petulantly, “There will be no grand day! Get out of my way!”

“I won't be so sure of myself in your place, Julian. I am sure that someone has distorted your request about this race, and all of this is going to blow out in your funny face. But I am your servant today, so, as the lord commands.” the bard bows with a hand posed against his chest, then hops down the stands and disappears back towards town, as Jaskier's face becomes purple with anger.

Geralt asks, “Who is he?”

“My worst enemy, my recurrent nightmare, my crux and disgrace.” Jaskier passes a hand through his hair, “So, no one you needed to meet, no one important to know.” with a frown, he looks up the sky, a hand shadowing his eyes against the shining sun. “It's almost midday. It's a matter of time for the guests to start to arrive. Geralt, my friend.” Jaskier turns to him and, sadly, his hand leaves the grip on his. “I need to go. Win this race, and I'll be forever yours.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow.

“Forever in your debt, I meant!” Jaskier shrieks, red in face, as he runs away the same way the bard disappeared, a cloud of dust raising from his feet in the haste of it.

With a resigned snort, Geralt turns around to go to Roach and get her ready for the race.

But the bard's words keep swirling inside his head, amplifying the bad feeling about Jaskier's plan: I am sure that someone has distorted your request about this race, and all of this is going to blow out in your funny face.

Well.

The stands are full the moment Geralt comes back at the racecourse with Roach trotting happily next to him. Jaskier is there with his family, seated at the center of it, at one of his side an older man that is his spitting image if not for the gray hair and serious expression, the other his fiance.

A young lady with a chubby baby sits beside his father, and even if she doesn't resemble Jaskier a lot, Geralt thinks that she's the sister he talked about.

Geralt is welcomed with a grand applause, followed by another when a knight in a white armor, riding a equally white stallion – the irony – takes place next to him at the starting point. They give him a thumbs up as Jaskier's father is shouting the rules and the motives of this sudden, at his saying uncalled for, race from his position.

As he talks, Geralt looks at Jaskier. He has a stricken expression twisting the usually smooth lines of his face, a vein popping on his forehead as the same bard they met before sings and strums behind him. He's not relaxed at all, even though he said that he is not afraid of Geralt to lose the race. So, why so tense?

The bed feeling intensifies.

Geralt caresses Roach's neck as she snorts, a bit annoyed by the cheerful crowd around them. He murmurs words of comfort, not dissimilar to the ones Jaskier told her in the stables whilst trying to bribe her – that is, until Jaskier's father shouts to them to get ready and in position.

There is a short countdown, and Roach tenses.

When the “Go!” is shouted, Roach runs. It's blurry after that, all Geralt can see – even with his enhanced senses – is just the road in front of them, all his – theirs – attention is to win this competition and get over with all of this.

He hears the stallion behind him, and Roach cleverly, with his guidance, gets in front of it to block its way, so it can't go past her and it's forced to slow down like this.

Clever, clever girl. A wave of pride overwhelms him, and he's sure that also Jaskier, up where he is enjoying the show, is feeling the same way.

Obviously, he and Roach are the first to cross the finish line, and everyone around them shout and scream and cheer the winner – and considering that it's Geralt the winner, it feels so strange. He drops off Roach and she seems to balks at the praises the people are shouting at her and at her clever talent, stomping her feet at the ground and neighing happily. She even trots around herself, in a very funny dance. Somewhere behind him, Jaskier's laugh trills, louder than any cheer.

The knight drops down their stallion too and gets closer to him. They takes off their helmet and Geralt is surprised to see that his challenger is a beautiful woman, with cropped short hair and a satisfied grin on her sweaty face. She stretches an arm towards him to shake their hands, before going.

“Father!” Geralt hears Jaskier say out loud. Raising his eyes, Geralt sees him standing in front of his father, excitement written on his face. Next to him, his fiance has finally lost her stricken face, and she seems so relieved that she just stays seated there, with eyes closed, and a hand against her heart. “My challenger has won. So it means I won!”

“Yes, my son. The Witcher has won.” repeats his father, calmly.

“Exactly. So I can marry my–”

“Your Witcher. You can marry him. It's what you were after since the beginning, weren't you?”

Jaskier inhales sharply, dropping his mouth wide open. “W–Wh–w–whha–”

The bard bursts out laughing, almost falling down on his butt.

Geralt panics, and hopes he did hear wrong for the first time in his life. He looks at Jaskier, waiting for something, anything that would hint him their next move, but Jaskier seems to be turned into a stone, eyes growing distant.

“I won, father.” he says, in the end, with a thin voice. “I've got to chose, now.”

“No, the Witcher has won, Julian. And you did chose: it was you that organized all of this and let the Witcher participate.” his father says, candidly. Then, he turns towards Geralt, the blue eyes that so much resembles his son's looking down at him with no particular emotion hidden behind them, “So, Witcher. Will you merry my son?”

Geralt is still panicking, sadly. That's why he says, “Yes..?” right before biting his tongue.

Jaskier winces as if slapped. His ex–fiance is looking at the scene with a curious gaze.

The bard is still laughing his arse off somewhere on the ground.

When Jaskier's father claps his hands and orders his servant to take Geralt back to the palace so he can get ready for tonight ceremony, it all clicks in Geralt's mind.

He's fucked.

Three hours later, the sun is almost setting down over the horizon, and Geralt finds himself in his chambers, in front of a mirror, trying to close the white doublet the maids brought to him.

He's angry, and not just because the buttons have no intentions to stay put. He's angry because he doesn't like at all the situation he's finding himself in, and he's even banned from going to see Jaskier wherever he is right now, to ask for explanations, to at least know how is he supposed to do to take them both out of this mess.

He feels like relaxing a bit, though, when he hears familiar steps approaching his door. “Come in,” he says even before Jaskier tries to knock.

Geralt hears a sigh, then opens his door with the utmost care as if scared to make even the smallest of the noises. When the door clicks shut behind him, Jaskier finally raises his eyes to meet his stare on the mirror. “Geralt, I–” he blinks, “Wow. You are quite a sight in white.”

Geralt just snorts, fuming. He gives up trying to close the buttons of the doublet to turn toward Jaskier with a dark glare, arms crossed against his chest, and the strange twinkling inside Jaskier's eyes dim, walking closer to him with a subdued posture. “Geralt... uh, are you mad at me?”

Geralt sighs. And, as always happens, he can't stay mad at him for too long: especially if he looks at him with those puppy eyes, so expressive that they seem to beg more than his mouth could ever do. “No.”

“Oh thank the Gods. I am so, so sorry, Geralt, it wasn't supposed to go like this! I mean, I am actually really surprised that you said yes to my father when he asked you if you wanted to marry me, but–”

“I didn't know what to say!”

“I know, calm down! It's okay, really, I already made up a new plan.” Jaskier says, excited.

“This doesn't make me feel better.”

“Miscreant!” Jaskier huffs, the gets closer and starts ruffling with his clothes, closing the buttons of his doublet and straightening the wrinkles, “I understand that the simpler plan is the most effective. You just have to say I don't, when the Melitele's priestess will tell the vows and ask you again if you want to marry me. The ceremony will be very brief, you don't have to worry about this, considering the little time we had, so you don't even have to prepare a speech. Aren't you happy? All you have to say is I don't!”

“That's it?” Geralt doubts it very much.

“That's it!”

Geralt grunts, unconvinced. “And your father will leave you alone, even if you don't get married?”

“I talked to my sister before coming here. Apparently, being left at the altar is a scandal. No one wants a groom or a bride that another disavowed, no matter the reasons.” Jaskier shrugs, “Gods forbid if an abandoned person gets a second chance.” he adds, sarcastically.

“And you're okay with it?”

Jaskier looks at him incredulously, “You're kidding? I'm more than okay. I don't want to marry anybody, Geralt, not now, nor ever. My life is perfectly fine as it is.”

Geralt finds himself frowning at the ground, something akin at nervousness churning his stomach at Jaskier's words. He should not care, after all, what Jaskier wants to do with his life, it's nothing of his business – and yet, he doesn't like the thought that Jaskier will never want someone stable to love for the rest of his life.

Is he starting to think like Jaskier's father?

Shit.

Jaskier probably notices his face darkens, because he gets even closer and grabs one of his shoulders, tightening slightly his grip when no reaction comes from Geralt, “Are you fine, Geralt? Believe me, I am truly, truly sorry for throwing all my family's mess onto you. But fret not, my friend! This will be the end, at least I can assure you this.”

Geralt looks at him. He has a plain robe on, clearly he was also preparing for the ceremony before sneaking out to come here, to him; his face is blotched red, maybe for embarrassment, maybe nervousness, Geralt can't say; his scent is mostly covered by some sweet perfume he used while bathing. He still is making puppy eyes at him, hoping to soften him as he begs for forgiveness.

But in the end, there's no motive for him to ask for forgiveness: it was Geralt who panicked and said that yes, he wanted to marry him. Thank fuck that it's all going to end soon, because this whole situation is becoming ridiculous.

There's a lot of ridiculous things he's done for Jaskier, after all.

But this? This beats them all.

“Whatever, I have a little gift for you.” Jaskier says, searching inside the pocket of his robe and taking out of there a silk, blue hair ribbon. “I know that I've already broken traditions by coming here, because one should see the bride – in this case, the groom – right on the altar, not before. But,” he says, showing him the ribbon. Geralt touches it with a knuckle, and it's as smooth as it looks. “this one is nice. They say that we need something old, something new, and something blue. You are what we have of old,” he laughs at this, and Geralt just smiles at him, “and our clothes are relatively new. What we missed is something blue, and all I've found is this. May I comb your hair?”

Geralt looks at him, then at the ribbon. At last, he sighs, “Sure.”

Actually, he feels a bit in trepidation as Jaskier commands him to sit at the vanity and settles behind him. His long fingers starts, slowly, almost carefully, to separate the white strands in three parts. Geralt watches as he combs his hair with care and confidence – it's not the first time he does that after all – but somehow this time it feels... different. Sacred, he would say, if only he was a poet.

Jaskier's hums under his breath does help the moment, making it even more intimate. He makes a plain braid, not too complicated, but taking his time nonetheless. Geralt definitely doesn't shivers when Jaskier's fingers brush against the skin of his neck, and no, he's definitely not too aware of Jaskier's breath too close to his ear when he leans to catch loose strands of hair.

Definitely not.

“Here you go!” Jaskier concludes, as he makes a flourish bow with the ribbon at the end of the braid. “Perfection.”

Geralt tells himself that he doesn't notice Jaskier's fingers lingering a bit more than necessary on his hair.

“I should go, now. I hope no one notices my absence.”

Geralt nods, “Hm. Go then.”

“Yeah, I–” Jaskier bites his lower lip, as he poses his hands on his shoulder. Their eyes meet through the mirror, and Jaskier seems to almost be saying something, but then thinks better of it. He smiles at him, with an healthy glow on his cheeks. “Thank you again, Geralt. What you're doing really means a lot to me.”

Said that, Jaskier leans towards him and leaves a smooch on his cheek, loud and a bit wet.

Then, he literally runs. “Ta!” he shouts as the door closes behind him.

Geralt freezes on the spot, a hand pressed on his cheek, where the ghost of that brief kiss still lingers there. His head completely shuts down. What the fuck was that?!

His mind can't make a coherent thought for the rest of the evening, finding himself by the altar without knowing how and when it happened. Jaskier is slightly late – if he understood well, they were supposed to reach the altar together – but Geralt knows why he isn't here yet, and in his altered mind he still can't get over that kiss.

Not that Jaskier never touched him before, being so tactical and friendly even with complete strangers – but, but kisses were always off limits. Combing hair? Yes, sure. It happened plenty of times. Massages? Also okay. Geralt still remembers fondly when Jaskier helped with his very uncomfortable problem on his bottom. Sleeping together and finding their limbs tangled together the morning after? Nothing wrong with that at all, it always happens when friends sleep together.

Right?

Hm. Put it like this, the kiss – on the cheek, mind you – seems to be the less intimate thing they've ever shared.

Then why..? Why does it bother him so much?!

Jaskier appears next to him on thin air, apparently, because Geralt didn't acknowledge his arrival at all, not until his tense laughter trills beside him as he almost trips on the last step of the altar. When he motions at him to try and steady him, Geralt's mind shut down again as his eyes finally fall on him.

Jaskier is also dressed in white like him, with golden embroidery running through his doublet and trousers, and he has an ephemeral aura around him that almost blinds his eyes. Jaskier returns his gaze with a sheepish smile, a blush on his cheeks and a quick shrug, as if to say Sorry for the late. Even if it's all a farce, I had to be on top regardless.

And on top he is, fucking hell.

Geralt can't quite take his eyes off Jaskier, as the Melitele's priestess starts talking out loud for all the guests to hear. Every time Jaskier notices his gaze, Geralt lowers his eyes as if caught doing something prohibited. Gods, he feels like a teenager. He feels like a real groom on his real wedding day – maybe? He doesn't really know what a groom may feel during a wedding.

This exchange of stares happens three times more. At last, Jaskier chuckles and the priestess looks at him oddly.

Suddenly, Jaskier takes his hands in his, raising them at heart length. They both turn towards each other, staring into each other faces. Geralt panics slightly, having heard not a single word that came out of the priestess' mouth. Jaskier is biting his lips, red in faces – he's probably trying to suppress one of his usual loud laughs. He's laughing at him!

He doesn't matter that at the moment Jaskier is the most beautiful man he has ever seen in his pitiful long life, he's ridiculing him and now he's mad. Kinda.

“I do.” says Jaskier, solemnly.

Geralt frowns. What was the question?

The priestess nods, then turns her pretty face towards Geralt, “And you, Geralt of Rivia?”

Shit. Fuck. What was the question?!

“I...” he asks Jaskier for help with a begging look, but Jaskier just tilts his head to the side. “I... do.”

The priestess nods again, but Jaskier blinks, “What?” he mouths.

“Was that..?” Geralt panics, because oh Gods, he now understands that the question was the question, the only question he needed to answer, the question Jaskier clearly has told him to say I don't. “Shit, no. I don't. I... don't.” The priestess jerks as he tries to mend his terrible mistake, “I don't want to marry, you heard me? I don't.”

Chaos erupts around them as Jaskier's father shrieks a “What?!”; the bard laughs his arse off again somewhere, hidden in the middle of the crowd; Jaskier's sister has a hand on her lips, feigning a surprise she doesn't really feel.

Jaskier is, instead, looking at him with a curious expression. Their hands are still tangled together in a firm grip, and Jaskier tightens slightly the grip to bring his attention on him and him only – not that Geralt had attention on anyone or anything, or else this mess wouldn't have happened in the first place, but still. Jaskier's thumbs are caressing the back of his hands, and the gesture is making him so aware of him and totally not of their surrounding.

“You said...” Jaskier prompts, after a minute passed just looking at each other.

“I panicked.”

Jaskier chuckles, “I noticed. Why?”

Geralt pursues his lips. Fuck, Jaskier is mocking him again, “I was distracted, and I haven't heard what the priestess said, so–”

Jaskier says, “You were looking at me, I know this. I distracted you?” Jaskier gets closer, almost a breath away from Geralt's face. Geralt feels trapped. “Tell me, I distracted you? Were you enough inebriated by my presence that the thought of marry me crossed your mind, and you weren't against it at all?”

Geralt says nothing.

“Geralt?”

“Will you marry me?” he blurts out, regretting it the second after. Yes, alright? He was thinking since that blasted kiss in his chambers that he would mind being Jaskier's husband, and being kissed again, and maybe meet his nephew and accompany him to bring flowers to his mother's tomb. So? Sue him for living in a fantasy for once in his life.

“No, darling.”

Of course not. How could he? He didn't want to marry that beautiful lady, surely he has no intention to marry a blasted, stinky, grumpy Witcher. “Alright.” he swallows down the bitterness of rejection, even if he shouldn't really feel so bad. He knew the response the second he asked, so.

Jaskier rolls his eyes, though. He actually feels really surprised when Jaskier leans on him and kisses him. Not a smooch on his cheek, no, a kiss on his lips. His head, obviously, shuts down again so he doesn't reciprocate, just enjoys the soft lips moving on him, and finally his scent, under the layers of sweet perfume, reaching his nose. “Silly Witcher. No, I don't want to marry you, or anyone really. I believe that I needn't to demonstrate to no one my love: not to my father, and not to Melitele herself. So I needn't a frivolous ceremony and a signed contract, a white doublet and a hundreds of testimonies to love you 'til death do us part.”

“Okay.” says Geralt, even if nothing is okay, because surely he got something wrong? He doesn't think he fully understands what Jaskier means.

“You marvelous, silly, naive man.” Jaskier sighs, fondly, “Did you know that we can make love even without a marriage contract? Let's leave everyone to their scandal. My sister is having the time of her life, she'll take care of everything.”

“Make what?” Geralt's almost afraid to ask, but Jaskier's expression is soft and fond – he seems in love. More than he's ever been, that is.

Jaskier winks, “I'm gladly going to show you, love.”

What happens next is a blur, Geralt notices just Jaskier's kisses, hugs, and soft, naked skin under his fingertips.

This time he understands the whole situation very, very clear.

[captain-emmajones]

love languages

Here is my contribution for CSJJ. Big thanks to @csjanuaryjoy​ for organizing this, to the CSJJ discourse server and its wonderful ladies, to @carpedzem​ for cheering me on always and to @profdanglaisstuff​ for beta'ing this <3

Post 4x11. During the six weeks of peace. It all starts with Mary Margaret reading a stupid article about love languages at breakfast, and before she knows it, Emma finds herself asking Hook his as they are stargazing by the docks.

Canon Compliant -- Fluff -- Banter -- Missing Scene -- Ao3 -- 1,5k words.

A veil of mist hangs low in this January night sky; it dances around a crescent moon wreathed in a halo of silver light. The moon is peering at the scene, down below, by Storybrooke’s harbour.

And what a scene, my dear...

Two figures dressed in warm clothes are sitting on a bench, wrapped up in one of those large checkered blankets that they share; the taller one seems resolute on examining the stars in the night sky, brows furrowed in a focused expression and fingers clenched around a spyglass.

That is quite unfortunate, thinks the moon, for the clouds are impish that night and stubbornly hide their secrets. His companion sits cross-legged at his side, one hand cupping her chin, eyes set on the man’s silhouette and the moon wonders what could possibly be so interesting on this man’s face for the woman not to look up at her.

There is a shift then, in the woman’s composure, and the moon sees one gentle hand grab the man’s arm as a cloud of white smoke escapes her lips.

The moon winces; she knows the silence is about to be shattered.

“Hey, what’s your love language?”

This stupid question has been on the tip of Emma’s tongue all day, tingling and burning, and Mary Margaret and the article she read aloud at breakfast are entirely to blame for it.

Emma is lucky that the rum they drank at dinner with her parents is still coloring their cheeks red, and that a flame seems to be licking up her throat, because it is a delicious burn and saves her the embarrassment.

“Sorry. Say that again, Swan?”

He does not turn around. As something mischievous stands up in Emma’s chest and pouts, Emma wants to groan that there will be no stars to be seen tonight. How dare he not pay attention to her when she let herself be lured by his talks of “star-gazing”?

Instead, she admires the hint of red coloring the apple of his cheeks and the wisps of breath he exhales calmly through his nose.

“I mean, what makes you feel loved?” she asks again, and she tries to sound more annoyed than she actually is.

Which is, actually, not at all, but he most absolutely does not need to know that.  

The expected result occurs as he swiftly shifts to gaze at her, his blue eyes flashing in the dimness, and that sinful tongue licks a pattern across his lips.

“Swan, are you drunk?” he teases, smirking a bit, but with a lot of tenderness.

She chuckles as he clicks his telescope shut without breaking their gaze.

Her legs do feel heavy as lead, and her head deceptively light as a cloud, but that she won’t tell him, not on any account.

“Am not.” And if Emma’s head lolls to his side, terribly tempted by his welcoming shoulders, it must be because of gravity or something.

But she does not cave in, and she raises her eyes to see his entire face crinkling up in a delightful, devilish way and Emma wishes she could kiss each little spot of skin the moon dabbles light on.

“Yes, you are. Should have watched you and Mary Margaret’s cocktails.”

While Emma does think there is something to be said about her mother’s cocktails, she still rolls her eyes and frowns, even as stubborn laughter keeps bubbling up inside her throat and is making it difficult to keep a straight face. “Just answer the question!” And her fist gently bumps against his shoulder for good measure.

He dramatically sighs next to her, one eyebrow quirking up in that peculiar way that makes her toes curl, and she hates him for it but she also wishes that he may never stop.

“...What was the question again?”

She exhales a groan of discontent. “Killian!”

“Emma?”

Another groan. He will be the death of hers. “Your love language! What is it?”

“My love language, you ask? Well, mmmh, let me think.” And as he pretends to ponder, tapping his fingers against his red, red lips, tap, tap, tap, Emma finds herself leaning towards him, against her will, magnetized.

But she catches herself and proceeds to frown harder, hand closing around the cold wooden bench instead of the lapel of his coat. They are trying to have a conversation, for fuck’s sake.

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and Emma blinks because she cannot stop looking at his mouth.

“Ah. But Swan, we have a problem.”

“Do we?”

His lips, over hers, now. Forever, preferably. The delicate shadow dropped by his eyelashes onto his cheekbones is infuriating.

“Yes. As a matter of fact, although I am familiar with many languages, I’ve never heard of that love language theory of yours.”

It’s a miracle she hears anything he’s saying.

“It’s not my theory,” she mumbles right back, and she can tell by the lovely, lovely sparkles in his blue eyes that it is exactly the reaction he wanted out of her.

“Care to explain it either way?”

She thinks she shakes her head then. He is annoying. This is far more than she ever signed up for. She just wanted to tease him, and now she is the one being teased. Truly a terrible turn of events. That doesn’t mean she can control the smile that tickles her lips.

“Well,” she clears her throat, straightens her back, tries to appear very serious, “there are five traditional love languages.”

“Yes,” he encourages her, smiling widely, “I’m all ears, Swan.”

Her cheeks hurt from all of the smiling. It’s okay. He and his stupid big blue eyes are worth it.

“Well, first, there are words of affirmation, like a loved one telling you they are proud of you or that they lo--...you know what I’m saying.”

I’m a fan of every part of you, Swan.

And the thing is, she hears herself utter the words, and she does think that she does not sound like herself at all -- talking about love languages with Captain Hook -- but also Killian and she have been dating for the last couple of months now and this isn’t like anything she’s ever done before and maybe it isn’t so bad.

“Interesting. Do go on.”

In fact, it cannot even be remotely bad when he keeps staring at her like this, as if she is really precious and important and he cares or something.

“Then there’s quality time, like feeling loved when you’ve spent a precious and unique moment with a loved one.”

Right now, we have a quiet moment.

“Mmm, I see.”

“And then there are acts of service, and that goes without explanation.”

I knew Bae as a boy. Perhaps I could talk to the boy. It would help him come to terms with his father’s passing. And me.

“Fair enough.”

“Then there are gifts, of course --”

“Like the rose I offered you on our first date?”

“-- like the rose you offered me on our first date --,” she repeats. Before a bucket of cold water is spilled on top of her head as she realizes what he’s just said and what she’s just agreed with.

It’s a good thing the street light above their head is doing a poor flickering job because by the time Emma has pondered her own words and has reflected on how naturally Killian said that last line, well, she’s flushed a bright red.

He doesn’t mean that he, that they, that she...does he?

An alarm rings inside Emma’s head. Beware! Slippery slope of feelings ahead!

And instead of thinking one second more about this, Emma heaves a quiet breath, blinks, and exhales sharply: “-- yeah and the like.” As she looks up, she notices Killian’s smug grin.  

And something very soft, in his eyes, something very soft and terrifying.

“What’s the last one?” he asks in a husky whisper as swirls of white vapor escape his mouth to kiss Emma’s lips.

She gulps. Exhales. “Physical touch.”

By the time she says the words, he is hovering dangerously close to her, and his hand is slipping into her hair, curling around the base of her neck, and the tingles it diffuses all over her skin are simply illegal.

“Like that?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

She nods, lips tight, unable to breathe. What is he doing to her?

“Like that, yeah.” And if her voice is hoarse, the ocean breeze isn’t the only one to blame.

His fingers slowly abandon her hair to find her lips, and he presses them, gently, above her open mouth and Emma’s hands have found his arms without her consent.

And just as he dives towards her, heart pounding, courage roars inside of her and she dares ask once again: “So?”

It makes him stop, gaze seriously at her, eyes open wide. She swallows again.

“So, what?” he answers, and he almost sounds angry.

The lust she sees dancing in his eyes tightens each of her muscles.

“What’s your love language?” she repeats, bites her lower lip.

She isn’t flinching. She started this. She wants to win.

He smiles, fingers caressing down her neck to find her collarbone, and although she shudders she feels victory stretch her lips.

“I’m a pirate, love. I don’t choose between treasures. I take them all.”

As if to seal his words, his mouth hungrily finds hers, and he drinks her breath, and Emma lets herself be defeated in her heart only, but surely not aloud.

[leyla-nulah]

Prompt #2:  Aberrant

I never really thought about how different I looked when I was young. At least, not until the other children from my village started to laugh and tease me. After that it was that man who came to help out with supplies when we fell on hard times. Every visit he would compliment me and say how special I was or...different I guess he mostly meant. It was easy for him to get me and my family’s trust that way. I'd be worth a lot more than the normal Miqo'te with my looks. If only I had known then what would happen...

I've lived my life with these words...abnormal...strange...odd...peculiar...different...someone even used the word aberrant...what the fuck kind of word is that? Anyway...I've learned to hide myself from the public eye...at least a little bit so I don't feel the constant staring burning all over my body. Men are disgusting pigs.

....not all of them.

I guess writing this doesn't really explain what's so different about me. I want to get over my self consciousness. Even if just a bit. That's why I'm writing this. To myself. Sounds weird, I know.

Hah! See what I did there?

I recently learned the reason why I look the way I do. I haven't been able to really prove it...but I'm sure of it. Here it is: I'm a half breed. Another reason to hate myself. Another reason why I'm different.

My mother’s a Miqo'te and my father’s a Lupin. I look like a Miqo'te but my ears and tail are big and fluffy. The tips are also turquoise like the streaks in my hair. Because of this people stare at me way to much. Doesn't help that I have a rather large chest and a small waist. Men love women's physic too much. I hate it when they stare. And they do stare. All the time.

...but I'm getting over it...slowly and with help. Maybe soon I'll be able to live a normal life...

If only...