#and the fact that I have always yearned for a horse and treat them with the exact same amount of reverence and awe as a unicorn

[sword-is-bored]

I Met You Once

(Link X Reader)

Feminine (Y/n)!

Ocarina of Time

“(Y/n)!” The young girl turned her head, finding a boy in green on horseback. She tilted her head, wondering how he could know her name. “I’m sorry… do I know you?” He looked a couple years older, but not by much. “Oh! I’m.. uh.. yes. I’m Link. I was talking to your older sister. I just wanted to meet you.” The young girl tilted her head and smiled. She knew her older sister enjoyed talking with strangers, especially when she ventured to Castle Town. Maybe… this would be a friend for her. After all, their quaint house tucked far away wasn’t something she was able to leave. The young fairy boy seemed keen on talking to her. “It’s nice to meet you, I haven’t heard anything about you.” She said. Link shrugged and got down from his horse. “This is Epona. I..” He blushed, holding out his hand. “I wanna be your friend. I’m ten. I heard you’re eight.” She blinked and slowly nodded. “Yeah. I am. I like your horse. She’s pretty.” (Y/n) took his hand and shook it. Link grinned. “Great! Come on and pet her.”

So, (Y/n) did. She stroked the mane of the gentle horse, still a young foal herself. The two began to chat more, and (Y/n) found she really liked this boy. He had traveled all around Hyrule and visited… everywhere! All the adventure she had yearned for in her young years. “I have to stay home, mom and dad want me to be the perfect lady.” (Y/n) said softly. “Why’s that?” Link asked. “Oh, when I get married.” She said nonchalantly. “Married?” Link asked slowly. “Yeah. I have a fiancé.” (Y/n) hummed. “A fiancé?” The young girl grinned at the boy’s question. “Yeah! It’s super cool! When I get big enough, I’ll get married. So mom and dad want me to know all the things I need to be the perfect wife.”

The perfect wife.

The words had rang clear through the young boys brain. However, he had witnessed a different fate.

Years later, when Hyrule was crumbling.

Tears that (Y/n) cried when he had met her.

“I hate him. I hate this man. I hate being married. I’ve… already had two children. My body is ruined. I’m ruined. I wish.. I wish I never agreed.” An older Link had witnessed this, and brought the memory back to the present. “Link… I wish… you’d found me. I love you. I’m sorry.”

“(Y/n)… you shouldn’t marry him.” The young boy whispered. “Why not? Mom and dad say he’ll treat me so nice.” Link stared at the girl, biting his lip. “Promise me something? We’ll stay friends, okay? And you can tell me anything. And I’ll do anything to make sure you’re happy.” He asked. (Y/n) thought it was a weird request, but shrugged it off. A friend. That’s all she’s ever wanted. A true friend. “Okay, and I’ll do the same for you.”

Years passed, and Link made good on his promise. He would visit at least once a week, if not twice. (Y/n)’s parents found him irritating, but he never meddled in her marriage again. (Y/n)’s 16th birthday was nearing, as were her preparations for her marriage. “I’m really excited Link. After this long, I’ll be able to meet my fiancé soon.” She gazed at him, as they sat in Hyrule field together. Link hummed, picking at the flowers around them. “Yes, I’m sure you’re excited. But is this something you want?” He asked, tilting his head. Throughout the years, Link had lost his childish charms. He had grown into a fine young man, and (Y/n) couldn’t help but to notice him. Really notice him. The way he protectively stood with her, how kind he always was. How he could make her laugh, even at the worst times. Something… she wants? (Y/n) had to sit back with herself. Did she want to get married? “And you’ve never met the guy? What’s so great about him anyway?” Link prodded. (Y/n) frowned and thought to herself. “I don’t know. I guess… the fact that someone wants me. I’ve been spoken for for as long as I can remember.” She murmured. “Don’t you think that’s… creepy?” (Y/n) shook her head. “Not even a little?” Link asked. “If I were engaged for that long, I’d at least want to know what my wife looks like. Her name, her face, the way she laughs… you know. Something.” (Y/n) brushed Link off. “You wouldn’t understand.” She mumbled. “But… (Y/n). That’s… forever. Marrying someone.” (Y/n) huffed and tugged at the instrument Link carried around. “Okay, whatever fairy boy. Play me a song. I don’t want to talk about that anymore.” Link rolled his eyes and took the ocarina back from her. “Yes, princess.” He murmured and began to play a soft tune.

He just… couldn’t shake the way she looked at him. And through these years he had fallen in love with her. The way she laughed, the way her eyes sparkled when she was truly happy. He needed to see that smile. He wished he could do more to show her how much he cared for her, as more than a friend. Sure, at first this was his heroic heart. He needed to save a girl who obviously couldn’t save herself on her own. It’s what was right… but… now? Now his heart was in on it. He couldn’t… shake what he saw.

(Y/n) told him she was fourteen when she married this man. He was thirty eight years older than her. Fifty two. Marrying a child. “He made me happy at first and then… he treated me like a slave.” And that’s all she was to him. A servant. And it crushed him to see her like that. He spends a few days with her, under the guise of being an old childhood friend. He… fell in love with her so fast. So hard. He figured he could save her before any of this. He was already altering the future, why couldn’t he do it again?

“Link?” He jumped up as she snapped her fingers a few times. “Hey, did you hear me?” (Y/n) asked sitting back in the grass. “Maybe. Maybe not, why?” Link asked, feeling embarrassed he had fallen that deep in his thoughts. “I told you I’m getting married. In a week.” His heart seemed to stop and he looked at (Y/n). “What?” He hissed. “I’m getting married in a week. I was told yesterday, isn’t that exciting?” Link slowly reached out and took her hands, staring daggers into the ground beneath them. “(Y/n). I’ve… I know what your life will be like with him.” He said slowly, delicately as not to scare her. “You cannot marry him. Please. You.. you have to trust me. Okay? Say the word and I’ll take you away. Far away. I’ll protect you, and make sure no one ever takes away your freedom to choose again. But you have to trust my word.”

(Y/n) searched his gaze, finding nothing but panic and pain for her. Her heart clenched and she realized in horror… did she love him? She pulled her hands away and stared at Link intently. “I.. I don’t…” The words escaped her mind. He looked up, his eyes finding hers. And for once she could see her future. Laughing and running, cuddles and soft kisses. Waking up in the night, finding his sleeping body beside hers. A comforting and fulfilling presence. She bit her lip and closed her eyes. “I’m scared.” She said simply. Link pulled her into a tight hug, nodding softly. “I know. I am too, but I promise I’ll protect you. And I promise you’ll be so much happier. Trust me.”

She did trust him. With her life.

“Okay.” She breathed, hugging back. He pulled back and smiled, gently tilting her head up to look at him. He leaned in close, and she did as well. They shared a gentle kiss before Link pulled away. “I will come to get you the night before your wedding. Take anything you’d like. You won’t be returning.”

The day came, and (Y/n) waited anxiously in her nightgown. Her window cracked open and the familiar head of her lovely fairy boy poked inside. Their gazes met and he held out a hand. She smiled and took it, climbing out of her window with him.

To freedom.

(Happy ToTK release my friends :))

[oaticedeggshells]

Jake And Amir

I spent way too long on this (watching every J&A video I could without putting too much effort in). When I've watched them one-off, I noticed a couple of instances of the following, so decided to see how widespread it was:

Is Amir from Jake and Amir a trans woman? No, probably not. But I still have my suspicions.

truth or dare: Amir "Time to meet some babe magnets" Jake "That's guys" Amir "Or lesbians"

Shopping: Jake "That's all the same women's sweater"

Fashion Tips: just watch this one.

Disease: Amir "and I'm not wearing women's shoes"

Video chat: Amir "like two civilised ladies"

Private Eye Part 1: "Best Supporting Actress"

Baby: I've forgotten the plot of this one

Girlfriend Pt7: Amir texting Leronuh "You made me feel like a woman again"

Trick or Treat: I might have marked this down just because of how Amir is dressed?

Powder, Fashion Blog, Boot Camp

Scrapped: Jake "You photoshopped a vagina onto yourself and you're masturbating?"

Costume, Brownie

Chugging: There's some reference to tucking?

Blood Donation: Jake "You came here in a skirt"

Reddit: "Dickless for Michael Chiklis"

Seminar: <image>

Doobs 3

March Madness 6: Amir "I'm gonna wear a gown to the final 4"

Costumes Part 2: Jake "Your crotch is bleeding"

Thanksgiving Scroll: Amir refers to themselves as queer

Breakfast Date: you're wearing a dress

Road Trip 2 (New Orleans): You have such saggy naturals

Poster Ideas: I'm not a businessman, I'm a businesswoman

Driving Lesson: queen dweeb

NY vs LA: What should us little sister friends gab about next?

Online Shopping: *queefs*

Serial: *wearing a thong*

Finale: bottom surgery

Donald Trump: "grab my pussy in joy"

Unrelatedly, gullies isn't a real world? And I've always used 'talking smack about Jeff' to mean shooting the breeze, not being rude to someone called Jeff. And a couple of quotes I'd forgotten:

"The pets are at work", "Work?", "Oh, you've never seen a rat be a chef before?", "That was a cartoon", "Yes, but a dog animated it".

"I got caught doing a 90 in a 0."

"waterboarding me with so much haterade"

The best bars:

sitting in jacuzzis // peanut butters smoothies // eating lots of movies // checking out the movies

all day, every day, every hour, gotta have a chicken nugget in my pocket gower

because you pale in comparison to Sarah

I spent last week in a hospital // What I thought was Flintstone vitamins was actually a birth control // and I shouldn't have drunk the whole botty-bottle

Just a little queasy // I should take it easy

1 2 3 4 if you're on a boat then you're paddling // horse then you're saddling // if you're on the stage then your name better be Bradlyn

Zip it, zip it good. Exhibit A.

First clue me. George clue me.

I'd consider it // because I'm considerate // now consider this // you prissy bis

I don't eat meat // I don't eat wheat // I don't eat treats // Now take a seat

Just give me my old scroll bag backpack back please

I love to yearn // I love to learn // I love to make money

That cool cat thinks he can hot dog

I'm not going to let some quack in a van hack me up in a can

I'm looking at one listing which is particularly cherry // though on the contrary // it might be an apple because it is that of my eye

Bros propose before hoes

It happened by chance // happenstance // it happens Nance

Yam plan thank you mam

You want one from a mean tween though? // meaner than you've ever seen // Well I've got one for you Mr.Bean

This is my baby, Bjorn, in a baby bjorn. Guess what day he was bjorn.

You're the only one with the capacity for such tenacity and audacity but more than anything I admire your veractiy.

To strike me like you did showed a lack of tact and you came off like a classless act and that's the facts Jack. Alright, I appreciate your attempt to mediate and alleviate hat you're done to me to date, but it's a little too little too lat.e

Chicken wings? // I love those frickin' things

Murph, Murph // It's your turf // Come down to Earth // you crazy Smurf

Washing is fine, it's drying that's trying. A clothes line? That takes time.

[prolix-yuy]

Whiskey, Dark and Deep

Pairing: Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Summary: In the short time you've known Jack Daniels, he's disappointed you three times.

Warnings: M, violence, blood, injuries, gunfights, so so so much yearning, full on cowboy tropes.

Notes: Hello @blueeyesatnight! I'm your not-so-secret-anymore Santa for the Pedrostories Secret Santa! When I got your prompt I instantly was so excited because I adore Jack and I love old westerns. My personal favorite is Open Range with Kevin Costner and Annette Benning (and a baby Diego Luna!), so I've taken some inspiration from that film. Not necessary to watch for context, but I highly recommend it if you haven't.

I've kept our reader character fairly non-descriptive save for the fact that she is "not a young lady" and referenced as being older. This is a nod to the movie that I always loved and has stayed with me. I've also included Diego Luna as the faceclaim for the character of his same name.

Happy Holidays!

Since you’ve met Jack Daniels, he’s disappointed you three times. 

The first time was shortly after he rolled into town, a shadow clinging to his face and whispers trailing his bootprints. Most unsavory types don’t come into your general store, but he needed supplies, and discretion. You were willing to give him both. 

It was clear he was a gunslinger, heavy pistols hanging from narrow hips and a nasty rifle slung across his back. But the way he tipped his black hat low, the polite thanks and quiet requests that fell from his chapped lips, made you wonder if that’s all Jack Daniels had to offer. He seemed more than quick-fingered and sharp-eyed, and cool-headed was a trait rare to most outlaws. 

“Thankin’ you kindly, ma’am,” he said as you bundled his goods together, hands that spanned the parcels easily dropping the requested coin on your counter. He’d avoided your eye over the last few trips in, but as he turned to leave he caught your gaze, and your heart dropped.

Jack Daniels may have worn the countenance of a lawless man, but his eyes held gentleness and pain that reached for you in silence. 

“There’s a quieter place to dine on the edge of town,” you blurted out, ordering your hands to lay still on the countertop. “Should you need a drink, or a hot meal before leaving.”

“Is it an establishment you frequent, ma’am?” he asked, your heart fluttering unexpectedly at the richness of his voice. 

“I may tonight, should the company be kind,” you replied, jutting your chin and standing tall. You may be no Annie Oakley, but you were old enough and strong enough for few to cross you in town. And you were bold enough to keep his stare when he skimmed his eyes over your simple dress, your practical style. No young lady, but still fair enough in the mirror that his appraisal did not make you shirk away. He nodded once, leaving to gather his horse outside. A whoosh of air left your lungs soon after.

You waited for him at your usual table, Mathilda passing by often to start, then less as the night grew darker and your hopes dimmed to nothing. What did you expect from a man you only met a handful of times? Paying your bill, trying to ignore her sympathetic smile, you returned home telling yourself you expected nothing from the mysterious man and should not give this evening another thought. 

And that was the first time Jack Daniels disappointed you.

The second time Jack Daniels disappointed you, it was preceded by blood.

The Golden Circle gang was causing trouble, news coming in from neighboring towns of their deeds. Robberies, saloon shootouts, women treated roughly, men left to die in the dirt. A cloud was looming over your town and the days brought dread, listening for the thunder of hooves. 

A stranger would have been met with hostility at this time, but when Jack Daniels burst in with a boy barely old enough to shave slumped against him, you didn’t hesitate.

“Bring him here,” you ordered briskly, leading them to the back room you called home. Stretched on your dining table, blood blooming on the white doilies your grandmother gifted you, the boy wheezed and groaned while you sent for the doctor. Jack stood vigil at the boy’s side, a curious shadow that did not move, or eat, or rest. 

“Who is the boy?” you asked, eyes on the gasping youth. His flop of brown hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, thin angular face pinched with pain. When you go to soothe it later he’ll wheeze his thanks, and call you his angelic nurse. You’ll tell him you’re too old for his japery.

“Diego,” Jack said, his voice a rumble of far-off thunder.

“How did he get into this much trouble?” you asked, the doctor finding the worst of the wounds - twin bullet holes in his abdomen. Your hands clenched against your roiling stomach. 

“Ran his mouth a bit too loud too close to some who took offense.” Jack’s voice remained neutral but the tick in his jaw chilled your heart. 

“The Circle?” you asked, voice quiet as if to say their name would conjure them out of thin air. He didn’t speak, but the contemplative way he chewed on his mustache was all the confirmation you needed. Silence blanketed the room as Diego slipped into fitful sleep.

“Only time will tell,” was the doctor’s cryptic answer before exiting your home. While you were watching over the boy, your store had filled with lawmen and able hands, the steady hum of conversation rising and falling outside the little room. Men you knew well - Denton, Percy, Charley - checked on you and shot distrustful glances at the strange man filling one of your dining chairs. 

When Diego’s chest finally fell into a gentler rhythm, Jack moved to join the men and their plans outside your room. Before he did, he wrapped a hand around your shoulder, urging your eyes up to his. Again, the kindness and desperation you saw before lingered in his stare, but now you saw it threaded through with gratefulness.

“Thank you for opening your home to us. I didn’t know where to take him. But…I remembered you.” His thumb came up to softly stroke your cheek, knuckle tucked under your chin. You couldn’t remember the last time a man put his hands on you with this much reverence. 

“Will you stay?” you asked, and once more you steeled yourself against the growing desire to have this man near you, heat burrowing into your chest and taking root. 

“I’m not the right man for that, ma’am. I know all too well what the Golden Circle is about, and if this town is in their sights you should get as far away from here as you can. They’ll blow in and blow out, but you can be miles away. Safe.” There was no lie on his lips, but maybe a flicker of fear in his eyes. 

“This is my home. I’ll stand by it until I can’t any longer.”

Jack smiled ruefully.

“I reckon I shouldn’t have expected anything less.”

He turned to leave the room.

“Will you stay, Jack?” you asked once more. He paused at your door before turning back.

“For you.”

It’s a promise that fueled you through the night, watching over Diego as he pulled in and out of consciousness. The murmur of voices faded, men peeking in to give you well wishes and tell you to stay inside. You bade them good night, catching some hours of sleep in the dining chair Jack occupied for a time. It would be more comfortable if he still occupied it. Diego slept easier as the sun rose, his chest less staccato and his brow finally smooth. Leaving him to venture into your shop, you found Percy standing guard at your door.

“Any news?” you asked when you brought him a hot cup of coffee. He sipped it with a sigh, dewy drops lingering on his sable mustache. 

“No word on the Circle yet. Seems they might be having their fun somewhere else. At least it gives us time to plan.” Percy quieted for a beat as you watched the road for the man you hoped would stride back to you. A polite cough interrupted your search.

“Jack Daniels left town in the early morning. No word as to why.” Percy at least had the decency to not look at your face when he told you this. You’re not sure you would have been able to control the crumple, the shine in your eyes.

And that is the second time Jack Daniels disappointed you.

The third time Jack Daniels disappointed you was not far off, though the days that ticked by felt like an eternity. Weeks passed with no sign of the Golden Circle, every noise a precursor to hands on weapons and windows shuttered closed. You busied yourself with caring for Diego, who in turn told you what he knew of Jack and what had led to his stomach being filled with lead.

Diego had run into Jack at a saloon, and while grumbling about his presence being more a nuisance than anything, did not shoo the boy away. Instead they rode together, Diego unsure if he’d wake one day and Jack would be gone, secretly surprised when another morning rose on the man’s shoulders hunched over the fire. Little by little Jack opened up, told Diego he’d been in a bad crowd for a time and was looking for a fresh start. That he’d loved and lost and then lost even more. That he felt like trouble was following him like rifle crosshairs, waiting to strike when he dared enjoy the sun on his back. 

His eyes made more sense now.

The doctor declared Diego out of the woods, but to rest until his strength returned. You made him up a little bed in your kitchen and he made himself useful at the store. An extra pair of hands were a dream for you, and to have someone young and sharp-witted to banter with lifted years of loneliness off your shoulders. 

But the storm clouds still clouded the horizon, electricity crackling in the air as the town waited for the other shoe to drop. Thankfully, a messenger came first.

Jack Daniels rode into town one morning, dark jacket whipping behind him as he dismounted. Your heart pounded as you watched him from the store window, his broad shoulders entering the sheriff’s office. Busying yourself with menial tasks and chatting with Diego, you tried not to think about your anger, your hurt, the two words souring your tongue. 

For you.

Why did he leave? Was a town in peril not enough? Were you not enough? With your aging face and your work-hardened hands and your careful heart? Diego knew better than to speak of his return, your stony silence proof of your indifference at Jack’s return. 

He didn’t believe it, but he respected you too much to say otherwise.

Diego asked to step out at noon, not giving a reason why beyond his eyes darting towards the sheriff’s office. Suppressing a sigh, you gave him his leave. He almost broke the Sheriff’s door in his excitement, and through your window you watched Diego stand, gasping, in front of Jack. Words were exchanged, his unruly locks ruffled, before his eyes darted to your store, Jack’s slowly following them. You quickly turned your back, feigning an inventory check to cover your nosiness, the hot prick of tears well hidden.

He didn’t come to you until the shop was closed, your hand on the knob to draw the door shut. Melting forth from the shadows, you almost screamed. Some days you managed to convince yourself he was a dream, a ghost that wandered into your life before dissipating into the ether. And with his shoulders filling your door and his warm brown eyes apologetic, you allowed him in once more.

Refusing to speak first, you busied yourself with putting on the kettle, soothed by the steady chop-thunk of Diego cutting wood outside. Jack sat in the same dining chair he held vigil in weeks before, his elbows braced on the table and hat respectfully removed. Without the shadow darkening his face he looked so tired, shoulders sagging under the heavy coat that eats the candlelight. The silence grew from angry to suffocating as you ran out of ways to avoid his presence, cups of tea laid out and poured. 

Jack finally spoke.

“You should leave town for a few days, ride west with Diego until this blows over. Bound to be a lot of bloodshed.” His hands surrounded the delicate teacup, a fortress against the world around it and savoring the warmth it offered his palms. 

“I’ve got nowhere to go besides here. This is my life, Jack, and I got nothing to abandon it for.”

He cast a sidelong glance at you that you held, shoulders squared and hands firmly planted on your hips. Your resolution set his mouth in a firm line.

“They’re coming, and they won’t be leaving without a fight.”

Nodding curtly, you moved about your kitchen with renewed energy.

“Then all the more reason to stay. They’ll need supplies, ammunition, a foxhole if need be - Percy, Charley, the deputies. I’ll not abandon the brave men of my town while there’s work to be done.”

Jack’s chair scraped along the floor, two strides bringing him chest to chest with you. His hands clenched at his side, jaw tight as you met his stance defiantly. 

“Is that what you think I did? Abandoned you?” he growled, but it only fueled the anger bubbling in your throat.

“No, Jack Daniels, I think you made an empty, unnecessary vow. I didn’t expect anything from you before you said you’d stay. If you had no intention, I’d rather not be lied to.” You spun to leave but Jack caught your arm, holding you firmly in place.

“I stayed in the only way I know how!” he shouted, baring his teeth. In a flash you understood, in the sickening way a secret revealed could garner no surprise, but needed to hear it from his lips.

“I was a member of the Golden Circle for a time. I’ve done things I’ve come to hate, taken and given what I had no right to. When it all became too much my conscience finally caught up to me, and I tried to leave. Pop Harlow put a bullet in my head for my troubles.” Your eyes darted to his temple, a pink scar revealed where the brim of his hat normally covered. Fighting your trembling lower lip, you listened.

“They left me for the vultures, but I came out of that god-forsaken desert. I planned to be a dead man the rest of my life, payment for the days given back to me. But the Circle still haunts my conscience, and I need to make right what I gave fuel to.” His hands slowly cupped your face, rough and cracked along your softer skin. “And then the desert gave me another reason to right my wrongs. One I never expected.”

You pulled back from his hands, tears threatening to shed.

“Don’t pin your absolution on me, Jack. By my account all you’ve ever done is disappoint,” you said bitterly, but even with barbs falling from your lips his hands chased you, cradled your head and wove his fingers between yours. 

“I know I’ve left you more times than stayed,” he said, a snort of derision coming unbidden from your nose. “But I’m staying this time, and once this business is sorted I hope you’ll let me stay a lot longer.” He pressed your foreheads together and the tears came, no matter how angrily you tried to hold them at bay.

“I don’t believe you,” you choked out, “You’ve given me no reason to believe you.”

Jack leaned in close and pressed a kiss to your cheek, the curve of his nose tracing a soft path to your temple to leave another. 

“I’m sorry. And I hope this will be the last time I disappoint you,” he whispered in your ear. Holding your breath, you dreaded what will come next. “Because I have to leave you one more time. The night will be long, the day longer, and I can’t come to you until it’s done.” With a final kiss to your forehead he swept out of your kitchen, striding to exit the store. You stood there in a daze, the marks of his lips still hot on your skin, before you stumbled after him.

“And what if you don’t come back?” you called after him, his silhouette darkening your door. The wind whipped outside, a storm truly on your doorstep now. He turned, hat back on his head with a grim countenance.

“Then I’m a dead man again,” he said before the door shut behind him.

And that is the third time Jack Daniels disappointed you. But not really. It’s the third time he broke your heart.

The night before the Golden Circle’s arrival is long, Diego and you trading wakefulness with rifles across your lap. He paces the storefront on watch, while you sit behind the counter with sightless eyes. It won’t be a quiet invasion if they come. You’ll hear the gunfire like lightning, the thunder of boots, the screams and whoops approaching. It will not be gentle. It will likely not be swift. You’ll go down shooting, though.

When the Golden Circle rides into town with the first glimmers of sunlight, it’s so still you’d think no one’s around to witness it. The silence is shredded by spurs and whinnies, but none of the hustle and bustle of a proper morning. No Sue Ellen on your doorstep to buy flour, or Billy trying to sneak sweeties. You wonder if maybe, if it’s silent enough, they would think it a ghost town and ride on through. 

The first shout, followed by gunshot and hollers, dashes that hope away.

Diego strains against the orders Jack gave him - “Keep her safe” - and the youthful desire to fight. But he stays by your side through the seemingly endless rounds of gunfire, the whizz and thumps of bullets landing true to their target, and the shatter of glass. Two bullets break a window, and the way he grunts at the sound makes you think he felt them in his guts. 

Another living dead boy, you realize. No wonder why Jack took a shining to him.

The fight drags along, long periods of silence punctuated by cries and murmured monologues you couldn’t give a damn about. You dare not peek out the window to see if Jack lies among the dead, that glimmer of hope keeping you vigilant.

A hammering at your back door almost makes you drop your rifle, the frantic voice of the doctor rasping through the wood frame. Slipping him in, he carries Percy, blood staining one arm crimson as he slumps in a chair. 

“I’m sorry dear, I’ve told them to bring the injured here,” the doctor whispers, rifling through his medical bag as you hurry to gather supplies. Percy is pale but talking, Diego putting his anxious energy to work by helping stop the bleeding. 

More knocks come to your door, more neighbors secreted into your makeshift hospital. Wounds are treated, water and food shared, whispers the only way you hear news of the battle outside.

“Pop Harlow shot the sheriff square in the eye.”

“Jack Daniels killed every men that set foot in the saloon.”

“Charley got all the children into the schoolhouse and is standing guard.”

“Jack challenged Harlow to a shootout.”

“I think it’s just the two of them now. The others from the Circle are dead or fled.”

You steal away to the privy to stifle sobs in the crook of your elbow, splashing your face to hide evidence of your tears. Diego notices, and when you sneak outside for more firewood he pulls you into a hug. 

“He’ll come back,” he assures you, this boy barely fifteen and already looking death in the face.

“I can’t…” you try to argue.

“He will. He has something he desperately wants to come back to. I’ve never seen him have that before, but I’ve seen him fight like hell for less.” 

The sun begins to set, and it’s as if the whole town holds its breath. The faint clink of spurs advance from opposite ends of main street. Words are exchanged that barely rise above the whistle of wind. A laugh, ugly and sharp. Sliding down to sit between the store shelves, you clutch your hands together in a prayer to whoever will listen. 

Silence.

Then.

Two shots so close as to be one sound.

And you wait. 

Wait to know if there’s a bullet in Pop Harlow’s heart or one in yours. 

The silence fades into deafening noise, but you still wait until Diego scrambles around the corner, landing hard on his knees beside you.

“Harlow’s dead,” he says, beaming with relief. 

“Jack?” you ask, and his nod releases waves of emotion that distill into tears running down your smiling face.

After all you’ve waited through today, Jack still makes you wait until night, when all of the men and women gathered in your store have gone to their own beds. You’re left with piles of bloodied rags and sheets, your home more threadbare than ever. Diego leaves to get you clean bedding from the hotel, promising to return shortly. He knows your nerves are still shot, hands shaking when they have nothing to do. 

The door opens, and you turn to thank him for going out late, for being there for you when everything was slipping through your fingers. But instead there stands Jack, favoring one leg with his hat in his hand. For a long moment you both just look at each other, mirroring hope in each other’s eyes.

“You saved us,” you finally say, taking a step towards him. A closer look at his clothing reveals the blood seeping into his jeans. “You’re hurt,” you add, turning to look for more supplies. 

“It can wait,” Jack rumbles, hand catching yours. It’s the first time in a full day you feel at ease, with his skin under your fingers. ‘I’ve got things that need to be said.” You let him tug you closer, taking your hands into his palms to regard how much gentler they are than his roughened ones. 

“I’m in love with you,” he says, thumbs smoothing over the backs of your palms. The admission is just like Jack - to the point, and true. “I’ve been in love with you since I first laid eyes on you. I should have gone to dinner with you. I should have stayed. I hope I still have a chance to stay.” Now it’s your turn to slide your fingers under his chin and turn his face up to you, longing so clear in his eyes you don’t know how you didn’t see it before.

“I’m not a young lady anymore, Jack.”

“You’re about the handsomest woman I’ve ever known.”

Your throat constricts, a smile fighting against the emotion threatening to rend you in two.

“I can’t offer you much beyond what’s under this roof,” you say with a watery sigh, creeping fear and your lifelong habit of protecting your heart rearing its head. “And you’ve got a bad habit of disappointing me.”

“Never again,” Jack says, the largest promise he’s ever made to you. This one he seals with a kiss, then another, and another as he takes you in his arms. As his coat falls from his shoulders, bandoliers left forgotten on the floor, you make him repeat it.

“Promise me.”

“I'll promise it a thousand times more.”

Today when someone enters your general store, they’ll see a rifle and twin pistols hung above the cash box, and a man by the name of Jack Daniels restocking the shelves or talking to your neighbors about new feed shipments. He’s filled out handsomely, hands still rough but with a penchant for gentle touches. He saves the best of those for your face when he gives you a sweet kiss, and for the privacy of the bed you share. 

Diego runs your errands and deliveries around town, the friendly boy with the roguish smile and saucy winks. When the dust settled and he held his hat in his hand you scolded him for even thinking he could get away from you after all that. He was an employee of your shop now, and better work like it. The grin that plastered his face ear to ear came close to matching your own.

Jack did indeed keep his largest promise to you, though two more soon after almost eclipsed it. The first being inked into fine white paper at the sheriff’s office with Diego scrubbing at his eyes - paperwork that made you his family in the eyes of the law. In your own eyes he was your boy the moment he laid on your table.

The second promise is a ring of gold Jack slipped around your finger under the setting sun, and kisses every morning when he wakes. A promise so precious you looked at it every day.

When rough men come into town asking about the one surviving member of the Golden Circle, most folks don’t recall what happened to him. They said he turned on Pop Harlow and crawled into the desert to die. Any remnant of him left was nothing more than a memory. Or a spirit.

Maybe you do live in a ghost town after all.

END

Thank you to @pedrostories for organizing this fantastic exchange, and happy holidays everyone!

[erajoie07]

Give in to me: Aemond Targaryen fanfiction x OC

Aegon catches your adoration for Aemond. Aemond turns this around into something useful, for his house and the crown.

Warning: Sexual and mature scenes and words ahead, jealousy

Word count: 1.4k

Writer's note: Hope you like it!!!❤️ I actually screamed hard and squirmed writing the sex scenes. They really overwhelm me 🫣

To wandering eyes, blabbering eyes, and lust-filled men, Aemond was the most different one: Having tamed Vhagar himself, contrasted his brother Aegon, showed great knowledge and excellent fighting skills, his existence was caught by a mere maid of his sister, Helaena. Whenever Aemond was around, Margueritte subtly looms her eyes towards Aemond to catch glimpses that she relishes for days in her memory, only to want more to pry on him to fill the cup overflowing with his image in her mind. To show her stricken love, Margueritte interprets her adoration into letters onto papers, hiding them under the bed. Sometimes, she draws his image and acts like him. Margueritte was careful for if she is caught, she might not see the light of the morrow and her soul will be yearning forever to be reincarnated to see Aemond succeed and love her.

It was that particular dinner party when it proved to be solemn when Viserys wished to set differences aside and be one as family. Margueritte looked at Aemond while he was playing with his wine goblet, then she turned to Aegon who was looking at her. She turned towards the band. Suddenly the music playing contrasted her emotions. A spiky, prickly feeling itched in her veins and her heart beated like a galloping horse because she was caught. Aegon was the last person she wanted to catch her. She gulped in fear and was restless that her stomach was doing flips, wanting to finish herself on the spot.

“Margueritte,” a voice softly called her name, it was Helaena. Margueritte turned to her and smiled, “Can you pour more wine, please?” She did as told, but she could not scratch the feeling , it was jumping and wrecking everything. An escalation of voices grew between Aemond and Jacaerys that resulted into a hideous brawl between nephews and uncles. While it ended in good condition, somehow, it was the trembling feeling that Aegon gave to Margueritte. She could see through her peripheral vision that he was looking at her. Now she thought it was a bother. 

Margueritte helped Helaena's children to their bed and was saddened that she was leaving but promised that she'll be back in the morning with more tales, songs, and plays. When she went to bed, she checked under her bed if the letters and drawings were still there. Her hands moved to inspect the roughness of the papers. From a corner of the room, an eye delicately watched her moves, especially that fear and anxiety crippled in her. Margueritte heard something thrown on the stone floor, heavy and something stacked. When she inspected it, a stack of papers that belonged to hers.

“There is a special place for people like you who toy with the desires for others, somewhere at Flea Bottom.”

Margueritte's heart sank when the prince spoke and ultimately bowed her head in shame. 

“...But I cannot deny the fact that you speak with knowledge and treat Helaena with delicacy and without ulterior motive.”

She learned that it was indeed Aemond and felt slightly praised for her attitude towards his sister. Aemond rose from the shadows and walked towards her with his hands behind him. He displayed confidence in his strides and he wore it well. He stopped in front of the discarded and stepped on them, he squished it like a bug that lingers in rooms. Margueritte got off her spot and kneeled in front of the prince. There was only shame and anxiety that ate her. She longed to be in this position in front of him, but not for this reason. Even if Aegon was the most arrogant and hard-headed brother, it was Aemond that she did not want to anger and swell, and Alicent will always reprimand Aegon.

“Forgive me, my prince, spare this mere life of mine and I will forget and turn a blind eye.” Margueritte bowed to the ground for his mercy. Aemond looked at her with displeasure, he walked away towards a chair in the room and greatly sat on it. 

“Stand up woman, if you really love me, announce your true loyalty to Hightower and proclaim that Aegon is the king of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Margueritte looked up and sat still, she turned to the side where he was. Ever was she loyal to Viserys and his family for years, she claimed that Rhaenyra is the heir of the Iron Throne and the next ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, with Jacaerys as her successor.

“In return, I will forget everything you have kept and perhaps give in to your desire for just this once.”

Those words sent Margueritte into a haywire—to announce new loyalty to Hightower would send her to the dragon, but she would be shamed for sexualizing the prince. Either way, she would die in agony.

What would she have chosen?

Margueritte often finds herself entangled on the sheets of the prince's bed, warming his cock and pleasing her cunt, particularly in the mornings when he most likes it. It did not take long for Aemond to be attracted by her care and love that he confessed after and Margueritte claimed him as the king of the Iron Throne.

“Do you like it, my prince?” She inaudibly asks as the pleasure from bouncing on his hard cock hits her so hard that she grips his wrists tightly.

“Yes, my fire rose, keep going,” Aemond moans after, he releases his wrists from her grip and harshly handles her waist to pound into her cunt himself. Margueritte releases a string of sexual profanities as his cock amuses her so well and the sound of his cock's balls hit her cunt's lips. He hastens in his thrust, watching her switch her expressions as her eyebrows knit and her mouth broadens.

“Slow down! Fuck!”

Aemond raises his hips higher and pounds harder for her to milk his cock.

“My prince, it's too much, please—”

Her body jolts forward everytime, her large breasts swing and she struggles to grip the frame of Aemond's bed.

“My prince, I'm coming!”

Aemond abruptly stops. Margueritte notices the lack of tension below, she wonders, when he hadn't continued, she becomes infuriated… in front of the prince. He releases his cock and harshly pushes her to the side. Margueritte gives up being nice to him and curses at the prince for stopping. Aemond is not having her flippance so he tugs her wrists above her head. Aemond hovers over her.

“Flirting with my brother and giving in to his ministrations while I was away, you thought I wouldn't know?”

Margueritte's cunt is aching with need.

“You might have forgotten who you belong to, I think. Edging you is a good punishment for your disobedience to your prince. I could leave you untouched for weeks and it's alright to me.” Aemond declares his discontentment to her, he slides his fingers on the slit of her cunt, tasting the salty nectar.  

Margueritte begs to differ, “I wasn't flirting with him my prince, if anything else, I was just playing with him because I did not want to pull out his bad side on me because I am just a lady-in-waiting for your sister.” She hopes he receives it well, given that he is the least sane one. “I did not want to tell you because I can handle it myself, knowing full well that I'll still end up with you in the end.”

Margueritte's eyes swell and she does not blink because he might find out. Aemond's eye softens, “Don't you trust me, my rose?”

He feels hurt that he is not involved much. Aemond does not only want to lie next to her to fuck, but also listen to her just as he she has listened to everything he says.

“I do but I just didn't want to burden you, my prince. I know that Rhaenyra still blocks your path. Bothering you will only cause you to swerve”

Aemond listens well to her reasons and adores her dedication for him, he leans further, “You belong to me, not only your loyalty, but your darkness and light… and apparently this cunt as well.” Aemond manages to joke that causes Margueritte to grin. Aemond places a tender kiss on her forehead and she closes her eyes.

“I trust you, my prince.”

Aemond then proceeds to continue, he raises her legs above her to lie to her side. Aemond inserts his cock and pounds into her cunt relentlessly. Margueritte's lips agapes and release another string of profanities. She feels that the coil is breaking and Aemond pounds harder.

“Fuck, I'm coming, my prince.”

Margueritte rubs her clit and this time she releases it on his cock. Aemond pushes his pelvis towards her and dumps his cum inside of her.

Satiated and full, Aemond pulls her towards his chest. Margueritte rubs circles on his chest and around his nipples.

“My prince, Queen Alicent calls for you.”

[televinita]

A True Story

When I was a little kid, I tried to watch Dumbo at my grandparents’ house, but I started crying so hard when they separate him from his mother that I wore myself out and fell asleep. No amount of my parents telling me it had a happy ending when I woke up could convince me to finish watching it, so I never did. I'm bringing this up because last night, I thought Unicorn Store would be a pleasant little thing to help me relax before bed. Twelve minutes from the end, having been crying off and on for roughly the past 30 minutes of the film and pausing it multiple times to get myself under control, it set me off so hard I began to think history might repeat itself.

It’s not even dark or depressing! I just identified with Kit so, so (too) much.

This film, for all its fantastical whimsy and legit magic, is SUCH A SHOT TO THE HEART of what it feels like to stumble out of college and back to your parents' house with no idea what to do next. How to be a grown-up. What to make of boys. (or are they men now? are you old enough to interact with Men on a personal level?) Especially when you still cling to your childhood loves that the world has told you to put away.

The part where she bags up all her old things?? I did that with my Breyers/plush animals/My Little Ponies in a similar fit of anger and heartbreak (of course they eventually made it back out, which at this point in the film I could only hope would be paralleled by her getting her unicorn at the end). Sobbing to her parents that she knows she’s a disappointment (even though they don’t actually think that)? Done it. The longing for the unconditional love of a pet? I had one, but I haven’t for six years and the visceral ache is ever-present, especially since I had her when I had no IRL friends.

The only thing I didn’t totally love was the end*, but I can see why they did that, so I don’t think it takes away from the film. (warning: talk of the ending below)

*And by that I mean I very definitely had an outraged reaction of “WHAT IS THIS ONE UNICORN-STYLE NONSENSE. What? No! Personal happiness doesn’t mean you turn away a friggin’ unicorn!! Do you see your tears right now? That’s a sign this is not right and not okay! That other sad lady can wait her gosh-darn turn. (also WHAT DUDE WOULD NOT INSIST YOU KEEP A UNICORN. Throw that whole man away.)”

But this, too, reminded me of something in my life. Something I can’t directly remember because my brain is protecting me and I’m going to let it, but where I cried my heart out and then consigned it to the past even though I still wanted it. And that's why even though this is a stupid-ass decision, I cannot elect to ignore it because I understand that for some reason that she has to, even though I'm pretty sure that reason is just SELF SABOTAGE AND UNCONSCIOUS SELF-HARM SOLD AS ALTRUISM.

(Like, part of my heart loves that she is doing what’s best for the unicorn, if she doesn’t need him, but I remain uncomfortable with the idea that grown-ups find true happiness comes from within and not Things. Plus, if you didn’t click my link up there, it’s a picture book about a princess who grows up spending time with a unicorn, but stops paying attention to it after she falls in love with a prince -- see if you can catch the annoying similarities here implying that first comes the horse-crazy stage, then comes romance. Although I guess at least this unicorn LIVES.)

[sweettodo]

beggars can’t be choosers.

levi ackerman x reader x eren jaeger.

includes : threesome, cockwarming, edging/denied orgasm, oral, swearing. whole lotta smut, not a lotta plot.

wc : 4k.

synopsis : a promiscuous sequel. eren knows you’re missing levi and him, and he’s gonna help out his desperate little friend to get the captains attention.

✰ a / n ,, thank you for almost 1,000 followers, i love you all ! <33.

The night after it all transpired- you were like a new woman, the unusual smile on your face made the others query your motives when you appeared at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, even on missions.

'What has her so lively?'

You were fulfilled, there was nothing that could top that night- that night was the embodiment of your fantasies. Both your Captain and long time friend, with you right in the middle.

For the most part, your affairs with the two dwelled to be the same, your comrades still unable to tell something had gone down between the three of you. Eren invariably sat next to you; you teased each other just like always and your Captain still treated you like a peon.

Though not even you could disagree to the fact that you were like an addict, just itching to be touched like a pervert, you longed for the littlest bit of attention- per usual. And it was more painful when Eren purposely chose to torment you, little pokes and prods, long hugs and squeezes sent you over the moon, this was a game to him, and he played it good.

You didn't concede this to Eren, but he could tell you had these twisted ideas in your mind without a word needing to be spoken, watching you doze off into space. Whilst your mind was filled with vile notions of that night- at every waking moment of the day- Eren much less thought about that evening with Captain Levi involved, he would rather make his own remembrances with you.

Giving your feelings the time to fester meant nearly dropping to your knees if anyone so little as gave you a high five.

And Eren loves to use this to further his objective, he finds it a good source of entertainment to watch you shiver, or whine because, ‘she doesn’t even hide it, she wants me so bad.’

On one end, Captan Levi was his usual cold self, and you still flirted with him... For the joke.

While on the other end, he liked it- of course, he did, he liked the chivalry enough to drag you into his office and show you how much he liked your trifling behavior.

Whether he liked it or not, he found himself thinking about it too. Not enough to divert his attention on more crucial aspects of his life and job of course, nor did he act on his thoughts.

It was so pitiful, laying in bed looking at your ceiling as you touched yourself- for what felt like hours- feeling both of them filling you up and giving you what you yearned for. The feeling almost too real, and you yearned to feel it again. You needed it again, no matter the cost.

Your mind filled with only Levi Ackerman and Eren Jaeger.

"What are you thinking about?"

Breaking out of your reverie, seeing Connie parking his rear in the dining halls bench, "oh, nothin' just tired." He hums in response, slowly nodding.

"Dreamin’ about me, I hope."

"Only in your wildest dreams, Springer."

Jean, who's sitting beside his friend and throwing a loose arm over his shoulder, "who'd be daydreaming about you?" he cackles, Connie shoving his best friends’ arm off of him and frowning.

"Don't worry Jean, I have enough love for the both of you."

"I don't-"

"You love it though, right, horse face?" peeking a look to your side, the familiar brunette is claiming his seat next to you, grinning at his friend who's flustered and kicking Eren under the table.

Jean struggles to play it cool, rolling his eyes and tossing his hands behind his head, "I already have someone on my mind."

"Shucks, I can't play around with you anymore?" wriggling your eyebrows, devilish smile growing on your face, Jean shakes his head.

"Nope, doesn't work on me anymore."

Connie interjects, "don't listen to em', he's always gonna be a slave for your little flirts."

"Am not!"

"Yeah, you are, everyone knows it."

Armin and Mikasa walk into the arguing, giving each other a side-eye before hesitantly settling at the table, hearing Jean try to defend himself against his friends, "guys, no need to yell so early in the morning." Armin hushes, sighing.

"Jean, you know you love it."

"Even Armin likes it!" Eren laughs, pointing at his best friend, "he won't deny it either!"

Armin smiles cheekily, scratching the back of his head, "we're not talking about myself right now."

You had a skill, almost like it was an art- reeling any man in as you pleased, and they loved it, who wouldn't?

You suck in a corner of your bottom lip, looking down at your lap.

"Why are you be so loud, Eren?"

The table instantly falls mute, heads darting to face the man in charge, "sorry Cap."

"I want you all outside in ten minutes, be on time."

As quick as he comes, he's gone, not looking at you indifferently. 'This was seriously going to be a one-time thing?'

"You look antsy, y/n." Eren leans over to your ear, "what's on your mind?" he asks, you look at him, he knew exactly what was on your mind.

"You know what's on my mind, Eren,” smug look on his lips, patting your knee, giving it a gentle squeeze, "don't tease me, Jaeger." You mutter, placing your hand on top of his own to remove it from your leg.

"Y'know, now all of a sudden you don't like it when I touch you because it makes you think of that night, it's obvious."

Your eyes squinting to scowl at him, glancing around to see if anyone had heard what he said; they didn't, all of them either throwing away garbage or talking amongst themselves, "why don't you just stir things up again? You want to, I can tell."

You sit there silently, allowing him to rev up your engine, this was something you craved to feel, he wanted to see you act up, enticing him and his friends, "do what you did before, Captain is bound to give you what you want."

You listened to every word he said, his hand still on your thigh as you closed your legs, squeezing them together as your body throbbed, he was right, and you were desperate, "why don't you go tell him how much you want it?"

You lick your chapped lips, throat bone dry as you're uncomfortably struggling to find words, "Eren," he flashes you a smile, 'she's falling apart with just me looking at her.'

"I can't tell him anything, and you better not either," you grit, eventually gaining some self-control, standing from your seat as he remains in his, "shouldn't we go? Everyone else is gone."

Eren stands, stepping over the bench as he takes a look around, the room was nearly empty, "Levi's gonna be mad at us, maybe he'll even punish you if you're lucky."

You shake your head, "just let me help you," you gaze up at him whilst the two of you follow behind your friends, "I can help you get what you want."

You pondered the offer, "yeah?"

He smiles, "of course," Eren tried to contain himself, even the idea of having you under him made his dick twitch under his belt.

"What do you have in mind?" you spoke, he hummed quietly, "wanna' get me in trouble?"

The tension between the two of you rose, holding your breath as you reached the empty field for sparring, he nodded his head, "of course I do."

You brainstormed, how to get attention from your Captain, but what you didn't know was Eren was already putting his plan into motion, already telling your friends what would land you right in his bed.

Hours later, the time dinner came around, the table was just like the ordinary, chatting and eating after a long day of activities; but unbeknownst to you, Eren was counting the seconds before the Captain would come storming into the room.

During the day, while you sparred with Jean, Eren found himself talking to Connie right in front of the men in charge- both Erwin and Levi listened in as Eren purposely filled Connie's ear with intentions you had. Vile thoughts, Levi and Erwin looking at each other, the Commander blown away, 'yeah, she said to me she wanted Captain to chain her up and everything, torture her, even,’

'Are you serious?' Eren nodded slyly.

‘That’s y/n for you, kinky, isnt she?’ crossing his arms.

'She is one freaky bastard- better not let Captain find out.'

But- to no avail, it was a little too late for that.

"Y/n,"

His voice split through the talkative room in an instant, voice booming as you quickly looked up, swallowing your food, "Eren, Y/n, my office- now."

Connie and Eren exchanged looks and you caught them, "what's that look for?"

"Don't worry about it lets just go."

Levi had already left the dining hall, you walked beside Eren, "what did you do, Eren?"

"Nothing." He defends, shrugging as you inched closer to the familiar wooden door.

Eren stopped in front of the door, he wasted no time, knuckles knocking on the old wood, "calm down, it's all fine."

Letting out a sigh, hearing his voice on the other side of the entrance, the two of you slipping past the doorframe and right into his office, he sat there, arms crossed in his chair, "do you have anything you'd like to say for yourself?"

Before you get the chance to speak, Eren perks up, "what do you mean, Captain?"

"Y/n?"

You choked, throat dry from the awkwardness in the room, "I'm confused on what you mean, sir." Levi scoffed, shaking his head. He was angry, nearly incensed as he watched you shuffle around, your eyes stuck on your feet.

The sound of his chair pushing backward sends shivers up your spine, he stands, "I don't know where to start with either of you."

"Tell him why you did it, y/n."

Your head practically spinning off your shoulders to face the man who stood beside you, "what do you mean, Jaeger?"

Your eyes bulging out of your head, squeezing your fists as you glared at Eren, "say it, cadet."

You looked at Levi in dismay, "I don't know what he's talking about, sir."

"I should've brought Connie in here too for listening to the bullshit you were spewing."

'Bullshit I was spewing?'

"All I was saying was what she told me, Cap."

"Yeah, apparently, y/n."

You meet eyes with your Captain as he's rounding his table, "you want it that bad?"

Avoiding his question, praying for him to step back, feeling weak from his intense glare, sending you into a nervous turmoil.

"Answer me."

You defended yourself, unable to give the boss an answer. Levi was mad, he was beyond humiliated at not only did Erwin hear your perverse ideas, but now big-mouth Connie. And he was fed up- once again- with your behavior.

He’s angrily stepping away from you and opening his bedroom door, "bring her, Jaeger."

Grabbing your wrist, Eren is nearly flinging you into the dimly lit bedroom, stumbling over your feet as the door is clicking shut. You rubbed your wrist, looking at Levi who stands before you, looking up at him.

His strong hands sitting you on the edge of his bed, his finger meeting under your chin and tilting your head up as you stared at him breathlessly, "you want things to be your way, right?"

You nodded, Eren standing next to your Captain, "things won't always go your way, cadet."

You gulped, the restriction growing under his grasp as he slid his hand down your neck, squeezing, "you're lucky I'm even doing this for you, you should be locked up."

Glancing at Eren, who's gradually unhooking his belt, "use this, Captain."

The leather belt being pulled from around Eren's waist and being placed in Levi's hand, he graciously seizes it and pushes you to get up, "lie down and be quiet, understood?"

Before reaching the other side of the bed, your captain is linking the material around your wrists behind your back and using his knee to push you on the bed, your body vulnerable as you can't catch your fall. Knees just barely hanging over the edge of the bed, someone's feet kicking your legs open.

"So I've been on your mind? because it sure seems it."

Digging your head into the sheets, you're nodding, "disgusting."

The weight of the bed plunges in front of your head, fingers entering your hair and pulling you up by the roots, "you think I'll be easy on you this time around?"

You shake your head, "no sir."

With Levi in front of you, Eren is using his foot to slip off your shoes, his hands crawling below your waist, blindly unbuttoning your jeans and tugging them down your thighs.

Pushing you onto your back, Levi is sliding off the bed and you're trying to blow your hair out of your face, Eren steps out of the Captains' way, Levi pushing your knees up and placing your feet on the bed, "you've been acting up again, misbehaving won't get you what you want, y/n."

"She probably wanted this to happen again."

You did, you prayed for it to happen again, but you didn't intend to be tied up, unable to do anything, "I didn't ask to be tied up, though," you muttered under your breath, pulling against the material.

Eren laughs, unbuttoning your blouse while your Captain pinned your legs against your stomach, squirming around under his tight grasp.

“You go around and tell everyone how desperate you are,” you feel his thumb slowly press against the sensitive nub concealed by only your thin underwear, “have you been thinking about us fucking you again, y/n?” calculatedly pushing his thumb up and down, applying more pressure while he keeps your leg in a firm grasp against your body.

“It’s disgusting, really.”

He knows you you hate to be teased, Levi knew if he had even given you a taste of what you begged for, you'd become greedy. Eren on the other hand was sadistic, he would tease and tease and tease, that's how he would get off.

You're caught up in the painstaking abuse of his thumb, not giving any thought to the question he had asked you. He stops, looking at you with a bitter glare, “didn't I ask you a question?” you whine, pressing your head deeper into the mattress.

“Yes, Captain- I've been thinking about you fucking me.”

He's gratified by your answer, knowing that the inquiry would humiliate you.

“Dirty- fuckin’ dirty.” He taunts, picking up where he left off. Levi stands beside his subordinate, Eren pressing your other leg up and finding his fingers hooking around the wet fabric, and trying to get a look at your cunt.

Eren moves out of the way, allowing Levi to push your body back farther, he lowers to his knees, leaning against the edge of the bed, “do you enjoy giving me a hard time?”

They never failed to get you under their complete control, your heart beating out of your chest whenever either of them gave you as little as a glance with their lust-filled eyes. It was so incredibly wrong, so immoral, but it was your guys’ thing, this was your little secret.

“You’ve always been such a troublesome girl.”

Weakly, you're shaking your head, trying to keep your breathing under control as his fingers are raking between your sopping folds, spreading them apart with his calloused index and middle finger, admiring your beautiful body. ‘God- if you weren't such a pest.’ Levi pushed those thoughts to the back of his head, you'd always be his little annoying flirt, nothing more- nothing less.

Though both Eren and Levi seemed to enjoy pleasuring you until numb, your captain knew he needed to instill some discipline, he couldn't let himself be seen as a push-over just because he couldn't stop thinking about how you squeezed his cock so perfectly.

The thought of his fingers being knuckle deep inside your pussy brought him close to reaching bliss in his jeans, you didn't even have to touch him.

Curving his fingers up into your tight, textured walls, feeling your heartbeat throb around his two fingers as he made sure to send shock waves throughout your body. The pad of his thumb rubbing deep and slow circles around your clit, each time he hit a nerve your legs twitching, he hit every spot.

Eren stood beside you, loosely pumping his cock in his fist, watching you squirm and cry out, trying to free yourself as your wrists were falling asleep from the weight of your body, “l-let me go, please.”

Levi and Eren dismissed your pleas, trying so desperately to close your legs from the strong thrusts of his fingers, the overstimulation making your back arch, sucking his fingers in for more, and more.

That coil tightening in your stomach was unmistakable, head spinning, moaning out blubbers of swears and incoherent words, “go on, cum.” They know how bad you've been waiting for this, both men knew it needed to happen again, it was sad seeing you feral like a dog looking for any sort of notoriety.

That's all you wanted to hear, selfishly pushing your quivering hips onto his fingers, he knew this would make you furious, Levi was ready to make your night hell.

All of it stopped. His digits pulling out of your clenching hole as he smirked, standing up onto his feet, pulling you farther and farther away from the peak of your climax.

Gasping like a fish out of water, lifting your head to see Levi on his feet, you sobbed, pain filling your body as you were so prepared, so close to releasing, “Captain,” crying, your foot shaking from the awful tension erected in your lower stomach, your pussy mindlessly twitching, trying to make up for lost touch.

He leans towards your face, gripping your jaw, slipping his slick-covered fingers down your tongue, “that's what happens when you aren't good, I'm sure you understand that, right?”

“Yes- sir.”

He pitties you, almost feeling bad for leaving you a mess in your tears and exertion, but Eren, on the other hand, loved it. “If you take good care of Eren, you might get what you want.”

Eren helps you up, keeping your wrists bound as he can now take advantage of your wet throat, “she knows how to take good care of us.” Eren praises, petting your head and peeling the stranded hairs out of your face, “you’ve always been so good to me.”

Levi scoffs, “besides when she's being a tease.”

Your captain unzips his pants, pushing them past his thighs.

Sitting on the bed and leaning his bare back against the bed frame, “come over here.”

Like a feeble idiot, you're bringing your body closer to his, he grabs you by your waist, lifting one leg and yanking you over his lap, Eren gets on the bed, his tip spilling precum, “you're gonna sit still while you help your friend out, yeah?”

Levi prepares his cock by stealing some of your slick and lubricating hmself with it, lifting your hips so he can ease you onto his cock.

Pushing yourself onto his hips only made him annoyed, “don't you dare,” you groan, he keeps you somewhat upright by keeping a hold on Erens belt.

Eren gripping the back of your head, directing your mouth onto his cock, your lips wrapping around his tip whilst looking in his pretty eyes, his thick eyebrows furrowed and twisted from the satisfaction your mouth is endowing his needy cock with.

Your tongue licking the bottom side of his cock as you pressed your throat until it was filled.

He just wants to hear you gag, messy face while your throat tightens around him, adjusting to his size.

Your pussy crying and burning from the lack of movement, your Captain torturing you, whining on Eren’s cock, hoping Levi would just move a little, although you knew better than to attempt anything.

Eren rocking his hips against your throat, spit spilling from your chin as he throat fucks you, Levi sees how good of a job you're doing, rutting his hips into your dripping cunt only once to keep you going- cueing you to hurry and swallow Erens load so you can convince them to fuck you.

Pulling out of your throat, strings of spit connecting to his cock as he stops himself from releasing down your throat.

Levi’s pleased with you, so he wants to reward you, ‘she’s suffered enough,’ he says to himself, fucking you on his cock just how you like it. Letting out whimpers of relief; by the time your Captain had decided to fuck you, the base of his cock had already been soaking from your slick trickling down and onto his pubic bone. Erens hand palming your perky tits, watching them bounce at the hands of you riding him.

Reversing on Levi’s cock meant Eren could see your pretty little face twist up, your mouth stuck open as you looked at the man in front of you, you were so precious- if anything- you deserved him, you deserved his affection, and he wanted to give it to you.

“Cap’ gonna cum,” you're body trying to curl up in a ball as he holds you from plunging forward, the movement of your hips bouncing back and forth on him, your ass slapping on his cock, the sound of skin loud, which he used as encouragement to plant his seed in you. Such a vicious noise as Levi keeps you still, rutting his hips into yours as he's pulling your head back by a handful of your hair. Your body left with shockwaves as he fucks any sort of knowledge, words, and sounds out of you; you're silent, mouth ajar as you're eventually worthy enough to reach your high.

Your head spinning, eyes being surrounded by a warm white as you're clenching around him to suck him in deeper, your holes twitching as you're frozen still from the orgasm erupting from your body.

Levi grunting as he fills you up with his load, thrusting his hips into you to plant his seed as deep as possible into your beaten little cunt.

“That's right, so pretty- I bet that felt good, didn't it?”

“It did- ‘need more, Eren.”

Eren smirks, face glowing with pride, so vulnerable you were, a girl with needs- his girl, and he had all the antidotes for your selfish little troubles. You were always so willing, truly, you were the perfect participant.

“I think I should untie her, what do you think?”

“Go on and do it, I think she deserves it.” a sigh of relief leaving your lungs as you're set free, rubbing your raw wrists while Eren is easing you on your back, his hands caressing every inch of your sore body, gently squeezing when he gets a good handful of your soft flesh. Up your thighs, under, your perfect waist and sides, he wanted it all-and he wanted you at his disposal.

And thankfully, you wanted them all to yourself too.

Eren knew he wouldn't last long, he's been waiting too long for you, so he doesn't spare any seconds, kneading your tits; giving each of them the right amount of attention, rolling your nipple between his fingers, lightly tugging as he's pushing past your little hole, “filled with so much cum already, you like bein’ a cocksleeve? You like being stuffed, huh?”

Nodding, “yes- I love it s’much, love it!”

Levi holds your wrists above your head.

Eyes rolling back, Erens cock drilling into you, your body shaking as he tears another orgasm out of you, you cried and screamed, Levi inserting his two fingers down your throat to shut you up as Hanges room was no more than ten feet away.

You loved it, you loved it so much- you loved being the center of their attention, you adored being their little ragdoll, how they could fuck you into oblivion so mercilessly, yet make sure you get your fix.

His cock knocking into you, hitting your cervix, which sent moans flying out of your throat, gripping his wrist tightly while he held your thigh up around his waist.

You deemed it your job to please them, to take care of them, and they felt the same- it was the implicit rule of this situationship.

Erens trying to instill as much self-control as he can bear to keep, but it's merely no use, he’s slipping, and fast. His cock constantly slamming into your nerves sent you into a spiral, every thrust fucked your eyes to the back of your head, “fuckin’ you stupid huh- I missed this tight cunt.” Eren spits, the sweat from his body dripping onto your sticky body as your pussy goes numb.

“I love your cock- love it s’much Eren,” your beautiful voice could alone bring both men to climax, he uses it as motivation to cum deep into your pussy. Levi wiped the drool from the side of your lip, along with your tears as he watched you.

Eren pulled out, light moans as he shivered, spilling his seed on your stomach, a mantra of your name falling from his tongue as he tried to regain control.

With you left fucked out on the bed as they got dressed, almost like a routine- you're left struggling to put your clothes on as Levi is trying to rush the two of you out of his room so he can strip his sheets.

“Don't get caught.” He's warning, seeing the two of you out, you're practically trudging through the corridors with Eren at your side as you feel more of a mixture of your cum soak through your underwear and legs, your jeans getting damp with each step you took.

Right as you neared the bedroom door, thankful to be able to strip yourself of your clothing in only a few minutes, Eren ensures you get to your room safely, but no one is that lucky- are they?

“Whatcha’ guys up to?”

Before catching a glimpse of your face, you're gasping and looking away, Eren turning around to see Connie and Jean, “busy?”

Eren laughs, casually speaking, “does it look like it?” he looks more or less as disheveled as you did, his hair falling from the hair tie, while you looked a mess.

“She looks like she just got hit by a bus.”

Your body barreling over in embarrassment, you find it hard to look at them, Jeans’ eyes doubling in size as he sees the unfamiliar piece of fabric in your hand.

“Is that- your bra?”

[lubdubsworld]

Blackberry Winters.

Part 1

Check part one for warnings 💔

Part 2.

Namjoon stared at his mother, her words registering but not quite sinking in. He blinked, a couple of times and swallowed dryly, trying to gather his wits that felt like they'd been scattered to the four winds. There was a dull ringing in his ear, a feeling of impending horror and he had to fight to bring himself back to the present.

"She is...?" He couldn't even say it. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realised the irony of it. It wasn't supposed to makes him feel that way. The reason he had taken her to bed was for this : a heir to take over the duties of the head alpha after him. And yet, he knew that he couldn't just ignore all the things that would come with having a pregnant mate. All the added responsibility.

At the heart of it , Namjoon was exhausted.

He had been trained for this position but it didn't make it any easier. His wolf yearned for solitude and serenity, peaceful quiet where he could contemplate life and all its mysteries but the duties and responsibilities kept piling up. He had no time to indulge in such whimsical fantasies. From daybreak to sundown, he drowned in problems that demanded solutions, issues that required his intervention and he was always giving so much of himself to so many.

It was as taking a toll.

And now here was the promise of another new soul. A pup. Fully dependant on him for survival. It was hard to be ecstatic.

" Why do you look so surprised? Have you not been sleeping with her?" She frowned, moving closer to the small wooden bench in the corner of the room. She sat down, primly adjusting the large swathes of her skirt. Even at her age, she was a beauty and despite being a widow, she was treated with great respect by all the wolves in the clan.

" I have... Of course...I just didn't expect her to ...so soon. " He muttered hesitantly. He made a quick calculation, Conceived at the end of autumn meant the child would be born at the end of summer. Rains and more rains. He would have to commission the weavers to make a lot of warm blankets and thick bedding for the babe. And make sure that all the birthing huts had their roofs mended. He felt an ache in his chest. He knew he had to have a heir. It was part of what he was responsible for. But he wasn't ready to be a father yet. Especially not with someone like her.

" You haven't been very subtle in your disdain for her, Joon. It makes me wonder of perhaps I have failed in teaching you the ways of a husband." His mother's sharp voice made him wince.

His parents had been deeply in love with each other. His mother had been an equal contributor in running the clan, his father's most trusted confidante. He couldn't imagine having something like that with the woman he had rather recklessly chained himself to for life. But he couldn't be openly defiant in front of his mother.

So he bowed.

" I've tried to talk to her mother. She looks at me like I'm some marauding villain."

Lady Kim scoffed.

" Because, for all she knows, you may as well be one. Think of who she is, how she was raised. Her mother died when she was eight and she has been keeping house for her father since then. It Is a miracle she knows how to read a few words and to write her own name. Old man Gong is unkind and cruel and I've only ever watched him treat her like an unruly dog that needed discipline and never like his own flesh and blood. She knows men to be cruel and powerful and capable of doing her great harm. Add to it your status as the head of the clan, of course she thinks you're dangerous. "

" am I to be blamed for her childhood now?"

" Don't be obtuse. That is not what I'm saying. I just want you to consider her upbringing, before you write her off as dramatic or hysterical. "

Namjoon sighed deeply.

" Alright, mother. I'll try to talk to her again. "

And he knew that he had to. If he wanted some semblance of peace in his life, he would have to make an effort with his wife.

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

Jiah sat by the haybale near the barn, cross-legged on the dirty floor as she watched Misu and Loshim, two of the stable boys tend to the horses. She stared at the careful way they brushed the large beasts, their tone gentle and soothing as they murmured reassurance to the agitated animals. She found it fascinating, how even an animal that powerful could feel fear and anxiety. It made her feel better about her own shortcomings.

From a very young age, she had known of her flaws. She was jittery, prone to cold sweats and breathing problems, easily frightened and absolutely terrified of confrontation of any kind. Her parents had been, to put it lightly, unkind. They had seen her as a burden, as something broken and useless and cumbersome and that had done nothing for her self esteem.

To make matters worse, they didn't let her attend lessons with the other omega girls, her education limited to scribbled writing on granite with chalk when her father was feeling bored or charitable. She could read a few words with difficulty . Could write her name out if you gave her some time and patience.

At first, her ignorance had been embarassing but over time she realised her education wouldn't serve her much purpose.

She thought of herself as something temporary and fleeting. Not meant to leave any lasting impression on the world. So it was alright if she didn't know what every other girl her age did. She was going to live and die in that hut near the boundary walls..... She would have no use for fancy words or exotic dances.

Or so she hd always believed.

So when the head alpha had asked for her hand in marriage, she had nearly passed out from her heart giving out.

Namjoon was seven years older, almost thirty winters old and she had only ever caught glimpses of him when he came to check on her father's watchpost occasionally. He was a tall man, strapping and intimidating with dragon eyes that glowed red. And one evening he had stopped by her side when she had been tending the beets and potatoes in the small vegetable garden out back.

He had stared at her for a few long minutes while she had sweated in nervousness and then he had promptly asked for her father. When the man had Stepped in and told her father that he was looking to make her his bride, the old man had been jubilant while Jiah had been confounded.

She hadn't wanted to say yes but she had been too much of a coward to say no. Besides, she didn't know if saying no would have any repurcussions....she didn't want to risk offending the literal head of the entire clan. What if they banished her? What would become of her then?

And so she had said yes. And here she was.

Mated to the man for life, her wolf connected to his and his mark on her neck and now....his child in her womb.

She felt the familiar stirring of panic, digging her nails into her palm to ground herself .

Jiah had long come to terms with the fact that her mind was not her friend. It sometimes tried to attack her , tried to make her feel irrational things. It convinced her that she was a bother, that she was useless, that she was a burden. It also tried to tell her that she was in danger, that she had to run and avoid and get away, even when she was perfectly safe.

When she had first come here as the head Alphas new wife, her brain had wrecked havoc on her senses. Had made her feel like a hunted animal, always cowering and hiding and trying to disappear . Namjoon had tried to be friendly, tried to be courteous and all she had done was hide and recoil, skin ice cold and words practically non existent. She hadn't said a word to him those first few days and even the bedding had been a nightmare, her entire body stiff as a board and she knew that he had probably felt like he was making love to a corpse.

She regretted it. Deeply. But there was not much she could do about it now. Besides she wasn't sure she even wanted to. It was obvious her husband's affections lay elsewhere. She had seen the way he looked at that courtesan. Had seen him sneak out for walks with her, had seen them huddled together in the room with all the scrolls and leather bound books.

Jisoo was a beautiful omega, well read and trained in musical arts. She played the gayageum and the flute, knew how to entertain guests with a perfect ceremonial dance and she was always at the helm of every festivity, dressed in vibrant fabrics and full of life.

She was also madly in love with Namjoon.

Jiah sighed, watching the horses paw at the dirty stable floor. She wanted to get to know her husband, yes. But she knew that even if she did, he would only find her wanting and inadequate in all ways.

And that was just not acceptable .

She maybe self aware when it came to her short comings but she also had her pride.

She would rather live like this. Tucked away like an embarassment, hidden like a dirty secret because then there would be no piercing gaze weighing her against her peers and declaring her broken.

Yes.

Pregnant or not, she wanted nothing to do with her husband.

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

" Are you feeling well now?" Namjoon's voice startled her, eyes going wide as she looked around the resting quarters , gaze finally falling on the man standing near the large table on the side. Namjoon was bent over the rough oak surface , papers spread out in front of him, an oil lamp burning bright nearby, casting a sepia shadow on the man himself and she hesitated, debating the pros and cons of excusing herself to go see his mother instead. Maybe claiming a headache?

In the end she did neither, resolving to at least make an effort with this.

" I'm well, alpha. " She swallowed the lump in her throat. " I'm sorry for inconveniencing you. "

He straightened, turning around to look at her finally.

" Do you wish to move into another room?" He said briskly and she startled.

" Another room?"

" Now that you are with pup, there's no reason for us to keep sleeping together. I prefer having my own space. "

Jiah felt the blood rush through her ears. This shouldn't hurt but it did and she could feel the self loathing flood her senses. She stared down at herself, the lack of beauty and the utter lack of any kind of elegant upbringing. Of course he didn't want to stay with her any longer. What had she been thinking , agreeing to this farce of a mating?

" I... Alright. "

Namjoon turned away from her.

" Good. I've already arranged for all your things to be moved to the west wing , next to the gardens."

Far away from his rooms, Jiah thought bitterly. The sudden realization that Namjoon had been looking for some sort of brood mare and not a mate hit her . And it suddenly made sense that he hd picked her.

Someone easy to boss around.

Someone who wouldn't demand anything from him, loyalty or affection or attention .

And it irked her for some reason.

Why did he get to treat her that way? Why must she put up with it?

But she stayed quiet because she wasn't sure what to say.

" You can leave now, Jiah. " He said dismissively and she hesitated before stepping out of the room.

And she wondered if with her departure, someone else would be taking her place in his bed.

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

Authors Note : would you guys like first person narrative or should I continue in third person? 👀

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

In My Dreams Tonight

for @chaotic-bard who asked me for some fluff!

have a soulmates that dream about each other au featuring both a modern au and the canon universe!

brought to you by “Dreams Tonite” by Alvvays

---

“You’re nothing but trouble, bard,” the tall man glared from atop his horse. He always seemed to be glaring or glowering or huffing, the man in Jaskier’s dreams. The familiar stranger wore his long white hair pulled halfway back and he had golden eyes, the pupils of which were slit up the center like a cat’s. His name, Jaskier had learned after the third straight week of seeing him every night, was Geralt of Rivia. A Witcher, apparently, whose job it was to hunt down monsters.

“Ah, but what a lovely piece of trouble I am!” Jaskier replies. And he’s rather sassy himself in these dreams. Far more clever and ready to fight than he is when he’s awake. “You would miss me if I left, wouldn’t you, Geralt?”

“Hmm.”

The stranger hums a lot. He glares and he hums. Jaskier’s heart stutters frightfully in his chest whenever the man smiles, though. The sight is rare. Geralt has smiled perhaps three times in the past two months.

“Where are we going today?”

“Werewolf outside of town. You’re staying at the inn, where I know you can’t get into… nevermind. You can get into trouble anywhere.”

There’s a lightly teasing tone to the stranger’s voice that Jaskier hasn’t really heard before. He likes it. He craves more of it. He tosses and turns in his sleep, his skin damp with sweat. The dream goes on.

“Geralt, please,” he whines, “I can’t write ballads about monsters I haven’t seen! Or fights I did not attend! That’s lying to my audience, Geralt, and I simply won’t do it. I must go with you.”

“Drop it, Jaskier,” the man snarls. Jaskier feels sad. Incredibly sad.

Rejected?

“Gera-”

“I said drop it, bard.”

Jaskier wakes up feeling a little heartbroken and he yearns to be held. His pillow holds the fading scents of leather and wood-smoke. The sight of a pine sapling at the dog park makes him tear up.

He starts to wear the color yellow out of nowhere and his taste in jewelry switches from gold to silver. 

When his best friend asks him about the recent changes, he cannot answer.

---

Geralt pours himself a mug of tea and shakes his hair out of his face. He’s been having odd dreams lately, things that feel familiar but manage to stay just out of his conscious grasp. Someone important is waiting for him. Someone he love and cares about and needs. 

Geralt doesn’t really buy into the concept of soulmates, but he does understand instinct. He knows to trust his gut. He knows to listen and start paying attention when the same haunting blue eyes creep into his dreams every night for six months, plaguing him in the waking hours by refusing to give up their owners’ identity. 

He wipes a hand down his face and sighs loudly into the otherwise empty studio apartment. “Fuck me, I gotta figure this shit out. I gotta talk to Yen.”

Talking to himself has always helped him calm down. He does it again, just to hear his own low voice scraping through the silence. 

“I gotta see what’s going on with my head. These dreams are… getting to be a bit much, even for me.”

He nods to no one in particular and goes to text his best friend and coworker.

---

Jaskier hops off the bus and carries his guitar case down to the coffee shop on the corner. Finally, he’s managed to get a gig that wasn’t through the university.

He sets up his stuff in the tiny alcove the shop treats as a stage and watches as a few customers stroll around near the counter, waiting for their drinks or reading through the menu, hovering just far away enough from the line to keep others from growing confused.

He loves people watching. 

Once everything is ready to go and the light outside the window has dimmed a bit, indicating early evening has finally arrived, he pulls his guitar onto his lap and strums through a few quick chords.

“Rode here on the bus,

Now you're one of us.

It was magic hour,

Counting motorbikes on the turnpike;

One of Eisenhower's.”

 “Live your life on a merry-go-round;

Who starts a fire just to let it go out?”

He watches a particularly handsome man with broad shoulders and a vintage denim jacket approach the counter. Jaskier adds a haunting, well-practiced lilt to his voice as he goes into the chorus, hoping to get his attention:

“If I saw you on the street,

Would I have you in my dreams tonight?

If I saw you on the street,

Would I have you in my dreams tonight, tonight?”

An equally beautiful woman with long, curly black hair approaches the denim-clad angel and whisks him towards a table nearby. She settles with her back to Jaskier, leaving him with a decent view of the man’s sharp, lightly stubbled jaw, glittering eyes, and severe white ponytail. He’s gorgeous.

He’s also uncomfortably familiar.

Jaskier continues to perform, trying to identify his attractive mystery man the whole time and failing miserably.

---

“He’s everywhere, Yen. I feel like I could identify him by scent if I got close enough. I can’t remember his name, though. Or the color of his hair. I don’t know his face, only his eyes. It’s driving me crazy.”

“Have you talked to Dr. deStael about it?”

“Yeah, but she said this kind of thing is normal. Recurring dreams often help us sort out our trauma or something like that. I don’t know. I don’t feel traumatized by this guy I feel… protective of him. Maybe even like I love him?”

“Hmm.”

“Hey, that’s my line.”

“Shut up for a minute, this live music actually slaps and I want to listen to it. Then we can discuss your weird possessive tendencies towards your dream boyfriend.”

Geralt takes a slow sip of his coffee and glances up at the singer off to their left, perched on a barstool with his guitar held carefully on his lap. His voice is soft but somehow bright. Geralt finds himself utterly entranced.

“On the weird guitar;

Said you'd go to work

In the waking hour.

In fluorescent light,

Antisocialites watch a wilting flower.”

 “Live your life on a merry-go-round;

Who builds a wall just to let it fall down?”

The lyrics are strange and hold a dream-like quality to them. They draw a picture in Geralt’s head, something dark and heavy and oddly hollow. He has another sip of coffee and tries to ignore the feeling of panic welling up inside him. He glances at Yennefer to see if she’s picked up on his mood, but her violet eyes are focused on the singer and his nimble fingers as he continues to play and sing.

When he glances up towards their table and their eyes meet, Geralt loses the ability to breathe.

That shade of cornflower blue was…

Couldn’t be…

Had to be…

The gorgeous, feathery tenor continues to fill the air, whirling pleasant notes past his ears and deep into his subconscious. Geralt knows that voice. He’s heard this man laugh and sing and cry and scream a thousand different times. Through a handful of different lives. Geralt knows that face, those hands, those strong legs and long arms and blue fucking eyes. He’s held this singer in his arms every night for centuries, feeling his breathing as they both drift off to sleep.

He has protected this man and been protected by him in return. He has kissed and been kissed, caressed and been caressed. The two men sitting across from each other in the coffee shop physically embody an endless cycle of love. It has been bound up in the souls of two no-longer strangers. Geralt knows that he knows this man. 

He knows Jaskier.

Petal pink lips continue to form soft words and slender hands keep plucking at vibrating guitar strings:

“Don't sit by the phone for me,

Wait at home for me, all alone for me.

Your face was supposed to be

Hanging over me, like a rosary.���

Geralt stands suddenly, startling Yennefer but not the performer, even though he’s clearly just as shocked as Geralt about this recent development.

Their mutual realization.

“So morose for me,

Seeing ghosts of me,

Writing oaths to me,

Is it so naïve to wonder…”

Geralt crosses the room to the edge of the stage in three quick strides. Yennefer is close behind him, her latte just as abandoned as his coffee at their table. She grabs her friend’s arm as if to stop him from doing something violent, but when he doesn’t struggle against her grip she lets it go again easily. 

“Geralt?” the musician asks.

“Jaskier?” Geralt replies. The guitar is placed quickly to the side and a pair of incredibly familiar arms are thrown around the taller man’s neck. Geralt hugs back just as firmly, his arms flung low around the brunette’s waist. Geralt knows that this is Jaskier’s favorite way to be embraced; he doesn’t know how he’s aware of that fact, but it comes to the front of his mind clear as day. 

“Holy shit,” Jaskier breathes, leaning back to stare Geralt in the face. One of his string-calloused fingers traces down over Geralt’s eyelid and cheek and he cocks his head to the side. “No scar?”

“No,” Geralt shakes his head. “Not this lifetime, I guess.”

“Were we? Are we- are we, you know...?”

“Yeah,” Yen beams, adding her two cents from the sidelines. “I think so. Congrats, boys. This is one of those one in a million chances and you’ve gone and done it.”

“Done what?” Geralt asks. Jaskier tosses his head back and laughs. His happiness rings out through the cafe like a struck bell and Geralt’s heart stutters frantically. He really does love this man already. Wholeheartedly and without fear. “What have we done, Yen?”

“As obtuse now as you were then,” Jaskier chides affectionately. “Soulmates, my love. We’ve been bound by the red string of fate and ta-da! Here we are. Again, apparently.”

“Yes, okay,” Geralt breathes, nosing his way along Jaskier’s jaw with giddy determination. He presses a quick and wholly welcome kiss to the bard’s lips. “That makes sense.”

 “Do you... do you want me again? This time around?” Jaskier asks, fingers fiddling with one of the ties on Geralt’s hoodie. A pair of chapped lips press against his again and he sighs into it, melting against his no-longer-Witcher. 

“Yes. And the next one, as well.”

[vampire--dad]

Part 1 of my Witcher!Jaskier fic (that originally just started as a Geraskier drabble thing and spiralled wildly out of control) (and also doesn’t have a title yet bear with me here)

——————

“Roach, you take care of him now, won’t you?” Jaskier says softly, petting her nose. She huffs and nudges his chest. He chuckles. “Good. Keep him out of trouble.”

“And you give me shit for talking to her,” says a familiar gruff voice. Geralt approaches the stables with his pack slung over his shoulder, clad in his black armour. Jaskier pulls an apple from his pocket and offers it to the horse, who chomps it down happily.

“Well yes, because you’re always so bossy and grouchy with her. Someone’s got to be nice to her. She’s a wonderful horse.”

Geralt sets his pack over the back of the saddle before turning to Jaskier with his arms folded, ignoring the comment.

“I don’t need the horse to take care of me or keep me out of trouble.”

“Sure you do. She always brings you back in one piece, don’t you, Roach?”

“Jaskier, I don’t need to be taken care of.”

Jaskier sighs and shakes his head, finally turning to face the witcher. His yellow eyes stare into his soul, reigniting a fire he’s spent years trying to put out.

“Fine… but bring yourself back here safely, alright?”

He regrets saying it to his face, but he means it. Over the years, Jaskier has learned to carefully conceal how much he cares for Geralt. He knows it won’t go anywhere. He knows Geralt doesn’t feel the same. He can’t. He’s a witcher. He’s not capable of it. Yet Jaskier still yearns for him.

Geralt scoffs and lifts himself onto Roach’s back. “What, worried you’ll lose your main source of income?” he says with a mocking tone. Jaskier hides how the comment stings. Is that really what Geralt thinks he sticks around for? That’s just an excuse to stay. The witcher digs his heels into Roach’s sides and rides off without another word.

“Yeah, something like that…”

It only takes two days for the townspeople to start asking where the witcher is. They fear he’s dead. Jaskier brushes off their worries and fills the air with fantastical stories instead. It’s not uncommon for Geralt to be gone for days at a time. It’s not until the end of the first week that Jaskier finds himself starting to worry as well. The innkeeper is kind enough to let him stay until the witcher comes back, so long as he fills the hall with music. Performing becomes a distraction from the worry that gnaws at the corners of his mind. Geralt has never been gone for more than a week.

As he lays in bed among the scratchy old sheets, he faces the fact that this worry is borne from more than just concern for a friend. He knows that if something were to happen to Geralt, it’d kill him too. And he knows he’s an idiot for caring so much. Witchers don’t feel. That’s what Geralt has always told him. He never believed it until he realised he was in love with him. Then it became a crushing truth. Geralt could never care for him the same way he does. It’s not the witcher’s fault, it’s his own. He wishes he could stop, wishes he could put out the fire that burns under his heart and burns it to a crisp every time Geralt looks at him.

By the end of the second week, the innkeeper threatens to throw him out if he spends another night in his room moping. The worry consumes every corner of his mind now. He tries to sleep. It doesn’t work. He waits by the window, staring at the town’s gates. Waiting for the White Wolf to ride back into town unscathed. But he doesn’t. Rather, he’s carried by two men, covered in blood. Roach follows behind them. Jaskier races out the door, crying the witcher’s name.

“We found him in the forest,” the men say as they struggle to carry an unconscious witcher to a bed in the inn. “He killed… whatever that thing was, but it just about killed him.”

Jaskier barely hears them. He grabs his pack and spends hours tending to each wound on Geralt’s body, only to find that another one has started to bleed what little blood he has left. He peels the blood-soaked clothes off his back. He can’t tell what of it is Geralt’s and what’s from the monster. It doesn’t particularly matter. He notices as he tends to a wound on the witcher’s temple that he feels cold. Geralt always feels cold, but his skin is practically freezing. Jaskier curses. The bastard can’t die on him yet, he won’t let him. Roach is lucky the stable boys like her and care for her free of charge.

He stays by Geralt’s side for days. He quickly turns from freezing cold to hot to the touch. Jaskier spends what little coin he can spare on herbs to treat the infection. The witcher never wakes, but he groans in pain in his sleep. Each one feels like a punch to the gut for Jaskier. He tries to be gentle, but since he doesn’t know where the infection is coming from, he needs to clean all of the wounds as best as he can. The shallow ones are all but gone within a few days. He’s never quite gotten used to how quickly his wounds heal, but it’s at least slightly comforting to have less to deal with.

Geralt doesn’t wake till the fourth day of Jaskier tending to him. The bard is hunched over his bare torso, redressing a wound that runs along his ribcage. He’s done well to ignore how bloody good Geralt looks without a shirt on. He sits back only to find a pair of yellow eyes staring at him and just about jumps out of his skin.

“Bloody hell, Geralt! You could have said something…”

The witcher grunts and sits up slowly, Jaskier’s hands bracing his broad shoulders as he assesses the damage done to him.

“Careful, careful,” Jaskier cautions him. “How do you feel?”

Geralt winces slightly, but pain is almost familiar to him by now.

“Fine,” he grumbles. Jaskier resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“You had an infection. I think it’s gone, but you need to rest.”

“We need to go. We’ve been here too long.”

Jaskier inhales sharply. “Geralt, you’re going to pull your stitches if we leave now, and I’m out of thread to redo them, so unless you plan on sacrificing a shirt to me so I can stitch you back together—”

Geralt ignores him. They’ve spent far too long in this town. It’s better if they keep moving. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, stumbling slightly as he stands for the first time in about a week. Jaskier throws his hands up in defeat as he searches through his pack for a clean shirt.

“I’ll be fine, Jaskier,” he says with his back turned to the bard. It’s a good thing, too, for the witcher doesn’t see the pained and worried expression on his face.

They set off with Roach and what little food Jaskier can talk out of the innkeeper. The bard isn’t much of a hunter, but he’ll have to try if they plan on reaching the next town without starving, and the gods only know he won’t let Geralt hunt in such a state. Hopefully he can score them a squirrel at the very least.

He can tell the witcher is in pain. He winces at every step Roach takes that jostles him a little too hard. Jaskier can’t help but feel as though all his hard work to keep the bastard alive is going unappreciated. It always does, really, but this time it hurts a little more. He would have died if not for Jaskier’s care and the cold nights he spent sleeping on the floor so Geralt could rest.

They set up camp beside the narrow path that winds through the forest as night falls. Jaskier is quick to set up a fire before Geralt can, yet again finding himself wondering why he bothers. Geralt has never noticed the things he does for him, what would make him start now?

“What’s wrong?” the witcher asks unexpectedly.

“Nothing,” Jaskier lies. A lot is wrong, but Geralt doesn’t need to know. Probably wouldn’t care if he did.

“Something is bothering you. Spit it out.”

Geralt knows something is wrong when the bard is quiet, but he’s never been that short with him. Usually he’s the one giving monotonous one word answers. Jaskier stares into their campfire without a word. He’s stressed. He’s tired of how Geralt brushes him off, how he never thanks him for caring for him. He supposes it’s because he shouldn’t. Geralt has always made it clear he’d rather be left to his own devices, but Jaskier can’t help but scramble after him in futile hopes that one day it will all be worth it.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says impatiently. The annoyance in his tone fuels the bard’s anger. “Spit it out. What’s wrong?”

“Damn it, Geralt, you blithering idiot!!” Jaskier shouts. Years of longing and loneliness built up inside him all come out at once. “I waited in that inn for two weeks for you to come back. I thought you were dead! Then you’re carried back into the town, unconscious and covered in blood, and I nurse you back to health as per fucking usual. And you act like nothing happened, like you didn’t almost die out there. Not even a ‘thank you’ for making sure you didn’t die of an infection or for staying in that rotten inn for two weeks. Waiting for you. You never think of anyone but yourself, you prick! I’m fucking over this. I’m done.”

Jaskier grabs his things and storms off into the forest. Geralt watches him in silence until he fades out of view. Roach grumbles and nudges his shoulder with her nose. Of all things, the last thing he expected was to feel guilty… but Jaskier is right. He waited for him. He always has. He’s always the one who tends to his wounds and stitches him back together so as to not leave too much of a mark. Jaskier has followed him across this land for years and for all those years, Geralt has ignored the signs. He knows Jaskier cares for him more than he’s ever let on. He can’t deny that deep down he cares for him, too. He just never wanted to face it. It was easier not to, easier to wait for the fire in both of them to die out, and safer. But it never did. Roach headbutts his arm impatiently. He growls and pats her nose.

“I know,” he grumbles.

He sets off after the bard, following the bitter scent of his anger along an invisible path. Slowly the anger fades to regret, a sour scent that stings Geralt’s nose, but he follows it anyway. He finds himself reaching for his sword at every sound the forest makes. He should never have let Jaskier run off like that, not at night. He’s going to get himself hurt. The sour scent of regret starts to become richer and Geralt finds himself feeling guiltier and guiltier as he follows the smell of sadness. He scrubs his nose as it itches at the smell.

He treks until he finds Jaskier sitting on a log, his head in his hands, a mess of frustration, sadness, and fear. He doesn’t know where the hell he’s going. He just wanted to get away from Geralt, but now that he’s not here he realises what an idiot he is. All he has is the small dagger Geralt gave to him. He’s got no chance of fighting off anything bigger than a dog. Geralt stares at him and finds his chest aching with guilt. It takes him a while to work up the courage to say anything.

“Jaskier.”

The bard’s head shoots up at the sound, but his fearful expression quickly turns to one of disgust as his blue eyes fall on the witcher. He turns his back to him.

“Fuck off.”

“No.”

Jaskier groans and grabs his things, anger bubbling up in his chest yet again. “Just fuck off, you asshole. I don’t need your—”

“I’m sorry.”

They stand in silence for a moment, Jaskier’s back to Geralt. The moonlight shines through the trees on his soft brown hair. His eyes start to sting, his bags slipping from his grasp and back to the ground. He dares not turn around. It’d kill him if Geralt saw him cry. Eventually, the witcher speaks up again. He doesn’t know where the words come from, but they spill out of his mouth.

“I’ve taken you for granted for so many years and I’m sorry. I never appreciated you. You’ve always waited for me and taken care of me, and I was never as grateful as I should have been. I’m sorry, Jask.”

Tears start to fall from Jaskier’s eyes as Geralt speaks. The desperation in his voice gives the bard hope he knows he shouldn’t have. Before he can say something stupid to ease the tension, Geralt says something that shakes him to his very core.

“I know how much you care about me, Jask. I always have. I don’t know why you do, given how I treat you, but I know…”

His voice trails off, but something tells Jaskier that he’s not finished. He’s just trying to figure out how to say it.

“I do care about you. I’ve just never known how to show it. I always thought being a witcher was more important and… it was safer to push you away. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

Geralt stares at the back of the bard’s head. He’s never been good with words. What he said doesn’t even capture half of what he meant, but he’s surprised he came up with that alone. Jaskier doesn’t move for a moment, then all of a sudden he turns on his heel and throws himself into Geralt’s arms. He’s longed to hear those words for years. It’s all too much for him. He tries his best to hold back his tears, but a few sobs slip from his throat. Geralt doesn’t say anything, he just holds Jaskier and pets his hair gently.

Eventually, Jaskier pulls away and scrubs the tears from his face with his sleeve, cursing under his breath. He’s a mess. His eyes dart about, looking anywhere but at Geralt until he says his name again.

“Jaskier…”

There’s a tinge of worry in Geralt’s voice he’s never heard. His blue eyes shine as he looks at the witcher. A pair of golden eyes stare back under a brow furrowed with concern. His own voice shakes with the strain of choking back tears.

“You always told me witchers couldn’t feel,” he says.

“I lied. It’s easier if people believe that we don’t feel… even you.”

Jaskier nods and sniffles softly.

“Do you mean it?” he asks. He has to. After all these years, he has to ask. Geralt reaches out and gently caresses his cheek with a gloved hand.

“I mean it,” he says definitively.

Jaskier doesn’t think. He just throws himself at Geralt, kissing him like it’ll kill him if he doesn’t. The witcher holds him close, his lips cold and bitter. It’s relieving. It’s overwhelming. Jaskier feels like his heart has caught on fire. Geralt thinks he’s going to melt in Jaskier’s warm embrace. Eventually their lips part and Jaskier gently brushes the hair from Geralt’s eyes. Geralt doesn’t let him go. If he’s going to allow himself to love Jaskier, he’s never going to let him go again.

“Come back to the camp,” he says softly. Jaskier nods and reluctantly slips from Geralt’s arms to grab his things. As he slings his bag over his back, he begins to apologise.

“I’m sorry I stormed off and called you a—”

“Don’t be. You had every right to,” Geralt cuts him off. The guilt of how he has treated Jaskier still lingers in his chest, so he’ll bury it with affection and that wonderful warm feeling he got when the bard kissed him. He slips off his gloves, and takes Jaskier’s hand as they walk back to the road together.

[passionate-hedgehog]

Impasse pt 2

Impasse is a 3-part series revolving around Reader entering society in Regency-Era London. Completely inspired by me binging the entirety of Bridgerton in less than 24 hours, Impasse will end with either Duke Damien Haas x Reader, or Courtney Miller x Reader.

Pt 2.

Pairings: Eventual Damien Haas x Reader, Eventual Courtney Miller x Reader

Warnings: None

Word: 2187

A/N: I know that my masterlist links arent working. If you try to use it, and things dont go where you want them to take you...well...I warned you. I’m turning this into a 4 part fic. There’s no way I can comfortably fit what I want into 3 separate sections. Part 3 will be out when this hits 15 notes! Thank you to everyone that liked and interacted with the first part. And thank you to the fans of my toher works. I love all of you omg. Enjoy ♥

Chapter Summary: The social Season has officially begun. Deals are being made amongst friends and old flames are fanning. Will there be any sparks igniting as well?

“What do you suspect he wants to talk about?” After the morning activities with Lord Haas in the drawing-room, Y/n and her handmaid found themselves busy with average daily activities.  

Caroline’s expression was nonplussed as she stared at the back of Y/n’s head. The women were preparing Y/n for bed. The latter was in her chair as the housemaid brushed through her hair.

“Why must you give me that look every time I open my mouth?”

“Why must such ridiculous things come out of your mouth every time you open it?”

They discovered Shayne in his favorite study, books littering the desk he occupied. Y/n would always ask him when he planned on attending university but the young man tended to reply with something akin to “that’s not for me”. The young woman didn’t understand. She knew how smart her twin was, how clever he could be given the situation. Mayhaps one day he’d see the things he could accomplish.

“To what do I owe this visit?” The fair-haired man asked as his sister sat at the opposite side of his desk. A rather thick tome set open before him while his right hand held a fountain pen to sheets of parchment.

Y/n perched her arms along the length of the armrests and sat comfortably. “I thought I might see what you’re up to. But I find that you’re doing nothing different than normal. When are you going to talk to Father about university?”

Shayne restraint from rolling his eyes visible as he went back to his books, and scratching at the parchment. “When are you going to talk to me about Courtney?”

“What? That has nothing to do with...Shayne. My favorite twin, you could be doing so many more things if you were off to study. Collegiately.”

This caused the young man to sigh. “Y/n-,”

“I’m being serious here, Shayne. You’re in here, every day, reading and writing. It’s almost a different book a week. Sometimes, your nose is in a book about far-off adventures in distant lands and sometimes it’s about the history and tragedies of the lands around us. Look that book right there.” She motioned to the collection of parchment before Shayne. “I gather that one is not Shakespeare. What is it? The history of France?”  

Shayne lowered his head back to the pages before putting his pen back on the parchment, not meeting his sister’s eyes. “Spain, as a matter of fact.”

Y/n held a blank countenance. 

“I’m trying my hand at the Spanish language. Does that quell your curiosity?”

Y/n smirked. “You’re just proving my point.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” The young man laid his fountain pen on the parchment and clasped his hands together before leaning forward. “I’ll talk to Father about university if you read and respond to Courtney’s letter..”

The young woman grumbled and stood up from her chair. “Suddenly, I have a desire for some poetry. Caroline, I’ll be in the library. I’ll call for you if I need you.”

The handmaid nodded from where she stood by the fireplace, her hands clasped in front of her as Y/n walked to the door. “Of course.”

Y/n turned one last glance to her twin before exiting the room and found Caroline in the chair Y/n’s ownself just left. The handmaid was smiling at Shayne as he talked. The rosy tint to Caroline’s cheeks as the man laughed sparked Y/n’s curiosity yet still managed to make her smile. It was cute if she had to be honest. The handmaid had the tendency, lately, to be quieter than usual. While yes, Caroline was well-mannered and modest, it was different when Shayne was around. Had it just been the two women, Caroline could be witty. Y/n enjoyed that in the handmaid. It was refreshing and reminded her of a long-lost friend.

“For Heaven’s sake, Courtney. You’re not even here but you’re still here.” The young woman fiddled with a woven bracelet made from brightly colored twine.

“Y/n?” A voice called from next to her as her hand was on the doorknob to the library.

“Oh, Lord Haas! I did not realize you were here.” Y/n peered behind her companion and to her own left and right, in case she missed any other person.

“It’s just me. And please, call me Damien. We’ve known each other since we were young, back when we had all of our friends amongst us.” The duke gave a gentle pleading look. 

“I was a tad cheeky back then. I wasn’t going to call you by any title.”

Damien cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “You’re still a tad cheeky to this day. Am I wrong?”

Y/n’s matched his smirk before opening the door to the library and making her way inside. A witty remark was caught in her throat when her eyes caught someone standing next to the nearest shelving of books.

“Court-Courtney?” Her hand slipped off of the knob of the door. “What are you doing here?”

The light-haired woman bit her lip. “I wanted to visit. You never responded to any of my letters. I thought...I thought maybe something had happened.”

“You...I can’t...Excuse me.” The young woman turned around in haste and scurried away. She found herself in the empty kitchen trying to breathe through what just happened.

Good going. You’re such a coward.

“I’m such a coward.”

“No, you’re not.” Damien had followed her into the cooking area. He led her to a chair and guided her to sit. “Some refreshment might make it better?”

Y/n watched her old friend as he went about collecting items. She noticed how at ease he seemed going through her icebox and cupboards. How expertly he sliced up fruit. She couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked in his livery, as well, but there was enough going on inside of her head. Damien approached the table with a modest platter and placed it in the center of the table before he sat himself in a chair across from her.

“I figure that some soft cheese might do some good as well as figs and berries. I hope they comfort you the way they do me.” He had gestured towards the food.

Y/n gave a thankful nod before reaching for a bite. “Thank you, Damien. This means very much to me.”

The man grabbed fig and brie, biting into them. “If you need to talk, I’m all ears. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course. But I’m here.”

Y/n fidgeted with a slice of fig fruit. She mentally weighed her options before speaking again. “I haven’t seen Courtney in over a year. We got into an argument...about the things she wanted to do and where she wanted to be in life. I regret it. I regret it every day. I let our relationship ...decay...because I didn’t approve of what she wanted to do.”

“She wanted to work with horses, right? And entertain? That’s where she’s been this whole time?” Damien bit into some brie.

“I was treating her like she was someone like me. Someone that already had their life plans laid out for them. She was able to choose what she wanted in life.”

The young man studied Y/n’s face. “Y/n, were you...jealous that she had such an opportunity to live a dream that you tried burning bridges with her? She was your best friend. That had to be a hard decision to make.”

“It’s about more than that. I’m happy she was able to live how she wanted to...thrilled that she got to work with her passions. But..I wasn’t there with her. She wasn’t with me. It didn’t matter what she was doing...I just wanted it to be with..with me. 

“I had this asinine vision that society would be in a different place by now. That two close friends could...be closer. And that I wouldn’t have to feel like I was left alone for the rest of my life. I see so many friendships for what they could be. The feelings that I’ve had over someone that will never be attainable I see in others. All of the time. Especially while I promenade! And it makes me sad for those yearning and it reminds me of what I can never have.”

There was a moment of silence before Y/n’s eyes widened in the realization of what she had just let out. “Oh my. I-You didn’t hear any of what I just said. Promise me!”

Damien laid a soft hand on Y/n’s arm. “I promise. I had no idea that you had harbored such...persuasions. Not that it’s anything you need to feel sorry about. You can’t help it. Your reactions, for sure, but...not for what you feel.”

“You, Lord Haas, will make someone a fine husband someday. Maybe even sometime soon? It is our season, finally, after all.” Y/n tried to hide her watery eyes behind a coy smirk. “Someone is bound to catch your eye.”

Damien breathed out before responding. “Someone already has, if I’m being honest. But maybe I’m far-reaching more than I originally thought.”

His words seemed to spark a sense of excitement through Y/n. She sat up straight and gripped the edges of the table.

“Who is she? Will you point her out to me while we promenade? No. I have an even better idea; can you introduce her to me at one of the balls?” Y/n was nearly on the edge of her seat. “Damien! This is exciting!”

“It’s not quite that intriguing, I promise you. Especially since nothing can come of it.” The man picked at the fruit on the platter. “But I digress. It seems that you’ve got your own sorting out to do. What are you going to do about callers if Courtney plans on joining in on the festivities this season? She may not come from one of the families but she has enough friends.”

“Then I hope she enjoys herself. For all I know, everything I felt could have been my very own thoughts and not hers. If she’s here to find a match, then let her. If she’s here to have fun, then by all means...I hope she has it. I just hope I can keep my heart to myself this time. I don’t want to get hurt again.”

“Y/n,” The man licked his lips before continuing. “Might I suggest trying to find out what exactly it is that your heart wants before you do anything else with it?”

The young woman topped her fig slice with some brie. “I’m going to pretend that you did not just offer such advice. Who would even think about courting a woman trying to figure out whether or not she wants her story to end with another woman? You slay me, Lord Haas.”

“I’m being entirely serious. Y/n, you could…” Damien seemed to pause before paying very close attention to fiddling with a berry. “We could stop your callers from coming around and maybe I could use a distraction. We could work together.”

“What? Like...you and I? Together together?”

The german-born duke hesitated before taking one of Y/n’s hands into both of his. “We could go to promenade as a match. And then to the balls, And the parties. No one would be the wiser. You could use this time to figure out what it is you truly want. And then who.”

The young woman looked down at their hands, hers fitting inside his the way she suspects other women her age dream of, yet, she wasn’t sure what it did to her. What he offered could very much help her, but what if Courtney got the wrong idea? What if everyone got the wrong idea?

“But what if it went right?”

“Hmm?” Damien asked in confusion.

“Nevermind.” Y/n shook the thoughts from her head. “Damien, I think...you may be on to something. You’re right. I...I don’t know how to be a...a wife to anyone. Let alone a man. And I won’t know until I figure myself out a little bit more. And then if this girl is running through your mind and you firmly believe that you can never court her…”

“Trust in me with this. I always thought she was someone I could never hope to marry, far too good for me in so many ways. But...maybe this will help me to see who else is out there. Maybe I’ll find my perfect match. And if we come out as a couple, it’ll provide good reason for the other men to leave you alone.”

“Too bad they just don’t leave me alone as is.”

“I believe Olivia said the same thing after she met Sam.”

“Heavens, that was a riot.” Y/n lifted her pinky to solidify the agreement with her friend. “Lord Damien Haas, I believe we might have ourselves a deal.”

[donutloverxo]

Salty Baby

Chapter three

Authors note- From now on please read the warnings as the chapters will be explicit. If you want in on the taglist let me know.

Please do not repost or steal my work. Reblogs are welcome.

Summary- When you moved to New York in hopes of living a glamorous life this isn’t what you expected. Steve offers to help you but your pride gets in the way. Pride isn’t going to pay your rent and college loans.

Pairing- Steve Rogers x reader

Warning- smut, loss of virginity, virgin reader, misuse of cucumbers, sugar daddy/baby themes

Word count- 3k

Chapter one | Chapter two | Chapter four | Chapter five

Masterlist

Over the next month you saw Steve thrice, sometimes four times a week. He insisted on planning and paying for the dates. He bought you flowers or chocolates every time he saw you.

It was strange initially, but now you were used to it. Considering the era he was from it made sense that he wished to take care of you.

Tonight was a movie date. Those were his favorite. He said that they were timeless and reminded him of his childhood.

“That was nice. A happily ever after. Such wish fulfillment” you scoffed referring to the romcom you had just seen.

You were walking hand in hand with him, with no destination in mind. You wanted to ask him to show you his home, maybe that could lead to more things but you didn’t want to seem desperate.

It was strange to be with him. You felt things you never thought you could.

You’d feel your entire body trembling, when he dipped down to kiss you, squeeze your hips, touch your lower back or hell even just smile at you.

It’s not like you didn’t see him yearn for you. Not that there was much about you to yearn for. You had caught him staring at your cleavage twice. Both times he got so red you were afraid he’d combust. You were pretty sure you felt his eyes on your ass.

But he was old fashioned and a gentleman. He wanted to court you, to treat you like a proper lady. If only he knew just how unladylike you were.

You were apprehensive about dating a 100 year old initially. That whole thing was still bizarre. Steve didn’t act like a hundred year old, not most of the times anyway. Any unsuspecting person would just assume he’s a regular guy.

“How about Sunday?”, you suggested when you were both discussing when to meet again.

“Ah Sunday...” He trailed of running his hands through his hair. “I’m going to DC to see a friend.”

“Oh” You knew he wouldn’t be at your beck and call every time you wanted him to be. The thought of not seeing him was still disheartening. Your schedule was packed after Sunday with work and classes. “That’s alright!” You faked some enthusiasm to hide your disappointment. It wasn’t his job to make sure you’re always happy.

“Yeah. Maybe I could take you sometime? She'd love to meet you” He asked with a sheepish smile.

“You talk about me?” You smirked. Feeling some pride creep up in you “Who is she?”

“Her names Peggy. I knew her before the ice”

All color fell from your face. You knew who Peggy Carter was. You had read about her while researching Steve. She was ,apparently in love with him. You didn’t know if Steve returned her feelings.

You hadn’t really talked about her or past relationships yet. Of course there had to be something wrong. No one is ever as perfect as Steve Rogers. He was still hung up on his ex girlfriend. Were you just a placeholder for her? Someone he could use to move on?

“What’s wrong?” He asked. You shook your head trying to evade the question looking away from him. “You don’t want me seeing her?”

“No. I can’t tell you what to do. It’s just... do you still have feelings for her?” You asked even if you weren’t sure if you wanted to know the truth.

“I... I used to. I was angry I didn’t get to have a dance with her. But then I realized how happy she is. She lived a fulfilling life. And I’m happy for her. She’s just a friend I promise” He held your hand with his looking at you with a pout. The last thing he wanted was to hurt you. “I have feelings for you” He continued when you refused to talk “In fact” he stood up straighter if he was going to do this he will do it properly “I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend”

You blurt out a quick laugh smothering your mouth with your hand. He furrowed his brows at you. “No ones asked me that before it’s... weird. But a good kind of weird”

“So that’s a yes?”

You smiled brightly at him. Perfect innocent Steve Rogers. “Yes. And you’ll be my boyfriend?” you cover your mouth to stop yourself from laughing further. “I’m sorry it’s just so cheesy. I guess we’re going to be that cheesy gross couple”

“I could get behind that” He returned your smile. Bending down slightly to give you your routine goodbye kiss.

***

Steve hadn’t heard from you for over a week. He knew you’d be busy so he kept his phone calls short. He couldn’t stop himself from worrying about you. You sounded so exhausted. He wished there was a way for him to help you.

He dailed you number on his phone. Hoping to sneak in a quick good night. Maybe if you weren’t tired you could talk like you used to.

“Hello” You picked up your voice hoarse. He could hear traffic in the background.

“Hey. What are you doing out so late?” He had told you to call him to pick you up if you were out late. But of course you’d refuse to accept any kind of help.

“I don’t know” You voice broke. You were sobbing trying to calm yourself down.

“Where are you? I’ll come get you” He quickly got up getting his jacket on.

“No... I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I’m fine really”

He used his ‘captain voice’ as Tony called it and sternly said your name. “Where are you?”

After some convincing you told him where you were. He asked you to wait for him. In less than twenty minutes he was with you.

He took in you state. Your eyes and nose red. It was obvious you were crying for quite a while. Your eyes bore black circles. He felt his heart swell in his chest. He should've known something was wrong.

You were in no mood to talk. He got you on his Harley and drove home. He would get some tea in you and make you comfortable before he asks what’s wrong with you.

He was waiting for you on his couch staring at your empty tea cup. You hadn’t said a word since you both got home. You refused to even look at him. He didn’t take it personally he knew something was going on with you. After what felt like hours you got out of the bathroom sitting beside him on the couch.

“You ready to talk?” He knew he shouldn’t press you too much but you shouldn’t be keeping things bottled up either.

“I just had a fight with Anna. She doesn’t want me to leave. She needs me there to help take care of her kids. Which is so ridiculous. I pay her rent I don’t have to look after her rugrats” you huffed looking at him. The tea and his presence calmed you a bit. “Thanks for being there for me”

“Always” He smiled lacing your fingers with his “You can stay here as long as you like. Nobody should treat you like that” he said kissing your knuckles.

You both cuddled on the couch a bit. He stroked your hair hoping to sooth you a bit. Watching some show on the TV. You couldn’t care to remember. All you could think about were his arms around you. His hot breath behind your ears. His fingers drawing random patterns on your stomach. You couldn’t even remember what you were upset about. You sighed feeling yourself sink further into him.

“You wanna go to bed?” He drawled hastily getting you off of his lap. You stared at him confused. He sat up straight licking his lips. “You can take the bed. I’ll take the couch” He stood up heading towards his bedroom.

You followed behind him with purpose. He collected a pillow and a blanket wishing you a good night heading back towards the living room. You stood in front of him blocking him.

“You could just sleep here you know?” You said as seductively as you could.

“Well I can’t have you sleeping on the couch”

Perfect, innocent, clueless Steve. “I meant we both sleep here”

“Oh. Are you sure?” he asked putting the pillow back on his bed. “I really don’t mind...” He was cut off by your lips attacking his pulling on them with your teeth.

After the mild shock wore off he pulled you into him by pulling at your waist. He let you slip your tongue in his mouth.

“Wait” He broke the kiss shaking his head to clear it. You looked at him with your eyes dark with lust. “Are you sure?”

“Yes I’m sure. I’ve never been so sure about anything”

You both settled on his bed with you straddling his lap. You pulled at the hem of his t-shirt he helped you by pulling it off tossing it somewhere.

“Wait-“ You broke the kiss when you felt him sneak his hand up your shirt.

“What? what’s wrong?” he panicked. Putting some distance between you to look at you face.

“It’s just.. I’ve never done this before.” You said looking down at your thighs wrapped around his hips. “I just wanted you to know in case you thought I wasn’t good at it” You shrugged nonchalantly.

He gave you a small nod. He was unsure of the entire situation now. You were vulnerable, he would feel as if he was taking advantage of you.

He cleared his throat trying to think straight. He cock was already straining in his pants from your kisses and heavy petting.

“Then I need to make it special for you doll” He quickly corrected himself saying your name. He knew you didn’t like nicknames but sometimes he couldn’t help it. “Take you out to a fancy dinner. Flowers and everything. Maybe we could take that horse carriage through Central Park”

You smiled at the childlike excitement in his voice. His twinkling blue eyes looking into yours shyly. Afraid he’d gone too far.

“You can call me anything you like”, you said pecking his lips “It doesn’t have to be any more special. It’s already special because it’s with you” You lightly scratch his scalp the way you knew he liked.

He leaned into your touch extremely tempted to give in.

“Besides it’s not like I’m saving myself for someone. I was just always too busy with something. I’m not technically a virgin. A cucumber did the deed long ago”

He stared at you shocked with wide eyes. He had learnt some things about modern sex toys. But this was something new. “A cucumber?” He asked titling his head more curious than anything. He felt himself heating up at the thought of you pushing it in and out of you. Making yourself cum with it. He shifted a bit when he felt his pants becoming even more uncomfortable.

“Anything’s a dildo if you’re brave enough” you smirked grinding your hips on his erection making him grunt. His put his hands on your hips to still you. “I’m glad it’s with you though” You gave him a tender look hoping to convince him.

He took a few deep breaths to steady himself. He couldn’t think with his head since all his blood was flowing elsewhere. Here you were, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, sitting on his lap asking him to make love to you. Only an idiot would say no to you.

You got tired of him staring at you, choosing to leave some hickeys on his neck. He moaned when you sucked on a spot below his ear. You pulled his earlobe between your lips giving it a few soft sucks.

But then he realized. He could smell you. Smell your arousal. Timidly he snaked his hand inside your panties. His breath hitching when he felt your wet pussy. You whined into his neck. Putting your hand on top of his pushing it deeper into you.

He can have something for himself at least this once. He decided to be selfish with you. He could only be Americas golden boy for so long. Even if he didn’t deserve you, your innocence, you were willing to give it to him. It was good enough for him.

He pushed you down on the bed, your head hitting the pillow. Taking his hand out of your pants he sucked his fingers quickly to clean them. You lifted your hips to help him take off your pants.

You looked down and cringed at the brown cotton panties you were wearing. Had you known you were going to fuck your dream guy for the first time you would’ve wore something more pretty.

He didn’t seem bothered by it. Kissing your mould over your panties. He pulled down his pants along with his boxers. You sat up on your elbows throwing your shirt in the growing pile of clothes around you.

His mouth dropped open at the sight of your bare breasts. You pinched your right nipple rolling it between your fingers just to goad him a bit. You wondered how far you could push him.

He grabbed your wrist pinning it beside your head peppering kisses all over your clavicle and chest.

“So beautiful” he’d mutter here and there. Your back arched into him when you felt him suck on your nipple. You took a sharp breath when he softly bit it.

You pushed on his head. Trying to get him to give you what you really needed.

He released your nipple with a pop. “What? You want somethin'?” he drawled out and you knew you were in trouble.

You pathetically nodded your head, not so subtly pushing on his shoulder.

He finally gave in. Moving down while leaving open mouthed kisses on your stomach. He pulled down your panties, spreading your legs to settle between them. You tried to grab onto the short hair on the back of his head to brace yourself.

He chose to make you wait some more by leaving kisses on the inside of your thighs. You whined loudly when you felt him smirk against your thigh.

“Alright alright” He finally gave in taking in the sight of your pussy. He could stare at it all he wants later he needed to tend at your needs right now.

He gave you a few kitten licks, exploring to see what you liked best. He pushed his tongue inside of you licking it up towards you clit. He pushed you down on the bed to stop you from squirming, not too harshly he needed to remember he was much stronger than you. A thought that only fuelled his lust.

You came all over his tongue holding onto your pillow clutching it tightly in your hands. You screamed and thrashed for a few minutes before slowly coming down from your high.

You jerked a bit when you felt his fingers tracing your entrance. You opened your eyes to see him looming over you staring at your face. You moaned when you felt his finger inside you. He pumped it in and out of you before adding another.

“Gotta get you ready doll” You whined again at his words. You never thought your innocent Brooklyn boy could so easily turn your putty in his hands.

You bit your lip staring into his eyes. You squeezed his bicep stopping him.

“I wanna come on you” You mumbled shyly wrapping your hand around his length. You didn’t get a good look at it yet. But it felt long and thick. Bigger than anything you had put inside you. You stroked it slowly.

“Shit” He cursed dropping his head in your neck. “I don’t have a condom” He groaned when your strokes became faster. He pulled at your hand to still you or he’d come on the spot.

“It’s ok. I’ve been on the pill for years” you said stroking his hair as he sucked at your neck.

“Are you sure?” he asked again aligning his dick to your pussy.

“Yes I’m sure. Fuck me” He kneeled between your legs spreading them a bit wider. You took a moment to look at him. His defined abs, bulging biceps, hard pink nipples (you needed to get your mouth on them) you breathed shakily bracing yourself.

He pushed his tip in slowly entering you. His eyes fixated on you, to make sure you weren’t in pain.

You closed your eyes when you felt your pussy burn at the stretch of him. A most delicious welcome burn. You looked back at him to see him staring down at where you both were joined. He finally pushed in completely bottoming out.

He draped himself over you again, needing to be closer to you. He snaked a hand under your waist to pull you into him.

You grabbed onto his bicep and shoulder as he slowly rocked into you. He whispered sweet nothings in your ear before sneaking a hand between your legs to play with your clit.

Soon enough you were on the brink of your second orgasm. Between his hand on your clit and his cock inside you, you couldn’t hold on much longer. The knot in your stomach tightening before you released clenching around him. You bite on his shoulder sharply to keep yourself from shouting. You didn’t need any noise complaints from his neighbours.

He came right after you. Feeling you clench around him his thrusts became hard and sloppy before he spilled inside you. He collapsed dropping some of his weight on you nuzzling your neck.

You smiled biting his ear. You felt warm and tingly with his cum inside you. You whined when you felt him pull out of you. His cum spilling out from your pussy. He told you he’d be right back.

He returned with a washcloth gently cleaning you up. He knew how sensitive you must be from how red and raw your pussy looked. He cleaned himself with the same cloth before tossing it in his hamper.

He settled down beside you pulling you into his arms. He kissed your forehead.

“Good night” He said stroking your shoulder.

“Good night” you drifted off into a dreamless slumber. He sure knew how to make a girl feel better.

[snakeningel]

not to be starting homestuck race disk horse in 2019 but yknow what? I Will.

being an asian fan in the hs fandom is kinda, not great actually. in fact, it not only feels like we’re not here at all, that we’re erased, but its honestly? downright harmful. people treat the trivialization and fetishization of your culture to be,,, like a Big Joak. yall joke about weebs like these people havent been literally grooming and abusing asian girls, like we havent been made fun of enough for Their actions, like we aren't already viewed as the strange punchlines to jokes that still seem somehow acceptable. its somehow funny to joke about how you hate every sign of asian culture that shows up throughout the comics, like how dirk’s kotatsu was dumb and pretentious as if people in japan dont literally live with one and use it every single day!

even asian-coding in characters get swept away in favour of other headcanons. even the megidos, who are as close to canonically asian as they possibly can be in a medium like homestuck, are often drawn white or something completely different altogether. the stridlondes are also heavily asian-coded, and the fans who do pick up on that, who finally feel comforted by someone like them as protagonists? they often just.. give up on that, because they see so little representation in the fandom. (theres only like one popular artist i know of that draws the strilondes asian? but like, hats off to u pal, youre fighting the good fight). also, it seems strange, to be represented so little considering almost 3 billion people on earth is asian, which is, Quite A Lot to be not represented a lot. dont get me wrong, i adore the outpouring of more diverse art of the kids, but a hard truth to swallow is that pocs being weebs/fetishizing asian culture, is just as harmful as white people doing the same. there is a world of difference between japanese dirk, trying to interface with his lost culture by clinging to the most performative and popular parts of it, than another dirk, appropriating people’s cultures because he thinks its funny or interesting based off a show he watched once. i love how people are like "wow the striders like anime and care about traditions and use japanese words and overall just seem like diaspora kids" and the conclusion they draw from that is "clearly,, they cannot be asian" bc a non-asian person being interested in those things is better than an asian person whose interested in their own culture i guess??

in fact, a lot of these narratives are so much more interesting once theyre looked at through their coded lenses!

Dave’s struggle with coming to terms with his emotions strikes such an interesting chord when the striders’ concept of irony and never showing their emotions Correspond so well to the idea of honour/face, where youre not supposed to show that youre Ever Sad or anything that isnt a positive emotion because it shows that youre a Failure and You Failed and that makes you a Bad Person, which is exactly what dave struggles with because hes So Guilty about it, which ties to the guilt and shame a lot of asian people feel about not being able to live up to impossible standards set by their parents, which is another theme we see reflected in all four strilondes. 

rose’s strained relations with her mother are mirrored in so many of our second-generation lives and makes so much more cultural sense when looked at that way. the weird distance you hold from your parents, where you cant look each other in the eyes anymore, because every interaction feels more like a business transaction. you hand in your good grades and praise from teachers, talking about how mature you are, and they return with some present or gift that you don't really want. you dont know anything about them, and they dont know anything about you, Not the person you Actually Are, anyways. but there is a yearning, to be close, to know eachother, but you only feel it in return when its too late. as well as her Obsession to be mature, to be smart and adult-like because thats what shes praised for, because you Need to be academically the best always and that means reading dictionaries until the sun goes down, repeating each word until they are engraved into your mind. always finding competition, subtle or not, because if you are not the winner, what are you?  dirk’s wild performative love of japanese culture (which also, in turn, lead to non-asian fans literally trashing it like it was a funny joke to call someone’s culture lame and stupid) seems like ‘ironic’ weebism, but its also being Exactly the type of over-the-too performative reclaiming of our culture that so many asian diaspora kids do when they’re teens! they feel bad about pushing away their culture as youth, but they’re not quite mature enough to actually care about the rich history and ‘boring’ parts, so they cling to pop culture, to social media and something so much more easily consumable, like anime. which is not even to mention the idea of him trying desperately to connect to a culture that he has never grown up in, but still belonged to by consuming mass amounts of media, being Such an immigrant story. as well as his massive competitive streak and need to make other people as good as he is (but not better), is the type of internalized pressure that a lot of asian kids feel as well. 

and all the stridlondes have various anxieties about not performing well enough, of not living up to a standard that they have set for themselves, feeling like even a single step back or even one mistake is a catastrophic failure that’s branded to you for life. Which is just as much of a mental health thing as it is like,,, an asian thing

this is getting really long so im cutting myself off here but please if you want to hear more about my Thoughts and Hot Takes feel free to shoot me an ask. 

in conclusion: please treat asian people better hs fandom i literally beg you. like,, im Not tryna make waves but,, asian erasure in fandom is a huge issue and no one ever talks abt it!! dont trivialize, fetishize and erase cultures blease  big thanks to @ernikerr and @wyndryga for encouraging me to go Off and helping to write this.

anyone please feel free to rb but non-asian people please watch your mouth

[tanoraqui]

[Part 1] [Part 2]

[now all on AO3!]

As Nie Huaisang pulls his horse to a halt, as he clumsily dismounts and begs his san-ge to speak with him in private and they walk off to the side of the road together, Nie Huaisang’s eyes down and his fan covering most his face in embarrassment, he thinks very quickly, and decides faster. He’d promised himself he would do that, next time something like this happened

Here is some of what he thinks:

if the lifeblood of Qishan was power and the heart of Qinghe is strength, then the vital spark of Lanling is appearance. Nie Huaisang has always admired this, even yearned for it - imagine being born to a sect in which it was okay to just sit around and look pretty! Sure, they go a bit overboard with gilt, but who wouldn’t, if they had the money? QingheNie has a fortress in the mountains; LanlingJin has a golden tower overlooking one of the biggest ports in the empire, trade and art and culture all within reach

Conversely, they also thrive on secrets - the dark side of golden, glittering appearance. They’re not so different from QishanWen like that, because information is power. That’s why gossip is a thing 

Nie Huaisang has no particular reason to distrust Jin Guangyao, personally. He’s always been very kind to Nie Huaisang, bringing him lovely new fans and paints and a beautiful finch one time. Da-ge doesn’t trust him, for reason of some things JGY did in the war, but da-ge has such high standards for conduct that it’s a miracle he trusts anyone after the Sunshot Campaign. (And it’d help if he told NHS anything about those alleged untrustworthy “things”...) Wen Qing doesn’t trust him, but in fairness, it was her side that he betrayed. That could sour anyone. Even putting aside the possibility that she’s deliberately sowing discord for some devilish Wen reason. 

Admittedly, anything that Nie Huaisang says to him will almost certainly get back to Jin Guangshan, unless it’s of a truly personal nature - and perhaps even then. Secrets and gossip and power, after all, and it doesn’t take a genius to see that Jin Guangyao is desperate to please his father

even if the old bastard doesn’t deserve it an inch

So the question is, what is Nie Huaisang comfortable having known, and to whom? What does he want to appear as, to whom? And what is he willing to risk coming to light?

He thinks very fast, and soon as they’re well-out of earshot of his disciple-assistants and newly acquired Wen grandmother, he flings himself into Jin Guangyao’s arms, wailing. 

(it’s a little difficult, because Jin Guangyao is one of the few men Nie Huaisang knows who’s shorter than he is.) 

“San-ge, it’s not my fault! It’s all gone wrong! I just wanted to get out of saber practice, but then Wen Qing told da-ge something completely different, and then she made be get a baby, and - ”

The whole story comes out, in stops and starts mixed with helpless, hapless sobs. Nie Huaisang downplays Wen Qing’s successes with his brother, or at least mostly ignores them. He mentions A-Yuan’s nightmares only so far as they inconvenience himself, doesn’t comment on the Wens’ state of life at all, and generally exaggerates every terrible and bewildering situation he’s found himself in since he first happened to glance at Jiang Yanli at Phoenix Mountain

He figures Jin Guangyao probably sees through at least 20% of it, but that’s okay - that’s only deep enough to pierce the outer layer of overdramatics, which are mostly embellishments of the truth anyway, and maybe judge that Nie Huaisang has a soft heart for a cute kid

it’s a very cute kid, okay. NHS saw Nie Mingjue sneaking A-Yuan a piece of candy once. No one is safe

he doesn’t tell Jin Guangyao that

Nearly an hour later, Jin Guangyao peels Nie Huaisang gently off of his (now quite tear-damp) shoulder and smiles at him. It’s gentle, sympathetic, and the only thing it seems to be hiding is a laugh

Nie Huaisang is 99% sure of this assessment. Fortunately, he’s free to let his relief show, along with some healthy trepidation

“I won’t tell da-ge,” Jin Guangyao says, and there’s barely any humor to be seen dancing in his eyes. It’s really impressive, now that Nie Huaisang is learning what to look for.

“Really?” Nie Huaisang sniffles. “I just- He tries so hard, you know. I don’t want to disappoint him, not really.”

it really is all about using the truth. if it wasn’t so stressful, it’d be an incredible high

“Of course not.” Jin Guangyao squeezes him gently by the shoulders. “What is a san-ge for, if not to look out for his littlest brother?”

Nie Huaisang could definitely make a crack about his height smiles shakily and flings his arms around JGY’s shoulders again. “Oh, thank you! Thank you for your help!”

Jin Guangyao hugs him back gently and efficiently, then starts to tug him back to the waiting horses and by-now-dismounted companions. “Go on, get your A-Yuan’s granny back to Nie Sect and get yourself a good night’s sleep. I’ll make sure they’re both marked correctly as requisitioned for labor in Qinghe”

Nie Huaisang thanks him several more times, wiping away his tears like someone who just remembered that he’s not supposed to appear so weak in public. Jin Guangyao waves goodbye as he mounts his sword and flies away, and Nie Huaisang waves back, and then he and his assistants and his newly acquired A-Yuan’s Granny ride home

[they’re never going to be relevant again but I want you all to know that in my mind, these two dumb bastards are brothers with rhyming names, like, Xi Ping and Xi Ying or something. RIP Xi Ping and Xi Ying and their eardrums after NMJ reams them out for helping NHS do something stupid again]

And then...

they actually have peace for several months. 

Oh, the cold war between Jing and Jiang - or more accurately, between Jin and Wei Wuxian - is still brewing like fine tea, and Nie Huaisang finds himself paying more attention than usual to the gossip about it, because Wens come up as often as not. They're the prime example of the destructive power of the Stygian Tiger Seal, after all. And NHS has four of them living in his house, now

the gossip spikes deliciously when Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan get engaged, though it somehow neither eases nor increases the tension in either side

{the timeline is rubbish anyway, so it’s whatever’s convenient for this fic, thank you very much}

Nie Sect’s physicians are too proud to let Wen Qing take over their infirmary wholesale, but they don’t hesitate to consult with her on pretty much everything. Wen Ning turns out to be pretty fun to play checkers with, whether he lets Nie Huaisang win or gets invested enough to actually put up a good fight. Despite Granny’s addition to the orphan-caring staff, A-Yuan still slips away most days and follows Nie Huaisang around like a particularly persistent curse-construct. On the plus side, he’s learning how to be patient enough that the bolder birds will sit on him as readily as on Nie Huaisang himself, and he painted an entirely acceptable butterfly the other day.

Oh, and the veins in Nie Mingjue’s neck are only visible when he shouts, now, and enough time has passed that he’s forgotten about Nie Huaisang’s earlier, rash promise to practice saber for an extra half hour each day. Or maybe he’s just resigned to the fact that such promises never last. This is truly the best timeline!

And then the worst happens, out of the blue yet in retrospect inevitable: Nie Mingjue has a severe qi deviation

He’s coming back from a meeting in Lanling, which wasn’t so much a discussion conference as Jin Guangshan calling a handful of sect leaders together to bitch about the Wei Wuxian and the Tiger Seal again. Wen Qing is in the infirmary, setting a young disciple’s broken leg. Nie Huaisang is in his bedroom, trying to write an ode to snowflakes that, read aloud, is a single tone off from a recitation of curse words for the entire poem. They both hear the shouting from the main courtyard

Wen Qing has a doctor’s reflexes; she leaves the leg to an assistant and arrives in the courtyard in time to watch Nie Mingjue collapse out of the air. The disciples who accompanied him to Lanling are there to catch him, ease him down gently, but Baxia clatters to the ground

Nie Huaisang sees it from his window. By the time he gets there, his brother is laid out flat and Wen Qing and the Chief Physician are snapping clipped phrases at each other as they assess his status, in the mode of emergency responders everywhere

the Chief Physician doesn’t like Wen Qing, doesn’t like Wens, but he can respect her medical talents. Both sentiments are mutual - Wen Qing has a much more comprehensive skillset, but if there’s anything Nie healers know, it’s how to handle qi deviation

qi deviations are difficult and dangerous to treat - the spiritual energy starts cascading through a cultivator’s body, untamed and harmful, and adding soothing energy may help but it may make it worse, or even cause the chaos to spread to the would-be healer

{I actually have no idea how any of this works, and will henceforth be making up my own worldbuilding}

Nie Mingjue’s eyes have rolled back in his head, bleeding, and he shakes like a leaf in the wind, incongruous to the warrior who led attacks on the Nightless City itself. Who held his brother like a guarding stone wall at their father’s funeral. Nie Huaisang cannot breathe

they get him stabilized enough to move up to the infirmary. Someone eases up their grip on Nie Huaisang’s body so he could follow (he won’t remember until later that he was being held back)

It takes four hours to stabilize him fully (unlucky). His golden core tries to collapse three times, his heart stops twice, and his fucking saber tries to attack them once, seemingly of its own initiative. Several other healers join in as needed, even Wen Ning - he’s always been good at getting seizing patients to still. Wen Qing rates it below the 39-hour golden core transfer with Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, in terms of worst surgeries of her life, but above nearly everything else, including the emergency liver transfer where the girl turned out to have all her organs on the opposite side and a side order of demon-induced pneumonia

Nie Huaisang has been sitting in the corridor outside, on the floor. Someone's put a cloak on him. He looks up when they exit, forgetting how to breath again.

“He’s unconscious,” says the Chief Physician, who is probably some sort of distant uncle/cousin. “But he should wake. He will wake,” he corrects. 

Wen Qing takes a deep breath. “We need to talk somewhere private.”

By the time Nie Huaisang has at least gotten to see his brother, get proof that he’s still breathing, the First Disciple has joined them as well (I mean, that position is sure as hell not held by NHS). Her name is Han Xiaoshi and she’s built in the same mold as the sect leader: tall, broad, wields her saber like a third hand. She leans against the closed door of the Chief Physician’s office while the Chief Physician - let’s say Nie Fengji - gives a slightly less brief explanation of the sect leader’s current state. 

(it’s not good. he’s in a semi-medically induced coma. he is bleeding neither blood nor spiritual energy. he...should wake, in his own time, if they continue to carefully feed his healing energy)

(if he wakes within three days, he will be fine. for now)

Nie Huaisang’s blood pounds hot and panicked in his ears; an unthinking fan covers his face. 

they all turn to Wen Qing, who wanted privacy. 

Wen Qing soothes hands over her skirt, still blood-flecked, and lifts her chin calmly. Addresses the First Disciple more than anyone. “Before I begin, would you please put a guard each on my bedroom and the apothecary, and my brother’s room as well?”

“What? Why?” asks Nie Huaisang, bewildered. Han Xiaoshi echoes more sternly

She smiles thinly. “I’d rather not be accused of trying to assassinate Chifeng-zun.”

Nie Huaisang’s blood turns cold

“Keep talking,” says Han Xiaoshi

Here’s what Wen Qing explains: there’s an herb grown on the same volcanic slopes into which the Nightless City is set, a grass that absorbs so much yin energy from the volcano that it carries it over into anyone who consumes the stalks, offsetting the natural balance of their spiritual energy. A closely guarded inner clan secret. It can allow for rare, advanced cultivation techniques (including demonic ones)...or it can spark a fatal qi deviation the next time the user tries to do anything spiritually strenuous. Like flying from Carp Tower to the Unclean Realm

“It’s almost impossible to detect in the blood,” she finishes. “But I recognize the pattern of its effects.” Her hands are clasped loosely in front of her. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find some planted in a place that draws suspicion to A-Ning or myself.”

“Who else would know about it?” Nie Huaisang demands, trembling even as the ice is settles into his veins 

“Someone who was close to Wen Ruohan,” she says calmly

they all know who she means

(oh, how she wants to tremble, too, too aware of every sword in the room that could be turned against her. Aware of A-Yuan and Granny and Wen Ning, her brother in the corridor just outside, and how it still hasn’t been a year since Wen blood ran in the flagstones of this castle. But Wen Qing has never been one to shake)

“There’s something else I should say,” she admits, to Nie Huaisang more than anyone. “I don’t actually know much about qi deviation - I’ve had a crash course, obviously, and I’m not a fool, but I’m mostly been treating it as a blood pressure problem - ”

“Obviously,” the Chief Physician scoffs

“ - but my Uncle Six is a true expert. Wen Zhichen - he was friends with your aunt, Huaisang-gongzi; your older sister, Fengji-shifu [the previous Chief Physician, killed in battle in the fifth month of the Sunshot Campaign]. If anyone can wake Nie-zongzhi, it’s him - ”

she could have said this earlier, could have said it weeks ago, or even from the start - but she had Wen Ning to think of before anyone else, and then A-Yuan who was too young to have accumulated crimes even as a Wen...

Wen Qing had once noted that the second son of Nie had likely never felt fear, true fear, in his life. That’s not true anymore. His brother is unconscious in the next room over and it’s not sure if he’ll ever wake. And it’s consequences catching up with him again, for real this time, this maybe-first time - was it the Wens, villainous duplicitous Wens that he brought into their home himself? Was it someone else, equally traitorous, suspicion roused to a killing intent by something Huaisang did himself?

People do a lot things when they’re feel fear deep down to their souls. They scrape and bow; they make bargains they shouldn’t, accept costs they can’t. They bend or they break

Nie Huaisang is a fop by preference, but it turns out that he breaks like a Nie

He shoves Wen Qing against the wall, hand on her throat. “Tell me this isn’t a trick. Tell me this isn’t some fucking ploy to get more Wen-dogs into my home, so you can finish killing my brother.” He shakes her, drops the fan to put his hand on the saber he's terrible with (it still hums eagerly for blood.) “Tell me.”

“I am,” she gasps

There is a tableau. Then Nie Huaisang drops her and strides for the door. “Shijie, put guards on her rooms, her brother’s, and Granny’s,” he snaps to Han Xiaoshi. “Don’t let anyone enter. Gather the Wens all in the third guest bedroom and keep them there - make sure A-Yuan has some paints to keep him quiet. And I’ll need your two fastest - no, those with the best strength and endurance in flight - ”

“Nephew - ” says the Chief Physician, and “Young Master,” says the First Disciple, a little impressed and a medium dubious

the closest Nie Huaisang has ever gotten to this commanding before was the early days of the Sunshot Campaign when there were no battle lines to hide behind yet, when he sometimes followed Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji as they tore across the country and directed the clean-up of their wake

“The best strength and endurance,” he repeats over them. The fan stays on the floor. “We’re flying to Qishan - we’ll be back with an extra expert for you in a couple days, Uncle. In the meantime, you can have Wen Qing if you need her, but otherwise they all stay in the third guest room.”

It takes a full day to fly to the Wen settlement in Qishan, at Nie Huaisang’s best pace. Starting already late in the afternoon, full of anger and terrified panic in equal measure, it’s beyond late by the time they near - and all but the anger has simmered away. Nie Huaisang lets them settle near the nearest halfway decent city instead, forces himself to lay on the ground and try to sleep, and sends one of his disciples out to buy the nicest fan they can find. He left so fast, he forgot to pick one up again

When they land in the filthy little town just after dawn, he stumbles off his sword more than lands (he is genuinely tired, at least) and runs to hammer on the door of the supervisory office, all terror and panic. “Jin-guniang! Jin-guniang! Help, help! It’s me, Nie Huaisang! I need - ”

“What?!” The captain yanks the door open (she sleeps above the office) and he very much does fall into her arms

“Ah, you have to help me!” He’s disheveled with flight and weepy with tears. “Wen Qing poisoned my brother and now he won’t wake up, so I have to find her sixth uncle - ”

“What - Nie Huaisang, what? Is she threatening - that Wen-bitch - ”

“No, no, we beat up her brother until she said - please! He’s the best at qi deviation, even Uncle Physician admitted it - ”

make sure to have Wen Ning beaten up just enough to look good, he notes in a small, back corner of his mind. in case there are spies in the castle. I’d have spies, if I could

“Okay, okay!” Jin Qixian ushers him into the office, half-holding him up. “Let me check the list of residences - sit down, Huaisang-gongxi, someone will brew tea...”

[five minutes later...]

“A different camp?” Nie Huaisang cries, fluttering his new fan in dismay

“They needed a healer...” Jin Qixian says apologetically. “But you just wait here, I’ll send someone - ”

“No, no,” Nie Huaisang gets to his feet, shaking his head. Happy to let the exhaustion of a 10-hour flight and 4 hours fitful sleep in the woods show, and the desperate helplessness that’s really not hard to fake. “I have to- Da-ge is counting on me - ”

He waves off all her attempted reassurances, bullheaded with anxiety, and accepts an officially sealed note of authority with babbling gratitude, and...

[about an hour and a half later...]

the other town the remnants of the Wen sect and soldiers have been relegated to is more of a city, really - cramped and filthy, where the other one was merely destitute and filthy. Families living all in one room or worse, and it’s okay because they’re only home to sleep; the fields are already filled with everyone old enough to work. They probably do need healers, because there’s not enough attention being paid to waste management. But - 

“What do you mean, he’s gone?” Nie Huaisang demands more sharply than he’d intended

Focus, A-Sang. It’s Nie Mingjue’s voice in his head, always, as though this was just another hated saber practice

“I’m sorry, Young Master Nie,” says the disciple in charge of this place - Jin Guangchao, another stray cousin. does everyone in that family spread seed like a watering can? “There was an incident a few days ago - ”

“He’s dead?” Nie Huaisang wails, sinking to ground

“No!” Jin Guangchao looks a little disgusted at his helplessness, but bends down to pull him up anyway. “Jin Zixun came around on an inspection and that one you wanted, he was impudent. Jin Zixun ordered him sent to the work camp at Qiongqi Pass.”

mother of fucking fucker [meaning Jin Zixun; meaning the whole situation]. the man probably made eye contact and that overbearing asshole - 

“That’s so far away!” Nie Huaisang whined, staying limp, crying into his fan

“Nie-shixiong, it is on the way - ” one of his disciples offers uncertainly (poor bastards - he’s really yanking them around. They’re not sure if they’re helping a con or offering real support)

“We’ll get him back to Chifeng-zun, and get Chifeng-zun back on his feet,” says the other, slipping her arm under his and pulling him to his own feet. “Come on, you’ll see”

(whether it’s for the con or not, Nie Huaisang appreciates it. They’ve never been this genuinely nice to him before)

there’s a conversation in the air halfway to Qiongqi Pass. It goes like this:

“Nie-shixiong, we have to rest. You have to rest.”

[gritted teeth] “I’m fine.”

“You’re going to fall off your sword.” (Liu Lifang, the older woman)

“Then you’ll carry me, won’t you? We’ll already have Wen Zhichen - we’ll double up.”

“Your, uh, dramatics - ” (Zhao Huandi, younger, male - there aren’t a lot of Nies, in Nie. There’s a lot of guest cultivators. There’s a lot of turnover.)

“Will be just as good, if not better, when I’m fainting from spiritual exhaustion.” [slightly bitter, mostly factual] “Don’t worry, I won’t deviate - I don’t use my saber enough for that.” [definitely exhausted] “We don’t stop.”

The work camp at Qiongqi Pass has all the bully-filled charm of Jin Qixian’s town and all the overworked labor je-ne-sais-quoi of the other one, and it’s started raining so there’s a really nice note of despair. If Nie Huaisang had any room left in his brain, he would mourn the beauty of the frescos being destroyed, grand and glorious works of art even if their glory was that of the Wens

he slides off Liu Lifang’s sword in the middle of the densest group of workers, cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “Hey! Wen Qing’s Sixth Uncle, Wen Zhichen of DafanWen! Nie Sect requisitions you!”

the prisoner-workers all shrink away; an inspector hurries over. “Hey, who are you - ”

“You will respect Second Master Nie Huaisang,” snaps Zhao Huandi, hand on his saber while Nie Huaisang starts to cry on cue for the third time that day, and god, either they’re really getting it or he’s just blessed with a sect full of perfect straight men.

“Please,” Nie Huaisang begs, leaning on his disciple and waving the letter from Jin Qixian. “I need a healer - that healer, it’s my brother, he’s been poisoned - ”

they’re real tears of exhaustion. maybe he should have let them talk him into a rest

(Da-ge will be fine, he knows, he insists to himself and the world. He was stable 24 hours ago and Nie Huaisang left him with the most competent people he knows)

the inspector has no idea what to do with him and neither does the Chief Inspector, really, when he rides up. That’s perfect - it means their half-hearted objections are easy to push past

they’re still shit at actually helping, because they don’t know a single person in this goddamned work-prison, and all the Wens just shy away, or pick up a pickaxe and try to keep working if anyone comes too near. The inspectors seem to regard this as ideal

Nie Huaisang honestly doesn’t care right now, but he does notice

Finally Nie Huaisang has wailed loudly enough up and down the valley that one prisoner hesitantly steps forward and admits to being the Dafan Wens’ Sixth Uncle. He has Wen Ning’s ears and Granny’s eyes and the same needle callouses as Wen Qing, so Nie Huaisang calls it a day

except they still have to fly back to the Unclean Realm, a flight of six hours unburdened

Nie Huaisang’s groan is entirely genuine

Wen Qing has taken to pacing by the time the Chief Physician comes to fetch her, personally, from the third guest bedroom. Night has come and gone and come again; A-Yuan and Granny are both asleep in the bed and Wen Ning is lying beside them, though she can tell he’s only pretending to sleep to make her feel better. What a good boy. 

Sixth Uncle is sitting by Nie Mingjue’s bed in the infirmary, eating soup. There’s a couple Nie disciples in the room as well, one sending a slight stream of energy into Nie Mingjue and one simply watching the Wen, a hand on his saber hilt 

(no one’s told her if they’ve searched her or anyone else’s rooms, yet; if they found anything)

“Keep sitting and eating!” snaps Nie Fengji, the Chief Physician, before Sixth Uncle can leap up at the sight of Wen Qing. “I need you talking qi balance, not falling over again.” He mutters under his breath, “People can’t even work if you let them get so weak - can’t trust a Jin to do anything with care.”

She sinks to her knees to hug her uncle instead - and notices a cot that’s been brought in to sit beside Nie Mingjue’s, its occupant also as still and wan as the grave.

“Huaisang!” She springs to her feet. “He didn’t - ”

“Exhaustion. The boy overworked his golden core and passed out.” Nie Fengji pushes her back with a roll of his eyes. “Bullheaded as their father, the both of them.”

He rolls up his sleeves and nudges the attending physician out of the way, to take over easing calming energy into Nie Mingjue without a single quiver in the stream. “Now, you two prove to me why I should trust any sort of Wen.”

To be continued...but Part 4 really will be the last, so, that’s p good actually. By my standards of mis-estimation of how long a piece of writing will be. And it’ll definitely be a short one! Unlike this Part 3, which is...*checks* 4.5k WTF.

[greaterlandscapes]

My Dean Blunt Rotation aka High Fidelity Left A Bad Taste in My Mouth

For the past 2 to 3 months, my listening habits were teetering to an end; mostly via burnout by spontaneously listening to local artists daily and less likely of a musical discovery drought, whereas my interests of a certain artist or genre hasn't found its, sort of, "eureka", moment per se. I've been feeling less enthusiastic over the things i listen to since my friends have gradually lost their flare when it comes to discovering/exploring untapped parts of the music realm. Thus, in return, my enthusiasm not being reciprocated. It leaves an empty feeling from someone who has been yearning social interaction, may it be media being latched on the topic - it's a feeling that's been guilt-tripping me ever since I was stranded in the other end of the metro. I feel closed off, exposed to the crippling loneliness the lockdown has punished us: a defacto solitary confinement in a national level. Our act of staying online is also an act of staying alive outside.

To be fair though, it's a valid move to not boomerang compliments/gripes over an art you haven't consumed due to someone's autonomy. Your able body being to consume the art you wish to finish with free time is a luxury in of itself. The art is then failed to serve its purpose to reach its goal: You have squiggly lines heading straight to oblivion rather than swirling in the earlobes of a wandering cyber nomad. We, eventually, need to find something that could help us exit, rather than escape, from capital. We, in return, do not shut ourselves from the outside. Instead, we then tend to avoid the stress of protocols and outdoor fascism; Not avoid the indoor liberalism that is eating us alive and online. It's a capital punishment we never knew we signed up for ever since the onslaught of the virus and the state. Art for art's sake is nonexistent now, always has been, it seizes to ever since we went inside. Feeding off of a holographic meatloaf coming from a glowing screen. We have a real-life Karen acting as a nightlight in our rooms.

The COVID lockdown made us listen to music — both for better, for worse. For one, it made us pass most days. You could say the same for any sort of media: film, mixed media art, or whatever pre-Covid activity that sprung up during our time in isolation. For music, however, there was an uptick of new listeners that made others Wheel-of-Fortune the fuck out of their music discoveries in sites like RateYourMusic, Bandcamp, or even Sophie's Floorboard. We've continued to expand and became more open change of opinions and be less of a jackass towards someone else's opinions. On second thought, our opinions have been catalogued, leaving more notes than actual footprints of our previous listens. Our new discoveries made new bands and re-emerging bands, bands who faded to obscurity, crawl back in the surface with newfound interest from younger listeners (ie Panchiko, Jai Paul, and Dean Blunt) and this glowing, previously unseen and unexpected overwhelming support from fans of departed artists (ie SOPHIE, MF DOOM)

For the other, we've hogged gratuitous amounts of media, resulting into losing our primary direction as to how we want to consume our media based on the preconceived notions of what we want in our art. There is goodness in becoming directionless when you think about it, but there comes a cost to our identity as music listeners. Instead, we end up widening our tangents, falling in endless rabbit holes, having zero chances to emerge from the surface. In fact, i refuse to call it a "rabbit hole" instead i'd rather call it a "pipeline" of sorts — transitioning casual music fans into a full on, different, unique versions of themselves that would define them when laws and protocols have eased in the outside world. Our act of staying online has either made most of us break our character or enliven our past selves. The music pipeline is now more apparent, stretching the norms of what was once alienated by a silent majority, but now accepted as an acceptable form of expression. The more music we are exposed to has made casual listeners stranged out or react in ways that our personality have betrayed us or deemed not as acceptable to them. Still, not changing anything that was prominent pre-pandemic. Liberal cop behavior is stronger, now more dangerous than it ever was once perceived by the outside world.

HIGH FIDELITY? NO, THANK YOU.

Imagine a situation inside of a record, pre-pandemic of course, where you do not feel like lifting a record out from the shelf, instead, you window shop just for the sake of windowshopping. Capital and media made us think that going to record shops is a semi-productive activity. The age of discovery has died ever since High Fidelity romanticized and normalized the incelage of horny record diggers. Does this movie age well, yeah sure it does, for old 90s nerds at least. But did it translate well over in the past 20 or more years of events and tragedies that unfolded in pre-9/11 America? No it didn't. It was an age of free expression, only liberals would dream of whenever they take a sip of Guinness beer in their favorite dive bar.

Mind you, over a couple of months ago, it was my only chance in seeing why this movie was the talk of the town back when it was released. There's music, yeah, and attractive leading leadies, yeah, it has everything a 90s kid would love to salivate and drop their gonads over while they watch this movie. I obviously did not live to see the movie on opening day but i could imagine the scent that came out of that movie theater with attendees donning windbreakers and The Who shirts with popcorn dressing stains on their plastic cups. If there was a Filipino counterpart to this movie, i'd bet corporate champions Eraserheads and Rivermaya would soundtrack their music over and have either Tado or have Boy 2 Quizon, but i sense it to age like milk more than it could age like fine wine due to the senseless jokes one can execute in a Cubao or Cartimar record store.

John Cusack is obviously the incel in question here: a damaged, vengeful ex who constantly fails to live his partner's expectations and weaponizes his personality over the situations that has nothing to do with his interests. I spent the entire time being absolutely disgusted over the spineless responses of John Cusack's leading character. The movie then treads on flashbacks with John Cusack's failed relationships and what he could do to move on from each and one of them. If i could stand a SONA for 3 hours then I can't stand John Cusack being the dull entry point to incel, making more reasons why you should hate record store clerks who don't give an iota of shits to someone's inviting rapport. High Fidelity is opium for massive music circle jerks who can't take a single breathe of fresh air or a single quota of touching grass. There's more targeting weak and inferior guys and hot women who dump dumb overconfident dudebros more than the actual "music recs" in the entire movie. The more I think about this movie, the more I realize how our personality is in line towards Dick, the record store being unmercifully dunked on by the movie's two leading characters. He's an angel in the world of cynical bastards, witnessing both demons pitchforking record store customers in the ass while they're purchasing the latest Sonic Youth album.

I believe that Jack Black, the dark horse of High Fidelity, has a pleasing personality more than an irritating demeanor due to this behavior in the record store. In fact, outside of the record store, Jack Black doesn't seem to take the business is your pleasure act pretty seriously. Unlike John Cusack's character he brought his obsession over involving a record in an important memory/point of his life. There is so much stuff that has happened outside of the record store, so much for Rolling Stone and NME being the bible of music at the time, endlessly christening and shilling artists that believe to become the second coming of the Beatles. The music references here however are treated as fluff than it is a mechanism that would drive the senseless plot forward. If anything, there are events pointed out in the event that doesn't have anything to do with the life of the characters.

If anything, this movie did a great job at capturing the feeling of music bros being dumped on the wayside by a mature set of characters and how their current conditions aren't perfumed by the studios' liking of having to Cinderella story the shit out of a bunch of normal record store owners. The reality is in the reaction of one's social capital being invaded and we're here to witness how those reactions panned out in 2021. This is a villainous depiction of music nerds being the salt of the earth, the bane of all media discussion, still reflective of the insufferable salt of cyberspace found in music forums like 4chan and RYM. High Fidelity is a pipeline of 90s musicology, a dreaded fever dream of an owner waiting for the decade to end, trends ossifying and re-emerged by the hands of nostalgia-savvy individuals. It was, at its time, every music-movie nerd's excuse equivalent of Scott Pilgrim VS. The World. There are memories worth remembering and cherishing, and this movie isn't one of them.

DEAN BLUNT, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

In the past two weeks I've been fancying myself into sitting down and listening to different projects from the ever elusive, UK-based sound artist Dean Blunt. The first time i chanced upon his music wasn't too long ago - albeit a recent one in the time of COVID - was when I randomly stumbled upon his records at a Spotify recommendations section under John Maus (yeah lol i know the implications whenever his name is mentioned) - but then i was enamored by his online presence so quickly I put everything down and dedicated an hour or two researching about this man's music.

Other than the fact that his album "The Redeemer" wasn't the best record to start off in journeying through his discography: ending up disgusted and borderline bored even and I was more likely to lambast this record's aimless, pretentious art-pop inflections. By the end of the day, it was a preference long solidified by his undying fanbase. According to his hardcore fans, the music isn't really music, evaluating it as a free form of sound art, rather than sticking to a structured and conventional cues; the genre is nullified by most analysts of the arts. The growing interest of the general public towards Dean Blunt's pranks and antics have long appealed to my tastes as a chaotic neutral individual. Pranks that are well executed to piss off UK gallery connoisseurs and entertain ironic attendees who'd shit on the art piece rather than participate in it.

More of the resources I've found about Dean Blunt online: numerous aliases and collaborations that lasted around almost 2 decades. The most notable of all them, at least for my money, are either Hype Williams, a duo consisting of Dean and frequent collaborator Inga Copeland, and Babyfather, an art performance parodizing the pirate radio culture in the UK. I have not delved enough in Blunt's body of work to evaluate everything and what i could synthesize from it. For now, I enjoyed it as a form of entertainment. Well, color me impressed because Dean Blunt isn't clowning around, he, in fact, makes blissful and transcendental music from left to right.

Dean Blunt was the only few artists that made me want to binge on their discography. His movements in his music has attracted this pesky listener who thinks that being mysterious is a plus. I mean, look at me who thinks The Paul Institute, Panchiko, and Burial are the greatest artists that have walked the face of the earth.

The most I've enjoyed from Dean Blunt's discography are his mixtapes and collaborations: preferably his Soul Fire and ZUSHI, both of which were packaged as B-sides or supplemental releases rather than major releases such as the Babyfather project or the Black Metal releases. His knack for blurring the lines between genres still fascinate me as of this writing, and it continues to amaze me how he doesn't seize to compromise his art, he's here to prove a point and it sells quite well despite the lack of direction in his music. Blunt's music has more aggressive and hazy texture than the hollow, wide, soulless structure of art-pop/hypnagogic pop released today. He creates terrains from the rubble of his country's current shortcomings. The music overlaps the actual intentions with abstract concepts, becoming deconstructed down the line. In Babyfather, noise music coincides with Blunt's amateurish rapping. In Black Metal, Blunt isolates himself along with the assisted skeletal guitar playing. Both projects throwing all tropes in a vaccum alongside Blunt, who he himself would sought to become a personification of a musical void.

--

(Excerpt from the Babyfather album review in TinyMixtapes)

--

Dean Blunt is an entity that wishes to become one person, but no, this isn't a figure in a specific art form; this isn't Banksy, this isn't Bob Ong, this is made by one person, clearly it is if you listen closely, and it's been entrancing me ever since his presence was felt on the horizons of the internet. Dean Blunt, what the actual fuck.

[og-danny-dorito]

Hellboy Headcanons

it's MY blog and I get to choose the hyperfixation (also it’s yearning hours)

S F W :

- big man big man big man big man big man b

- i love big man v much, and let me tell u smthn it's not for no reason

- so, let's just get a few things straight, the dude is canonically 7 feet tall, meaning that he towers over pretty much anyone. on top of that's he's got horns, a tail, a big ass rock hand thing, and on top of it all a fiery temper. at this you may be asking yourself “danny, if the man hasn't like no redeemable qualities why do you like him so much?” unless you're here because you ALSO like him and know he has a lot of them. let me explain

- so let me start off with some simple facts; he LOVES cats. he loves cats so much so that he actually has a fuckton of them, as seen in the first and second movies (not the one directed by david harbor because i'm not even going to look in that general direction)

- in fact, he loves cats so much that he probably wants to go to a cat café. the issue is that his hulking figure would probably scare away any other patrons at the cafés, so sadly he can't go. as an alternative he just has a whole lot of cats. a lot of the time he'll find himself taking pity on the cats on the street and thus leaving out cans of tuna or cat food in places he might frequent

- he also has a pajama set with cats printed on them but NEVER tell him that it's cute or he may not make eye contact with you for a week

- ah, on that subject matter, he actually gets flustered pretty easily. the only issue is that it's not easy to tell when he does, and when he allows himself to feel like that. it's usually when he's sitting in his room and not really thinking about much of anything (aka: relaxed)

- you can tell by how his face somehow turns a slightly darker shade of red, and the frown and gruff grunt he gives as a response imply an almost evasive nature. he doesn't get how you can say something so innocent about him of all people, but regardless it makes him feel a little bit a somethin

- i know he LOOKS like he will crush your skull, but he's a huge softie. yeah, he comes back to the BPRD base looking like he just fought god bare handed and butt ass naked, but that doesn't mean he's a huge meanie. in FACT, if he really does like you that much he's probably going to treat you like the exact opposite of his stereotype

- he tends to be attracted to anyone who can make him laugh, which is pretty easy considering his biggest weakness is puns. yes, you read that correctly, puns

- catch this dude loosing his shit because you walked in to his room, saw his cats piled up on his torso to absorb his body heat, and said “Wow, looks like you've got a MEOWntain on you, Red.” seriously he won't be able to breathe for a good few seconds

- his laugh is pretty hearty and rumbles in his chest like a washing machine on spin cycle, ending with a dry heave. if you've cracked him up that much he will snort. tiny little piggy snort. and then deny it directly afterwards like a big baby

- he himself is a pretty funny dude, the only issue is that he's selectively funny. usually when he's relaxed and just chillin out he finds himself cracking more jokes than he normally would. making someone he likes laugh motivates him to make more jokes, especially if their laughter is contagious. seriously, he's weak against funny laughs he can't MAKE himself NOT laugh if you sound like a dying horse when you laugh

- he's also pretty affected by other people’s moods even though like 90% of the time he feels shitty. if you're in a good mood then he can't help but feel a little bit better. the positiivty is contagious and not even hellboy can resist it

- thus why he can't for the life of him resist any ounce of cuteness or innocence or impenetrable positivity. like, he just can't help but feel the immediate need to protect

- yeah he likes goth chicks (have you SEEN liz) but have you ever walked around with a literal ray of sunshine glued to your hip? cause big man can't handle the amount of joy it brings him to have someone so happy all the time next to him. it just,,, makes him weak

- that and he's a huge dummy for anyone who's smaller than average but also tends to be fiery and hotheaded like him

- like he doesn't even have a “type” appearance wise but catch him falling head over heels for a positive, firey, and outright goofy person to match his dry and dull attitude towards most things

- he tries to act like he's above it, but the man likes cute stuff. even when he gets caught red-handed petting a litter of kittens he'll just be like “what? never seen a demon before?” and continue with his activities

- if you do end up being his s/o you may very well be the person who has to take care of his wounds because he barely trusts anyone in the med bay to take care of him without trying to experiment or take weird samples without his knowing. that said, he really hates going to the doctor

- you'd be susprized how uncomfortable it makes him, really. so you're probably the one to actually make sure he doesn't fucking die

- it's rare he'll come from work unscathed. in fact, a good portion of the time there's a new scar to add to the count. when asked he'll play it off with some dry humor, barely addressing the fact that his muscles ache like hell and his joints are killing him. you'll have to pressure him into letting you take care of him, which results in a pout and grumbles of protest as he removes his shirt. if he has any injuries near his thighs he'll probably be really hesitant to let you take care of them until you've been with each other for like a month or so

- that and he lowkey would die of embarrassment if you were trying to tend to his thigh wounds and just saw how HUNG he is but i'm gonna save that content for possible NSFW headcanons in the future

- mans super gentle with his s/o, like SUPER gentle. he doesn't want to hurt them, honestly, and just leaving a small bruise from getting frisky or play fighting makes him feel like a fucking monster. in fact, it makes his self-esteem issues worse. he might not touch you for a while if you happen to get a particularly bad injury, on or off the field (implying that you work at the BPRD- if you don't he still feels like shit)

- which means that he probably would like some validation if he does start to feel like complete shit. his skin is thick from his experience over the years, but shit still happens and it always will. he's reminded every day that he doesn't deserve you just by seeing your visual differences. he knows he's a danger to you and the people around him, and it makes him want to avoid everyone. but some gentle words of affirmation and kisses all over make him feel 10x better. it isn't hard to get him out of a funk if he knows you love him too much to find disgust in him

- he doesn't seem very affectionate, but once he knows it's okay to touch up on his s/o like it's no tomorrow he will most definitely release all his touch-starved cravings and be attatched to you all the fucking time

- he's pretty much always holding your hand (although his hands are pretty big so he might just resort to having your and in his without linking fingers) or got his arm around you or, his favorite, having you sit in his lap. he tends to be pretty up close and personal with you if you're all about it

- the only real problems i can see with this are personal distaste or maybe the fact that he's a walking space heater. seriously, hellboy is quite literally hot as hell regardless of the environment, and turns his heater up crazy high. he thrives best in the heat and remains pretty much unaffected by all temperatures. he hates the cold because it makes the tips of his tail and ears cold, but that's pretty much all it does

- you could be in a freezer and the most discomfort he'll feel is that his ears are like a little 👌🏼 bit cold

- so yes, space heater, and it's great if you live in heat like he does. sleeping with him means you'll never get cold again, and since he takes up a lot of space in his bed it's very likely that you'll be sleeping on top of him or at least somewhat touching him. so win win for him, obviously

- he also likes to crank the heater up because it causes you to shed more clothes, probably leaving you in a tank top and shorts while a sheen of sweat forms on your skin and your hair sticks to your face. and if that ain't hot, he doesn't know what is (pun intended). he'll put it down if you ask him to though, begrudgingly. he just likes seeing you breathless is all- ow, don't punch his arm like that

- god forbid anyone look at you like that though. you're wearing something mildly revealing? hell no. there are some bad people out there with even worse intentions and he is not letting some asshole look at you like you're a piece of meat at a butcher's shop

- so obviously he's a bit jealous. well, he's actually a lot jealous, but he won't admit it. just like he won't admit that he was about to kill the guy that catcalled you while you were walking down the street. or that he glared down at the person chatting casually to you about your dress. or that he- you get the picture. he's very protective of you and wants everyone else to know, although it may be because of an inherent self-doubt that says you might leave him

- maybe one day you'll see that you've been dating a demon all this time and be horrified and scared of him, leaving him in the dust for good. it's probably best for you, he thinks, but you'd never do that...right?

- regardless, he's protective of you and thus gets jealous easily. one way to tell is that he tends to become somehow even more attached to you with the person in question nearby. if it gets bad enough he'll just scoop you up and leave, no questions asked. maybe for the sake of your pride and protecting your embarrassment he'll make up some excuse, but as soon as you can tell that he's following you around like a lost puppy it's clear to see that something is up

- if he's getting particularly annoyed though or just wants to tease you, he'll slide his tail up your leg and watch you squeak and jump until pretending he did nothing wrong. the only real way to one-up this is to pinch the head of his tail softly and watch him tense up and give you a look of betrayal because he's crazy sensitive there and gets super unscrewed if you mess with him like that

- of course, looking at him innocently and letting him go once he finally retaliates is always entertaining enough to do again. it may even become a competition between you two to see who looses it and gives out the quickest (spoiler: you're probably going to loose if your relationship is sexual- dude knows his way around the human body and WILL use it against you)

- but it's kind of cute how much he craves your attention, considering it seems he'll do anything to get you to stay by him most of the time. he hates being apart from you and hates knowing you could get hurt at the same time, so it's very likely that you'll have protection wherever you go (if you're in his line of work though he may consider making you his partner, but when he brings this up to Abe the fish man automatically is baffled that a person could bring this kind of reaction out of his stoic and dry-humored friend)

- now for my FAVORITE part; Miscellaneous Headcanons :

   he finds it hot as fuck when you wield weapons of any kind. like yeah you might be his soft precious angel and no one is allowed to touch you but him, but seeing you with a weapon of any sort makes him think about things he's guilty to even know to have though

  oh i forgot to add that he's probably pansexual but is more attracted to feminine body types. doesn't mean he won't fuck someone with a dick, but it does mean that he's a big dom and he likes tiny feminine figures so he's more well-rounded and comfortable with women

   calls you pet names all the time, including Doll, Kitten, Darlin, Sweet-cheeks, and maybe a shorter version of your name or a play at one of your defining traits (for instance, if your hair is red he might call you Little Red as a joke cause he's Big Red ahaha size joke funnyyyy). calling him a nickname in turn that isn't one of the usual like Sweetheart or Honey Bunches gets him blushing like he's got a fever. don't mention that to him though, or he'll get even more flustered (or do, your choice)

   tends to be super flirty with you for shits and giggles, but gets a little riled up if you hit him with an equally witty and flirtatious remark. a little bite never hurt anyone, and he enjoys it more than most

   he really likes spicy stuff, and is currently the champion of "The BPRD Fire-Eating Contest" which didn't involve actual fire from hell (opposed to popular belief) but rather various spicy foods from all over the place and even some from different realms. he won when he ate a concoction Abe made that involved multiple peppers that probably would kill a normal human if eaten all at once but just made Hellboy tear up a little bit and have a runny nose. anything else doesn't affect him at all, and thus why he puts insane amounts of hot sauce in food just to get a tiny sting from it

   his love language is physical contact

- and that's all! hellboy is an affectionate dude with a slew of insecurities. under those scars and rough exterior he can't help but feel his whole day brightened when he sees his s/o and/or best bud, regardless of his mood that day. as a goofball at heart and dad of a thousand cats, the guy is really just misunderstood. take a few minutes out of your day to get to know him over a beer or two and maybe you'll even get a new friend till the end of the line. once he likes you though, there's no way you're getting rid of this big teddy bear

[of-tatooine]

mercy. | chapter 12 - coffee

remnants from your past could change your future.

"You know there is no turning back from this."

Those gray blues you had grown to care for over the years of surviving together rose their stare from the splayed out, tattered map, to focus their gaze on you.

“I know.”

The beads of metal in your palms grew colder and colder by the second, the chain slipping gently around your fingers, as if feeding on all the icy tension in the air of the old office. Your gaze kept shifting from the man that stood behind the large wooden desk towards the map he was pointing at, a big red cross marked over the Denver quarantine zone, notorious for ruthless guards and government rules, whatever was left of them, at least.

It was supposed to be a routine task for him. Being a self-made mercenary, a good one at that, had put him in the frontlines - he had planned these sort of operations way too many times before, knew the best ways to cause commotion and attract attention, even if it meant destroying whatever was left of the military and their equipment, if he was lucky. Went in and out of quarantine zones, undetected and uncompromised, brought all his men back to base safely. From what you had observed over the couple of years that you had gotten to know the Texan, if there was one thing you could say about him - he always seemed to know just what he was doing.

The slight treble in his voice only hinted that then, he did not.

What he was asking out of you, if you had been completely honest with yourself, scared you. The mere prospect of leading a team into their potential demise, only to detonate a couple of bombs to mess up the military tanks and maybe take out a couple of uniforms along the way - gave you this tangible unease so palpable that you could feel the knots in your stomach.

Marlene may have turned him into a valuable asset in combat, strategic enough to cause stirring in the remaining military forces and make the Fireflies even more notorious than you all were perceived to be - yet, you were no pertubrator. Over the first decade of the damned apocalypse, you had done enough killing to get to the spot you had with the organization, to finally get a chance to do what you were born to do - try to help and cure people. Tend to their wounds. Be there when they are bleeding and hold their hands as they struggle through the pain. Only taking lives when you were forced to do so, when you were left with no other choice.

While you were more than ready to try your best to help him out as he made his departure from the Fireflies, you could not help but let unease engulf your body - your jaw clenching and your stare growing solemn. Mind wandering to all of the ways it could all go wrong.

Deep in thought, you knew from the back of your mind that there was no other way around this ordeal. If you both wanted out, there was only one way to go about it in this damned world.

And that always came with a certain price to pay, you would think as you nodded softly.

“I’m in.”

The uneasy thudding of soles over linoleum tiles turned into the crunching sound of colorful fall leaves, horseshoes cackling against the stone as you advanced through the gated campus.

University of Eastern Colorado - never did you think you would end up in here again. After years of holding on, treating friend and foe, cutting through flesh and organs, performing experiments just to find the sliver of a hope for a cure - like nothing else mattered. The interior hallways on the other side of the brick walls were filled with years worth of selfless moments of exertion and memories - some haunted while some comforted you. The feel of belonging to something greater which soothed you, up until the moment you had to fire another bullet into the skull of an infiltrator.

But then, as you made your way to your science building with the horse right beside you, the alien eerie atmosphere sent chills down your spine.

Something was wrong.

Maybe it was the silence of the falling leaves and autumn, wind blowing against the worn-out brick. Maybe your memory of years ago had faded, letting you believe that the place was more lively than it actually had been. Maybe your mind had been playing tricks on you.

Maybe it was the fear of leading the ones walking beside you into a road of unknowns.

“How do you know Tommy?”

The gruff yet genuinely curious voice originating from the man walking right beside you was enough to make you turn your head a bit, looking up at him due to his superior height over you. You should have seen the question was coming sooner rather than later, yet to your surprise, his demeanor was not a hostile one as the words slipped from his mouth. With Ellie collecting leaves in the courtyard a couple steps ahead of you both, you reckoned he waited for just the right moment to ask you, unsure if Ellie should be hearing this conversation. With a little reminiscent nod as you took your eyes away from him and stared into a far corner of your vision, you would readjust your jacket over your shoulders, walking in the chilly fall air. “We go way back. Used to work together in this very base.”

To measure his reaction, you would then shoot another brief glance at the man - those green amber eyes of his thoughtful and curious as he nodded slowly, himself staring onto the excited figure of Ellie with such an unknown yet lovely spark in those orbs. You found yourself doubting if what Tommy said was true - you trusted his word with your life then and now, but the soft emotions in Joel’s eyes every time he would look at her were certainly hard to miss. Beneath the survivor, in those little glimpses of light in his eyes that he managed to hide most of the time, all you saw was a man who was willing to go to the ends of the earth to protect someone - someone he cared about.

All those months of trailing beside the pair, though some of it against your liking, it was a long-forgotten feeling of ease that started to develop whenever you were around them - it was all in moments like these, when a certain softness of humanity would emerge. It made you want to trust the man and the little girl, just like the way you trusted his brother. The survivor in you still knew you could not give too much information away about you even if you wanted to, some things were only meant to be buried deep within your chest for no one else to know - yet that feeling of warm ease was pushing you to open up, even just a bit.

“He is a good man. I used to trust him with my life - still do,” you would trail off in a soft voice, one hand gently petting the horse as the other held onto the reins. To that, Joel’s hardened face was adorned with a slightly arched eyebrow, hearing you speak with a certain gentleness in your voice. The woman beside him had been a big dilemma since day one, yet with every new journey you trailed along for, he seemed to be uncovering bits and pieces of information about you - the mere fact that his baby brother evidently trusted you so much even after all those years put some ease into his usually rampant and doubting mind.

The worst part was, with every little thing he discovered about you, something inside him yearned to just find out more.

“Why did you leave?” came yet another question, in a lower voice this time, considerate of Ellie’s close proximity as you neared the gate of entrance to the science building - which gave you weird palpitations just by looking at the familiar giant mirror of a construction.

“It was all getting outta control. I, uh - ” you would pause and take in a breath, your gaze focusing into his eyes again. “ - helped him get the hell out of here. Think you know the rest of it,” you finished with a ghost of a sad smile across your lips, a far away look in your eyes.

Had it been any other survivor or stranger, he would have trouble believing what you were saying was actually the reflection of truth. Yet, from what he had seen with you - even though you hid things just like any sensible person who had managed to survive that long, he knew you did not lie and your word was genuine. At least towards them. He had seen you murder two of your own just to get you lot across the state border. Seen you shoot down stragglers that infiltrated Tommy’s without an ounce of doubt in you - when they needed help, you had been there.

And deep down, he was grateful. It was that hardened man engulfing the soft fire in him that made him not show it too much, too often - and the best he could give you then was an understanding nod thrown your way.

“C’mon Ellie, it’s right this way,” you would direct the pair into the science building - the beautiful fall weather and the breeze fading away just like a switch was flipped as you left the horses outside and walked into the now darkened compound.

From the very first step you had taken onto campus, you knew in the depths of your very being that something had gone wrong here, not too long ago, and the icy cold atmosphere inside accompanied with the remnants of broken glass and empty halls further added to your anxiety. Jaw clenched and heartbeat quickening with each move, you would shoot a worried look at Joel, who had an equally confused look in his eyes.

They had been gone.

“What the hell happened here?” the little girl spoke up, her young voice echoing off of the concrete walls as you all climbed up the stairs leading into one of the main labs. You had been pondering the question yourself - Marlene had put so much faith and hope into making this place the way it was. Now the cabinets were ransacked, operating tables turned upside down, marks of the infected blood and guts coating some walls. The place that you had escaped from, helped Tommy escape from, had been unrecognizable - it was cold, daunting and rummaged to every single corner and crevice. Joel’s hand was stroking through his salt and peppered beard as he slowly took the lead of the small group while you trailed a bit behind.

The curiosity within got the best of you as you entered a certain room with a wooden door, hand on your holster just in case, as the familiar creek even after all those years filled your ears. The moldy and stale air hit you, far from sterile, yet the room looked clean from the infected you had to encounter previously as you first entered the campus through the dorms.

There it was. That damned mahogany desk you previously sat with Tommy, scratched and damaged yet still there. The map that used to be sprawled out on it still visible in your vivid memories - before the inevitable happened, before the fire and before the escape. A sharp pain reminiscent of the past ran down your body as you took steps towards it, a finger trailing along the edge of the wood. According to the dust on your finger, it had been quite a damn long time.

Biting down your lip in curiosity, you would tug onto the drawer on the side of it, which opened up in a thudding and creaking sound of rusty metal only to reveal the one personal item you had stashed down in the office you used to frequent - a very old bag of ground coffee.

It had no doubt gone stale and possibly tasted absolutely horrible, yet you could not help but smile sadly as you held onto the pack - which had been untouched, to your surprise. Finding the one item that managed to light a spark of joy inside in the midst of all the chaos and uncertainty, you would push the drawer close and head out of the room to find the pair, bag in hand as you would toss a parting look at the one office where you slept, woke up, and planned so many operations back in the old days.

These were different times now - it would only prove to be more difficult as you stepped into the main laboratoy you used to help run experiments in, only to find the pair situated around the counters, with Joel advancing towards the table near the windows.

Ellie, who sat on a little stool, upon spotting the little bag in your hand would shoot you a slightly meaningful look and then turn her gaze to Joel knowingly - the meaning of which you could not comprehend so you would just shrug it off as you shot a small smile at the little girl in return, your fingers working to place the newfound treasure into your backpack.

That was before you had a chance to look over the room you had been so habituated to - broken vials of glass coated the floors as chairs were all over the place, flyers and old books torn apart on the ground. The sad atmosphere was only made worse as you spotted a damn corpse near the windows - wearing your old uniforms, the metal pendant entangled in whatever was left of his fingers, with Joel approaching it as he muttered audible curses beneath his beard. You let out an inevitable one of your own as your ally grabbed onto a voice recorder, the ones Marlene made all of you carry around as a safety measure in case something happened to a member, and pressed play - a deep, crackling voice resonated through the emptiness.

“If you’re looking for the Fireflies, they’ve all left.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Ellie spat, browsing through an old journal as you took steps closer to Joel in an attempt to hear the recording better and see if you recognized the voice. Kneeling slightly to check the name on the pendant, you would realize that he had been one of the less-experienced doctors you had seen walk around the compound - straight out of medical school when this entire outbreak started.

“Fuck,” you would mutter under your breath as you got up and rested your hands on your hips, watching Joel’s expression sour away with each word echoing out of the old recording, realization that this entire journey on horseback had been futile all along. Your old kin had left, leaving nothing behind, maybe dispersed into the woods or something for all you cared. The reason you had agreed to Tommy’s plan in the first place had been resurfacing again, reflected off of the words of your old ally in corpse form - it all led to nothing. There was no immunity for this hell-sent fungal infection. No matter how many you cut through and extraced tumors out of, it only led to more destruction, blood and carnage. A part of you was relieved that the Fireflies had closed down the one facility that was adequate enough to make some sort of medical progress, if there ever was any, and another part of you kept on wondering - was it that easy? Would Marlene let everything go in a moment of realization that this was not working anymore? Would she let go of the men and women and children she helped survive all along?

“… if you’re looking for others, they have all returned to St. Mary’s Hospital in Salt Lake City.”

As those words cackled from the static of the voice, your head shot up - and the three of you stood there, bodies rigid with anxiety of the unknown, simply exchanging worried and confused glances with each other but you could swear to the heavens above that you saw the little glimmer of hope in Ellie’s eyes - compared to Joel’s hardened, stoic ones.

Why Marlene had moved whatever was left of the team to a hospital in the middle of an abandoned quarantine zone all the way in Utah did not make any sort of sense to you. It felt like avoidance, like denying the inevitable, fighting a battle the Fireflies knew they would lose. It baffled you that you have not thought of their relocation before - recalling people around the base mention the hospital’s name here and there. Maybe you would have found them, returned back and just maybe you would have a clearer idea as to why the fuck they had been looking for you in the first place.

Then again, you still could.

“Is it far?” came the unavoidable question, causing the man to shake his head in thought before speaking in a voice hoarser than ever. “It ain’t close. I mean, on horseback…” he would trail off just as your peripheral vision would catch a quick flash of sharp lights that did not belong in an abandoned science building.

“Get down!” you hurriedly reached towards the girl and pulled her down in a groan, your heart racing as bullets started raining over you in their sickening, richocheting sounds.

Just who the fuck where these bandits, you could not help but think as your body was pressed close to Joel’s, breaths mixing in between the three of you as you huddled close to the table for cover. Revolver in hand, you would take on the mission of shielding Ellie just like you had been all this time along - a quick, hurried nod and look at Joel confirmed this as he slowly made his way out of the dead end of the room, to take on the battle head first.

It took a good amount of fighting and yelling Ellie to take cover as you smashed the butt of the gun against one’s skull and send a bullet flying inside the other, until the hallway you were stationed in had been cleared out. Chest heaving and your fingers working nimbly to reload the gun, your trained eyes kept on scanning for any enemy activity, all the while extending a hand out to guard Ellie as you advanced towards the grand indoor hall, only to be greeted with agonizing screams and groans that could only belong to one person you knew.

Heart instantly dropping, you and Ellie would run to the source of the sounds, only to find one of the most gruesome sights you had ever seen in your entire life - Joel, bloodied and bruised, impaled onto a metal rod. In that moment alone, you seemed to have forgot all those years of medical training, aiding in surgeries and saving patients - it was a sight of pure agony. Pure hopelessness. As you ran towards him in a sprint, you could tell Ellie was going through the exact same emotions, seeing his face distort in pain like that.

“Ellie,” you tried to say as calmly yet as firmly as you could, not wanting the girl to worry more than she had to, trying to push the negative thoughts away though they seemed to be staring you right in the face. “I need you to cover us, okay?”

Teary-eyed, she nodded before tossing a look at Joel, who was mumbling and groaning. You could see the utter panic in his eyes mixed in with the pain, no doubt worrying about the girl even during his lowest of moments. “I’m gonna need you to pull,” came the low, low groan from the man, his hand extended out as it trembled. Immediately you nodded, grabbing onto his hand with your both, using whatever strength you have left.

“I got you, c’mon,” you encouraged yet your face spoke of the horrors as you groaned, pulling him up with all the strength your body could muster to be done with it in one go, that way he could ease the pain. A painful howl filled the vast space as you gritted your teeth, muttering curses, watching the metal leave his abdomen in a sickening noise. You could only hope the rod did not touch major arteries, yet that was a question for later - if you managed to get the hell out of there alive.

“Hold onto me,” you almost ordered, the weakened man ready to collapse onto the ground, his blood leaking everywhere and coating your garments. “Put your arm around me, c’mon Joel,” came the dominant voice you sported during operations and with another growl of pain, his arm was around your shoulders and you did your best to carry his weight - with Ellie clearing the path for you, her green eyes with such a fear in them tossing glances at you that spoke volumes as you neared the exit amongst gunshots and smoke.

His breath in your ear and almost limp body slumped over your much smaller frame, you felt your mind go numb and your body exerted itself to the limits. At that moment, the one conscious thought you had was you praying from the depths of your heart and soul that this man right here would live to see another day.

And that maybe, you would be right there with him.