#book!verse though

[fangirleaconmigo]

Hello dear! i asked this once but it was as a chat response so asking here just in case it got lost, no hurries! Bookverse! Dandi and geralt, Geralt gets turned away at the brothel (again) and Dandi decides if no one is gonna treat his witcher like he deserves, he'll have to.

(plz ignore if this is not relevant to your interests!)

Pan, my dear. I know you sent this almost a year and a half ago. I ADORE getting prompts, but inspiration strikes when it strikes, the fickle ho.

Geralt x Dandelion. Rated Explicit. Bottom!Geralt (first time bottoming).

Geralt is turned away from a brothel, and Dandelion takes care of him. This is porn with feelings. Love and smut ahoy. 7k words(ish)

-----

The woman at the door whispered something in Dandelion’s ear. 

In other circumstances, Geralt might have heard what she said. He was standing only a few feet behind the poet, and his witcher hearing was certainly capable of it. But he didn’t hear, because he wasn’t paying the least bit of attention. His mind was occupied. 

He and Dandelion had been drinking in a nearby tavern. When Dandelion suggested a brothel to relax him, Geralt happily trailed after him like a trusting pup. On the way, the witcher let his mind wander in and out of a series of increasingly vivid, sexually charged visions. He was already aroused and bristling with excess energy when they arrived at the door. 

Dandelion tilted his head towards the girl. “Milady,” he responded, “why are you telling me this? Are you proud or something? Are you also proud when you get a canker on your ass? It’s a personal situation if you ask me.” He glanced back at Geralt for support, laughing haughtily. “It is lucky that my erection is more insistent than my convictions, and that I have already promised my friend an unforgettable night in your establishment which I am loathe to renege upon.”

Geralt was at a loss, trying to put together what was happening with context clues. He didn’t need to wait long. The woman looked desperately at Geralt and leaned closer towards the poet. “I said. Humans only.”

Geralt heard it that time. His stomach sank. He felt a familiar mix of humiliation and anger, which he promptly suffocated until he felt nothing. He tugged on Dandelion’s sleeve. “Come on, Dandelion.”

Dandelion ignored him. He threw his arms out. “And? We are men,” he said to the girl. He looked around melodramatically and declared a bit too loud, “I didn’t bring my horse to partake!”

The girl at the door nervously avoided Geralt’s gaze. “Master Dandelion,” she whispered strenuously, “the witcher cannot come in.”

Sometimes the ‘humans only’ rule applied to Geralt. Sometimes it didn’t. Clearly, at this place, it did. He tugged again on his friend’s sleeve, to no avail. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

To his frustration, Dandelion ignored him yet again. The poet drew himself up to full height and stuck his nose in the air. “I pity your lack of education, dear girl, but witchers are human beings. That is just a fact. But luckily for you, I am feeling generous. If you let us in right now, I will not alert your madam to this offensive gaffe.” 

“Shut. Up. Dandelion,” gritted out Geralt. This time he grabbed the poet’s arm. 

Dandelion yanked his arm free. He briefly glanced at Geralt. “Let me handle it. I understand these types.”

Geralt groaned and looked around desperately. A few men were wandering up the footpath towards them, customers, no doubt, who would be witnesses to the whole ordeal. 

The madam appeared next to the girl at the door. She was an older woman in a lovely burgundy gown. Dandelion brightened and leaned forward conspiratorially. “Oh, I am so happy to see you, my dear lady. I hope you can clear up this misunderstanding. My friend is 100% human, I assure you,” he glanced back at Geralt. “He was born to a woman, magic though she was, and a man. Well,” he corrected himself, “we don’t rightly know who his father is.”

Geralt cringed.

“But,” the poet lifted a finger, “if you required confirmed paternity for everyone in this establishment your building would be empty as a pair of testicles after they’ve had a run at the place. You’d be in the poor house by Thursday.” The poet was picking up steam. “Half the nobility in this town claim to be descendents of great emperors, but they were secretly sired by a particular beefy blacksmith who lives two doors down, or a certain wiry goatherd who is quite randy, and one count I know of personally,” he leaned in even closer, “was sired by an actual goat, I can tell you that story…”

“Master Dandelion,” the madam hissed through her teeth, “I would if I could, but it’s a party for the warden and half the security forces will be in tonight. I’ll be shut down! You can see he’s…different!” 

“What?” yelped Dandelion. Turning and looking at Geralt, pretending to be gobsmacked, then returning to the madam. “Because of his mutations? Why, that’s sheer ignorance.  Mutations are endemic to life itself. We’ve all got them!” He batted his unusually blue eyes. “Some find mine quite charming.”

The madam was not nervous like the door girl. She looked straight at Geralt, though she had the goodness to be apologetic. “I’m sorry.”

Geralt dragged Dandelion away successfully this time, but the troubadour did not go quietly. One of the men coming down the path caught his attention. “Duke Heyward has a third nipple!” He shouted over his shoulder. “That’s a mutation! Can’t have that! Better turn him away! Errant nipples might ruin the mood!”

The man steadfastly ignored him and bowed to the madam. He was granted entrance, nipples and all.

“They’re all such tiresome, small minded, unimpressive donkeys,” Dandelion seethed as they walked back to the tavern. “Count Vamonet can’t tell a sonnet from a scrotum. Prince Galino farts when he comes, and he has to pay the girls extra for it. And the Algloval family are a bunch of inbred--”

Geralt’s attention turned inward as Dandelion ranted about the wretched local nobility and their many failings. The witcher returned to his thoughts as they made their way through the streets. 

These kinds of rants usually made him feel better, and it did, somewhat. But there was still that tension, that pent up frustration. He was still rock hard in his trousers.

“Pathetic, the lot of them. Pox on them all,” finished Dandelion, waving at dismissively at the air. He stole a look at Geralt. “You’re awfully quiet. You haven’t told me to shut up yet. Do you feel quite alright?”

Geralt sighed. “Fine. It’s fine.”

“Well, your face still looks sour.” Dandelion brightened. “Do you want me to see if Helen is interested? I can make myself scarce.”

That was the second time that night that he’d offered the same. “No!” Geralt almost shouted it. Dandelion stopped in the street. Geralt took a few steps before he realized it and he turned to face his friend.

Helen was the server girl at the tavern, who had set the night in motion. Dandelion first performed a set, then sat down, damp curls stuck to his forehead, open tunic flaunting the dusting of blonde hair on his chest. Helen, who he’d been winking at during his performance (along with every other person in the audience), informed him that she was off work, and plopped right down his lap. The poet happily spread his thighs to give her a better seat, and wrapped his arm around her waist. 

Geralt had been enjoying the evening, but at the sight of the two of them together, was seized by a growing frustration. Helen’s breasts spilled nearly out of her top and hovered near Dandelion’s face. His friend leered at them, lips so close to their gentle swell. She ever so delicately opened her legs under the table. 

She wasn’t wearing anything under her skirt, and Geralt watched Dandelion’s hand creep up her thigh. Her cunt was probably hot and wet, just waiting for him to--

“Geralt?” Dandelion had abruptly asked, stopping what he was doing. “What is the matter?”

Helen looked up. When she saw Geralt’s expression, she visibly shrunk away.

“Oh pet,” Dandelion protested, turning his attention back to her, “he isn’t angry, please, that’s just his face. He’s a big pussy cat, really.”

Geralt, realizing he was scaring her, forced a smile. It only made matters worse. She scurried away.

Dandelion seemed to be conveniently forgetting that fact at this very moment. They faced one another on the dark street. 

Helen is terrified of me, Geralt thought of saying. That was what Geralt meant to say. But something else came out of his mouth. “I don’t want you to make yourself scarce. I don’t want you to go anywhere.”

Dandelion looked surprised, and then intensely interested. He shoved his hands on his hips and looked down at where Geralt’s trousers strained to contain his cock. His tongue darted out and wet his lips before making eye contact with some effort. “Well. What do you want, Geralt?” He asked it casually, lightly. “There are other girls that don’t work in brothels. The night is young, yet. Tell me. What were you imagining for tonight? Talk to me.”

What were you imagining?

Geralt tried to remember the thoughts that excited him on the way to the brothel. Why had he been so very distracted that he’d missed the door girl’s whisper? 

They were visions of pretty girls servicing Dandelion, right? Perhaps those visions should have been of the girls servicing him. But...Geralt stood, taking a moment to recall his fantasies. Well, pox on it. Fuck. The girls weren’t even in them. 

It was all Dandelion sprawled out in bliss, with his trousers shoved down to his ankles. It was Dandelion with his head lolling back, eyes half lidded, lips open. It was Dandelion thrusting languid and whining up into welcoming lips.

Surely, he, Geralt of Rivia, didn’t want his friend that way. He didn’t think he was that kind of man. True, there had been youthful experimentation at Kaer Morhen, but it was all boys there, what else were they going to do? When he’d fallen for Yen, he thought....well he thought that was that. But now. Fuck. He was beginning to doubt.

Geralt looked into the quizzical eyes of his dearest friend. Then he turned on his heel and fled. He could hear Dandelion chuckling and calling out to him. “Geralt, come back! Blast it!”

But the witcher made a beeline to their shared room at the tavern. He was dressed for bed and under the covers with the candles out by the time Dandelion returned. Dandelion came in humming, carrying a lantern, and two glasses of wine.

“Good evening, Geralt.” Dandelion said loudly, shutting their door with a graceful tap of his heel. “I see you are already in bed for the evening.”

Geralt didn’t know what to say. “Helen wouldn’t have you?” He muttered bitterly. “She looked so eager.” But he dragged himself up to lean against the headboard. The covers fell around his waist, so he grabbed them and clutched them to his chest.

Dandelion set the lantern and glasses on the side table, and shrugged off his coat. He was still humming to himself. His lightness of spirit was slightly insulting, when Geralt was so obviously set on brooding.

The poet came to sit on the edge of the bed. Geralt’s heart raced as the mattress dipped and the warmth of Dandelion’s body filled his space.

It all felt different now, the shared room, the shared bed. All of it. The air crackled. The witcher was terrified. That was why his pulse was racing, right?

His friend sat in uncharacteristic silence for a few moments, contemplating the bedspread and then Geralt. After a moment, he spoke softly. “Geralt, those idiots were pricks to you tonight.”

His compassion caused a warmth to blossom in Geralt’s chest, but that was the kind of thing that makes a man lose control. So he shoved it down and avoided his friend’s eyes. “It’s fine.” “No, it’s not,” said Dandelion. “But well,” he smiled, still looking softer than usual, “you’ve always got me, and about a thousand other friends, to whom you are as ordinary and human as a person can be. Boring even. And the whores at that place are rubbish anyway.”

Geralt half smiled despite himself and looked up. “You said their advanced techniques would change my life.”

“I lied to make you feel better.”

Geralt gasped in sarcastic shock.

“You know,” said Dandelion. Now he was the one looking down. “I haven’t told you this yet Geralt. But I was once a harlot myself.” 

Dandelion raised his eyes and for a brief moment, they looked into one another, trying to read what the other was feeling. The air between them was fragile, as though a wrong word could shatter whatever was changing between them.

Geralt wanted to be sensitive, but he was overcome with images of Dandelion naked and in compromising situations. It was the same images that had plagued him earlier in the day. “Did you... like it?”

It was the right thing to say, at least for now, because Dandelion relaxed. “I did.” He shrugged. “Most of the time anyway. Like any other job in that regard. I don’t want to brag,” he said, in his characteristic way that indicated he very much did want to brag, “but I was too popular. I got too successful. And I preferred to be famous for my music. So gradually, I-” he picked at the bedspread, “-stopped.”

“Too successful,” Geralt asked, unable to keep the curiosity from his voice. “Were there enough women to keep you busy?” he asked. “Seems like they wouldn’t have to pay for services.”

“You’d be surprised,” the poet answered. “They don’t pay you to fuck, Geralt. They pay you to leave without a fuss.”

Geralt nodded. He supposed that made sense. 

Dandelion picked up his wine glass from the side table. He took a sip and swallowed primly with pursed lips. Geralt watched his throat bob with fascination. He realized that he was staring, so he picked up his glass to give himself something to do other than gape.  

“But truth be told,” Dandelion’s voice lingered on the words casually, “my specialty was other men.”

Geralt should not have picked up his glass. It was a mistake. He was taking a sip the moment Dandelion said ‘men.' He coughed, and pounded his chest.

Dandelion chuckled richly. “Are you alright?”

His friend was laughing at him. Geralt was a mess of righteous indignation, hope, and desperate desire.

“‘M Fine,” he said, putting down the glass. He wanted to avoid his friend’s gaze, but that would be admitting defeat. He met Dandelion’s mirthful, predatory eyes. He immediately lost composure.

He was looking at the poet’s lips. His collarbone. The way his shirt was slightly transparent, and how every time the poet took a deep breath, his chest rose and Geralt could see his nipples. 

“You’re blushing.”

“No, I am not,” mumbled Geralt defensively. “Witchers can’t blush.”

“Sure, my darling, if that is the story you prefer.”

It was the first time Dandelion had ever called him darling. He called him my dear all the time. Geralt loved it every time, but darling was just a little more...romantic.

Geralt had no idea what to do with his face, his hands, or his rebellious cock, which was every bit as hard as before.

“What are you thinking about Geralt?”

Why did Dandelion sound so blasted smug? The prick. Geralt’s fingers trembled, his pulse raced. He decided to just let his body speak for him, without thought. “If I came to your brothel. In those days.” He tried not to stammer, but he sounded halting. He decided to just push the words out. “Would you have serviced me? A mutant.” 

He was staring at his own hands now. He almost jumped when Dandelion’s hand covered his own, warm and tender. 

Geralt looked up, relaxing into the touch.

Dandelion looked amused, but fond. “That depends.”

He was toying with him, the fucking bastard.

“On what,” Geralt asked flatly.

“I’d ask to take a look at your cock.” His eyes sparkled. “To see if it is mutated of course.” He moved his hand to the side of the sheet and pinched, as if ready to pull it aside.

Geralt tried not to smile. A smile would be an admission that the charms of his friend had vanquished him yet again. 

“Well, go on,” teased Dandelion. “Answer me. Will you let me inspect your prick to see if it is too mutated to fit in my mouth?”

“You’ve seen my cock,” Geralt grumbled, wriggling, trying to hide how the aforementioned anatomy twitched at the forthright, confident manner of his friend. 

“Yes, but I don’t remember what it looked like,” said Dandelion with faux innocence that did not suit him. “I’ve only seen flashes. In and out of baths, that kind of thing. And of course, I have always been too gentlemanly to sneak a peek.”

“Liar.” Geralt bit his cheeks. He nodded at where Dandelion’s hand held the corner of the blanket. “Well, go ahead.”

Dandelion’s face broke into a shit eating grin. He took the edge of the sheets and pulled them aside. Geralt inhaled fast and held his breath. He had on a flimsy undergarment with an opening at the front. His excitement was extremely apparent.

Geralt wriggled a little again, repositioning himself. He felt utterly exposed. Why was it making him more aroused than he had ever remembered being in his life? 

It was Dandelion’s reaction to his body. Geralt could smell lust, and the wave of it that came off his friend was so powerful, the witcher was instantly intoxicated by it. Furthermore, the poet was looking at him with such a ravenous expression that Geralt blinked. It called to mind a wolf staring at a cut of raw meat.

Geralt was used to being the hunter. He had never been the prey. A thrill ran through him the likes of which he had never experienced.

“Geralt.” The poet was suddenly earnest, tight, and controlled. The switch made Geralt dizzy. His friend pulled his hands back, and squeezed his own thighs. 

“Yes?” Geralt rasped.

“I cannot restrain myself any longer.” His voice trembled. “If you want me to stop now, you’re going to have to throw me out on my neck”

Geralt tried to respond, but only an airy squeak of nothing came from his mouth. He tried again. “Good. Don’t. Don’t restrain yourself that is.”

“Fucking hell. Sweet Melitele’s milky tits.” 

Dandelion scrambled to straddle Geralt’s lap. Eyes shining, he cradled the witcher’s face in his hands. Geralt’s arms, of their own accord, wrapped around the poet.

Dandelion kissed him with such ferocious tenderness, Geralt felt his eyes prickle. That ferocity...Dandelion had wanted to do this for a very long time. Maybe years. And the tenderness. Dandelion kissed him like he was the most fragile, precious creature in all of creation. 

The thought that Dandelion might have been harboring a hidden love for him was a shocking revelation. But Geralt could not fully grasp it. Not when his body’s reaction to Dandelion’s tongue and his weight on Geralt’s lap was leading him to yet another shocking revelation.

“Dandelion,” he cleared his throat and tilted back just enough to leave a sliver of space between their lips as they panted.

“Yes, Geralt.” 

“Am I...this kind of man?”

Dandelion threw his head back and laughed. It was a bit rude actually. He ground his hips ever so slightly on Geralt’s hard cock. Geralt made an aborted noise of pleasure.

“Oh, I quite think you are darling,” Dandelion said smugly. “Wait. Does that vex you?”

Once again, Geralt didn’t want to think. He just wanted to respond. “I don’t think so,” he said. Then he realized the truth. “No. Not a bit.”

“Ah, well then. Shall I proceed?”

“Please do.”

Dandelion slipped off of his lap. Geralt found it difficult to abide the loss of his body. “Wait.”

Dandelion’s response was muffled by his shirt slipping from his head. “Apologies, my dear, but I must make haste, in case you change your mind.” 

His dearest friend was pulling off his clothing at a blinding rate, vibrating with an air of disbelief and excitement. 

“I won’t change my mind.” After it came from Geralt’s mouth, he realized that it was true.

Dandelion flashed him another smile. “Still. I won’t take any chances.” 

Dandelion was quickly naked and scrambled back onto the bed without much grace. “Hips up.” 

Geralt lifted his hips. Dandelion stripped away Geralt’s underclothes. Then, they were naked together. 

What shocked Geralt the most was that it felt like the most natural thing in the world. He felt nothing but pleasure at the sight of Dandelion’s full erection, nestled in a puff of blonde curls. He felt nothing but excitement when the poet straddled him yet again, his solid but soft torso in Geralt’s grasp. The witcher groaned at an embarrassing volume when Dandelion wrapped his nimble fingers around his cock.

“May I, love?” Dandelion licked his lips.

Geralt’s heart almost stopped. “Say that again,” he whispered.

“May I....love?”

“Please. Yes. Anything.”

Dandelion scooted back and dragged his warm tongue up the entire length of Geralt’s erection, lingering on the tip, kissing it messily. 

Geralt writhed. “Please.”

“Please, what?” Dandelion batted his lashes then sucked Geralt’s entire cock into his mouth. Geralt almost shouted, but managed to clap a hand over his mouth and turn it into another moan.

He wanted a release. He wanted to explode.

His mind may not have realized his feelings for his friend, but his body was certainly aware that this was something he’d been holding in for a very long time.

But Geralt didn’t just want to cum. He wanted to do it on his friend, in his friend, it didn’t matter how.

“Let me. I wanna.” He gasped. “Fuck.”

Dandelion looked at him with soft but hungry eyes as he bobbed on his cock. At the sight of the poet’s expression, the way he looked stuffed with Geralt’s cock, the witcher thought he would lose it. But his friend expertly stopped just before Geralt’s peak. 

He toyed with the witcher like that for some time, bringing him to peak, then pulling away. As he did, he ran his hands all over Geralt’s body. He murmured sweet nothings to him.

“You’re so gorgeous like this love. Look at you. Oh, fuck you’re stunning. I can’t believe I get to look at you like this.”

Geralt melted. He melted into his mouth, he melted against the bed. He became a blubbering, begging mess of a man. 

“Please, oh, please. Just let me. Just. Oh, fuck.”

Just when he thought he had reached the height of pleasure, Dandelion began to use his fingers. 

“Spread your thighs, darling.”

Geralt thought to protest. He felt self conscious. But he had said that Dandelion could do anything, and he’d meant it. Allowing himself to act without overthinking it had gotten him here, so the strategy was clearly working.

He spread his legs obediently.

Geralt fell apart when Dandelion cupped him, caressed him, and massaged him firmly in places he’d never even seen. 

Vaguely, he thought that the room next to them could probably hear him whining. If he were allowing himself to think about it, he might have been embarrassed. But he wasn’t.

When Dandelion returned his lips to his cock, he also grasped his shaft, moving both his hands and his mouth expertly, Geralt came. His body locked up and his moans were silent and airy. He covered Dandelion’s head with his hands and thrust into the eager lips of his dearest friend. He shoved and shoved until he released in a haze of animalistic desire.

Then he fell back, slackened and panting. 

Dandelion kissed his softening cock. He licked up all of Geralt’s spend and made a show of swallowing it for him.

Geralt stroked Dandelion’s damp locks lazily. “Fuck.”

“Fuck, indeed.” 

Dandelion crawled into his arms, placing a sweaty kiss on Geralt’s temple. They were both damp, from sweat and tears. Geralt squeezed him tight, waiting for the thudding of his heart to subside.

“Fuck.”

When Dandelion’s erection brushed his thigh, Geralt wanted to kick himself. He had been so wrapped up in his own pleasure, he’d been selfish. He needed to make sure Dandelion got satisfaction as well.

“What can I--” the witcher stopped, realizing he had little idea what the fuck he was doing. What could he even offer? Back in Kaer Morhen in his teen years, there had mostly been furtive yanking and sucking in closets and dark dormitories. And here he was with a proper expert, a former professional. What skills did he really have? How did you fuck a man without hurting him? Shit, he couldn’t fuck anyone right now anyway. He leaned forward and kissed Dandelion. “What do you want, poet?” He figured that was a better question, instead of promising something he couldn’t deliver, at least not in a competent way. 

Dandelion had a half smile, like he was up to something. “Well, since my wildest dreams are coming true today, I’m just going to ask for it.”

Geralt barked a laugh, and felt slightly, deliciously self conscious. “Alright. Spit it out.”

Dandelion leaned closer, kissed Geralt’s cheek, and whispered provocatively in his ear. As he did, he traced languid circles on Geralt’s chest and stomach. This, Geralt thought, was what made Dandelion so popular. That and the expert cock sucking.

“Witcher mine, I have been following behind you for years,” he murmured sensually. “And do you know what has always confounded me?”

“What?”

“Having to stare at your round, juicy looking, perfect peach and never being invited to fuck it.”

Well. Geralt hadn’t expected that. He’d never really thought of himself that way. As an object of such fervent desire. 

“My. Ass?”

“Oh yes, love. You’d better believe it.” Dandelion’s eyes fluttered closed and he hummed in bliss, like one did after taking a big bite of a pastry fresh out of the oven. “The shapeliest ladies have nothing on your delicious plump looking posterior. Has no one told you?”

Dandelion had called him love again. Geralt was beginning to understand that every time Dandelion called him love, the witcher felt willing and able to scoop out his own organs and gift them to the poet if he so desired them.

"No."

“That is a tragic story indeed.” Dandelion ground his rock hard cock into Geralt’s thigh. “How someone with such a perfect ass has never been told about its charms.”

Geralt allowed himself a slightly smug smile and he squeezed Dandelion tighter. He kissed the side of the poet’s head and hummed into his hair. “Really? That good, huh?”

The poet growled and rolled his hips again. “Please, Geralt. Don’t make me beg.”

Well. Shit. Geralt’s heart beat faster. “I want to, but. I don’t. I’ve never.” Then he just blurted it out. “Does it hurt?”

Dandelion stopped what he was doing and rolled over, propping himself on arm. He looked absolutely gleeful. “You mean I would be the first? Me?”

Geralt looked away and flushed a bit. He hummed his assent.

Dandelion practically whooped. “I will be taking Geralt of Rivia’s virgin ass? Have I died? Is this heaven?” The poet caught himself. “I mean, of course, only if you want to.” He tried to sound sexy and soft again, but his leering smile looked ridiculous.

It was a pathetic effort, but it still pleased Geralt for some reason. He was doomed, wasn’t he?

“I’m not a virgin. Obviously.”

“Still. May I?” 

“Just. Be careful. You will, right?”

Dandelion took one of Geralt's hands and nuzzled it. Managing to find gentle sincerity within himself, he said, “Of course I will, love. I will be gentle. I will be tender. I will make it so very lovely for you.”

Geralt nodded. “Alright. What do I do?” He felt a bit moronic asking, but he would feel worse if he did something wrong.

“Well, I was rewarded by the sight of your handsome face in ecstasy. Now, since for all I know, this could be my only chance, I would be honored to enjoy the sight of your perfect, round ass jiggling as I fuck it.” 

Geralt swallowed. “So, I turn over?”

“If you please.” Dandelion scooted back on the bed, kneeling, watching rapturously as Geralt agreeably turned over. The witcher was rewarded with a low whistle. “Oh, yes. Sweet mother of mine, what a specimen of a posterior.” Geralt could feel Dandelion’s soft, strong hands gliding over his body and squeezing his ass. The effect, along with Dandelion’s evident enthusiasm made him prickle with pleasure.

“Shut up.”

“I will not. I am already writing the ballad as we speak.”

There was no use telling him to shut up again. Geralt closed his eyes and reveled in the sensation of being caressed. His scars were particularly sensitive, and Dandelion was sliding his hands over every last bit of him.

“Hands and knees, my dear witcher.”

Geralt obediently rose onto hands and knees. Dandelion moaned, gravelly and wanton. Geralt could hear him stroking his own cock as he squeezed one cheek then the other. Experimentally, Geralt arch his back, and enjoyed the strangled groan-laugh behind him.

If he had felt exposed before, that was nothing compared to what he felt now. Now he felt completely, utterly vulnerable. And yet? His body buzzed with pleasure low in his abdomen. 

Geralt could hear Dandelion shift. Then he felt a kiss, followed by a playful nibble the back of his thighs. Dandelion leaned away to reach for something.

“Relax, love.”

Geralt heard Dandelion remove his rings, and then he heard a tin of something open and close. Then Dandelion’s fingers were at his entrance, slippery and wet. Geralt shivered. He flinched.

“Shhhhh,” Dandelion quieted him and patted his haunch as though he were a skittish mare. Geralt relaxed. 

“It’s alright,” cooed Dandelion. “The famous poet Dandelion will be your first. Think of the stories you will be able to tell your grandchildren.”

“You’re an idiot.” Geralt chuckled but his laugh turned into a drawn out ‘oooo’ as Dandelion entered him with a finger. “See, that’s nice isn’t it, Geralt?”

It took Geralt a moment to answer. It was a new feeling.

“Y-y-yes?” he said. 

“Is that a question or an answer, my witcher?” Dandelion asked playfully. He slid further and Geralt released a sigh. His body wanted to scoot away, and shove backwards at the same time. But Geralt decided not to do either. He just held still and allowed himself to feel.

“Yes.” He answered breathily, but with more confidence that time. 

Dandelion scooted closer. Geralt could feel the warmth and the softness of the hair on the poet’s legs as they pressed against his. How his friend managed to slip in a second finger at the angle, Geralt wasn’t sure. But the tightness, the fullness, made him whimper. 

“Oh, that sound,” growled Dandelion. “I cannot wait another second, Geralt, my dear, I am going to fuck the sense out of you.”

He could hear slippery noises as Dandelion quickly slicked his own cock. The poet grasped him with one hand. Geralt stole a glance back and saw his friend’s ravenous, predatory face. He saw the blonde poet grasping the base of his cock, lining himself up. The tip of his tongue was stuck out, and he was lost completely in the moment.

Dandelion felt Geralt’s attention and he looked up. They locked eyes right as Dandelion pushed. Geralt whimpered and his body jerked, but Dandelion held his hips stock-still with surprisingly strong hands as he pressed inside with an excruciatingly slow gentleness. “Here you go, love. You can take this, can’t you?” he purred.

Geralt sensed that taunting Dandelion right now might yield some interesting results. “I won’t break. Fuck me already.”

Dandelion’s eyes ignited and he squeezed Geralt so hard, he knew he would be bruised. “You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes. Fucking do it already.”

It was daring talk for an amateur, Geralt knew. But he had stopped thinking. He was just spouting off now.

Dandelion bent over him and wrapped his arm around his hips like a vise and thrust. Geralt could tell his friend was still holding back, but the motion made him feel such shocking fullness, that it chased all rational thought away, emptying his mind.

Dandelion pulled back then. Right when Geralt thought he would slip away, Dandelion thrust again. Geralt marveled at how tight he could feel, the sounds the poet could punch from his throat. The sounds were cut off every time Dandelion’s hips made impact, but grew louder and more frantic with every stroke.

Dandelion’s hair brushed his back. He could feel his friend’s lips by his ear. “You love it, don’t you. Your ass is the perfect vessel for my cock, isn't it?” he whispered, his necklaces slightly grazing Geralt’s shoulder blades. The poet was beginning to sweat and his chest dragged down Geralt’s back.

Geralt nodded. It was difficult to manage while bouncing on another man’s cock.

“Say it,” Dandelion challenged him.

“Yes. I’m yours.”

Dandelion tenderly brushed Geralt’s hair away from his neck, and kissed the back of his neck as he fucked into him.

As the witcher’s body became more lax and able to accept the intrusion, Dandelion thrust with more power. Geralt had to brace himself against the wall to keep from slapping into it.

Dandelion was no longer treating him with kid gloves. Geralt had no idea that his body would allow anything inside that deep. He bounced and shook and cried out. He felt like some kind of rag doll.

“Dandelion,” he whispered into the dark. 

“Say that again,” came the response from behind him.

“Dandelion.”

Dandelion’s pace grew more furious and punishing. Geralt was shocked by what his body could take. Dandelion began to sound like him, grunting, and moaning.

But right when he thought Dandelion would peak, he stopped and pulled out.

“Don’t stop,” Geralt begged. He writhed and reached back, grasping to pull his lover back.

“Be still,” Dandelion chided.

Geralt obeyed. He quieted himself and became still, waiting on hands and knees. His thighs trembled. His hair stuck to his sweaty, sticky body.

Just when he was ready to ask Dandelion what the fuck he was doing, he felt the poet grasp both sides of his ass and part him. The cool air caressed Geralt on his sensitive skin and he shivered.

Dandelion swore a filthy oath in several different languages, only some of which Geralt understood. 

“I’m going to watch myself cum in you, witcher.”

Dandelion leaned forward and pushed down on Geralt’s back. The witcher wasn’t sure what the poet wanted, until his elbows buckled and his face was smashed against the pillow.

Dandelion hummed, ever so pleased with himself. He whistled. “That’s better. What a view.” He grasped the witcher, trapping his hips.

Geralt closed his eyes, determined to feel everything, to remember everything. The fat head of his dearest friend’s cock nudged him. By now, Geralt was fucked, slick, and ready.

Now it was the poet’s turn to whine like an animal when he slid inside Geralt. 

“Look at you, swallowing my cock. You were made for me to fuck.”

The pillow under Geralt’s face grew damp, and he groaned into it as Dandelion took his pleasure.

The poet shoved as deeply as he could when he came, and the sound he made was cathartic. He held Geralt still, draped over his back, as he rode out his pulsing orgasm.

“Oh, Geralt. My darling.” He whispered it so quietly into Geralt’s back, that if Geralt were not a witcher, he might not have heard it.

Dandelion collapsed next to Geralt and pulled him close. They held each other in the dark, by the flickering lamp. They lay intertwined, clinging to each other, allowing the enormity of what they had done to settle over them. 

What if everything changed.

What if nothing changed?

“Geralt?” Dandelion’s voice was surprising small. “Kiss me?”

Geralt ran his fingers through Dandelion’s hair. And he kissed him.

They would start there.

[3584-tropical-fish]

Season two bookbinding finally complete!! If you haven’t seen my season one copy, it’s here :D

Progress photos under the cut

[stairset]

I do feel like the way Kyoshi was written in the Avatar reboot was lowkey influenced by the fandom's perception of her. Cause like in the original show she's really just portrayed as a pragmatist who's willing to kill if necessary. Like Aang is conflicted about killing the Fire Lord and she's like "well if I were in your position I'd do it but that's just me. Good luck." And then people started making memes where she's like a murderous psychopath who thinks extreme violence is always the solution. And it was funny at first cause it was just exaggerating for comedy but now everyone thinks she was actually like that in the show when she really wasn't. And then in the remake her introductory scene is her angrily yelling at this 12 year old that he needs to stop being a little pussy and be a ruthless warrior or whatever and the only explanation I can think of is that someone in the writer's room maybe looked at a few too many of those memes.

[sojourner-between-worlds]

If you need me I'll be chewing on the fact that, yes, the other eight uses are in Exodus and are about the Tabernacle tapestries and in the New Testament our bodies are called the temple of the Lord

[whattraintracks]

I kinda feel we didn’t much of raph and splinter’s relationship in 03 thoughts?

Hmm, I suppose that's fair. I've heard it said that 03 isn't a very character-driven story, and I agree we don't see as many character dynamics or arcs explored as we could have.

Below the cut are the pieces of Raph and Splinter's relationship I've pieced together for myself.

Splinter's bio on Raph in Tales from the Sewer presents this interesting duality in Splinter's perception of him. He's a difficult child but just a kid. He trains the most but he's a difficult student. He makes poor decisions but Splinter has the utmost faith in his abilities. As both father and teacher, Splinter sometimes struggles to approach his sons and their needs in the appropriate role, especially when it comes to Raph.

For example, his hands-off approach to Raph's rage, or what I usually think of as emotional dysregulation (either as a product of neurodivergence or his young age). When Raph nearly maims Mikey during a rage attack/dissociative episode (see S1E4 "Meet Casey Jones") Splinter doesn't try to stop Raph or separate him and Mikey, although he very well could have. He doesn't step in until after Leo and Donny have broken up the fight. Despite addressing Raph parentally, he comes at the issue like a teacher offering those ninja master-esque nuggets of wisdom about rage being a monster and a true warrior is balanced in all things. I think he wants to come across sympathetically (gentle voice, physical contact, calling Raph "my son") but there is a sense of disappointment and unmet expectations in what he says.

In the aforementioned bio, Splinter notes that of all the turtles, Raph trains the longest and hardest. He likely equates length of training with dedication to ninjutsu and assumes that because Raph exhibits these things he should be something he isn't: more disciplined less angry. Perhaps he compares Raph to Leo who apparently trains less but fits Splinter's prototype of a good ninja. Speaking of Leo, later in the same episode we see Splinter chastise Mikey and Donny for interrupting Leo's practice and tell Leo to keep practicing his split kick without offering any advice on how to get it right.

We see this idea directed to Raph in Splinter's comment about a true warrior finding balance in all things. It's not particularly informative. This is his version of telling Raph to keep practicing but it's not what Raph needs at this moment, hot off such an overwhelming experience. So instead of reading this as the patient, parental advice I think Splinter intends it to be, Raph's body language screams chastised. He doesn't meet Splinter's eyes and he runs away. Raph (like all of the brothers) wants Splinter's approval and he's devastated to have fallen short in this instance. Then Splinter doesn't let Mikey follow after Raph. And yeah, Raph likely needed that space but it's this hands-off approach, again. Another example comes from the one of Raph's diary entries in the Raphael: Collector Book. He talks about Splinter assigning him more meditation exercises to help him control his emotions and temper. Perhaps training, space, meditation, and nuggets of wisdom are effective tools for Splinter to self-regulate his emotions, but Splinter is also an adult. Raph needs more guidance and practical advice at this point in his life that Splinter isn't providing. The tools aren't enough, he needs to be taught how to use them.

So. Raph responds in a couple ways to Splinter's hands-off, more-teacher-than-father approach. The first is to train harder, and longer, and learn everything he can about ninjutsu. If Master Splinter says becoming a true warrior will help him find emotional balance then he's going to try his hardest to become one. When he meets Casey, he shares with him verbatim the true warrior line but confesses to Casey he's not sure how hot-heads like them are supposed to do that. He still takes the advice to heart even if it's not helpful or he doesn't understand it because he wants to please and obey his father. The collector's book shows us that Raph has taken the time to learn aspects of ninjutsu that are confusing, uninteresting, and even inaccessible to him. This book contains a lot of technical information about ninjutsu techniques and teachings. It presents Raph as even more of ninja nerd than Leo! Some of this stuff appeals to his interests, for sure; the different punching techniques for instance. Some of it, he seems to have only learned to gain Splinter's approval. He has a detailed spread on hand signs that he explicitly finds too mystical and confusing, claims it took forever to learn, and he can't even use it as a three-fingered being, but he hopes Splinter will be impressed with him.

Second, he goes behind Splinter's back. If there's something he wants or needs and he thinks Splinter won't approve of it, he'll take it for himself. Such as going to the surface when he needs space or bringing his brothers to the surface when he thinks there's something important they need to do. This feels, to me, like access thievery, which is the concept (typically applied to disabled/neurodivergent folks) of taking what one needs (time, space, resources) without asking for permission or waiting to be offered it (because you likely won't be). Again in the collector's book, Raph exhibits an awareness of his faults and a self-compassionate recognition that he's just a teen. Splinter know this too but has shown that he can't always offer what Raph needs or won't give him it in some cases (forbids them from going to the surface). So Raph has developed a willingness to take what he needs for himself and sneak around Splinter to avoid the disapproval he fears.

All that aside, I think they're very similar in their fierce love and devotion to family and the ways it can drive them to anger, fear, hatred, and vengeance. There are traits Raph inherited from Splinter they bond over, too. They're both competitive. The Battle Nexus Tournament isn't their thing but we see them playing pokey in "Dragons Rising." I love the idea that they play a lot of games together! They have a similar sense of humility. They know they're skilled but they're more likely hang back and play support while their other family members take the spotlight than boast. Unless it's really personal, then they'll take over, like how Splinter's quest for vengeance guides them in Exodus and Raph's desire to help Casey leads the brothers to sneak out with him in "Meet Casey Jones." I think, they have a similar sense of humor, too. Raph has this silly line in the collector's book about Splinter being proud he used his head, that is, like a battering ram, and you cannot tell me Splinter wouldn't chuckle at that.

[ch3rryb0mb3rr]

Tldr; please put warnings on smut and have it below the cut and stop sexualizing minors in media. Especially if they just came out of middle school thats weird. Write what you want but tag and put warnings when needed.

--

I get so pissed when im going to read something about my favorite character, and it's smut WITH ZERO WARNING.

No 18+, no NSFW, no MDNI and it isnt even in the fucking tags. I dont wanna read that shit. Put the damned warnings there for the love of all that is green on this earth it takes two seconds. maybe a bit more, but if you could pump out 3.4k words of pure porn, I think you can handle a couple of tags and warnings

I am a minor, and i use those warnings, so I dont read straight-up porn!! I also dont need to read about incest accidentally because there was NO warning, and it was NOT in the tags!!

(And for those of you who do put warnings, i thank you and wish the best in life!)

(I am also well aware that a lot of people dont listen to dnis like that, but it's helpful for the people trying to avoid reading stuff like that)

Also, while im on the subject, let's not sexualize minors in media. Yeah their hot, i can see that. But i dont want to see the start of an NSFW alphabet for a 15/16 year old. Aged up my ass. Just put the beginning below the cut?? And not after the first four letters??

I do NOT need to know a fav characters preferred body part is the tits thank you very much. I definitely do not need to accidentally read that they wanna suck on it like a damned bottle.

--

'This character as your friend is soo perverted he wants to steal ur panties hehehe' NO HE DOESNT. HE'S A TEENAGER AND LIKES CATS. TF?? theres adults in the majority of the show that are reasonably attractive. Write that shit about them.

'Oh, they have this list of kinks,' and its shit only someone who has read hardcore smut would have. They are 16 and most probably haven't had sex because the creator cant give them a fucking break from trauma.

'He would be soooo toxic and blahblahblah [insert romanticised assault and abuse and trauma]' NO. that boy is my age and is a nerd. Motherfucker wants to study at princeton and has absolutely no flirting ability. You're only saying that because he's black, most of that shit reeks of racism.

--

These characters are kids, CHILDREN, and you as an adult (if you are one) should not be writing smut about them, aged up or not. You should not be thirsting over a sophmore when theres PLENTY of good looking adults that you can be.

Theres a difference in growing up liking a character and having a crush on them and growing out of it when you're an adult. And being an adult thirsting over a teenage boy. It's not cute. it's not 'oh, it's fine because he/she's not real'.

Its really fucking gross actually.

--

At the end of the day just tag your stuff correctly. That way its easier for everyone else to find EXACTLY what they wanna read. Because at this point im just gonna start reporting fics with no warnings at the beginning.

Someome younger than me with no parents looking through their devices could stumble on that, and not know what it means, read it, and be scarred for life.

I was reading that stuff way way way too earlier and its fucked up my mental state a bit so if we collectively start putting in the effort to help prevent this from happening to another 11 year old or younger than we should do so.

--

Start gatekeeping fandoms like creepypasta from young kids, start tagging shit correctly

Another child does not need to end up somewhat hypersexul with very violent intrusive thoughts by the time they hit high school because their parents wouldn't look out for them, and the fandom did NOTHING to try to prevent it.

Its not your job to parent the kid, and to look over their should. Thats not what im saying.

It IS your job to, again, tag shit correctly, put warnings for gore, bluring violent images, saying outright that a certain game/book/story/etc your recommending is NOT for kids due to its violent nature/sexual content/etc. Reporting accounts of children under the age limit for social media (i.e., a 10 year old with discord or instagram) (it is breaking the T.O.S)

Act like that one lgbtq+ chat room website I was on for a couple weeks where all the adults kinda looked out for me a bit. And supported me figuring out who I was and collectively riped a guy to shreds after I blasted him at a failed attempt to groom me. (And told me I had done exactly the right thing in this situation. Also, hi, if you know who I am from there!!!) (Story time if ya'll want I look back and think its the funniest thing ever how I dealt with him 💀)

[undercoverossifrage]

I have loved Soldier, Poet, King for years now and even back then I couldn’t help but appreciate how perfect it was for the Httyd books. I’m sure I’m not the first to point this out, but please enjoy this incredibly rough animation anyway. The amount of finesse I tried to put into this is… negligible?

[regicidal-defenestration]

Does anyone else think about David Ward in Oh God Oh Fuck Oh No Where Am I This Time Why Does This Keep Happening To Me does anyone else remember when the TSV team did that anyway

When I arrive at the office, I am informed that, to thank me for all my hard work, I am being sent on an all expenses paid holiday abroad, leaving in ten minutes. It's odd, because I don't ever remember working here. Not in the sense that the place is unfamiliar, but that for the past five months I have been splitting my time between reading books and doing the crossword, and nobody seems to have noticed yet.

Or, the one where David wins a work trip to the Peninsula

[fortune-maiden]

I’m sure something like this already exists probably but I’m really craving a mdzs back to the future AU where Jin Ling travels back to the sunshot campaign…. just in time to witness the soup incident and rip Jin Zixuan a new one for making a woman cry like that.

And not realizing until afterwards that those were his parents

Well now he’s made an enemy of his father who has never been spoken to like that and who is this unruly child wearing Jin robes and sporting the vermillion mark? How dare?

Jin Ling, in a panic and definitely not knowing the sunshot timeline well enough: I’m Meng Yao

(It’s fine he thinks. The real Meng Yao had a brief stint in the Jin camp before joining the Wen as a spy. And his father and everyone important in the Jin clan never met the real one until after the war. And LXC and NMJ are on different fronts. So this cannot come back to haunt him.)

Meanwhile Jiang Yanli has a dilemma. All her life she’s built up an image of JZX in her head, the man she would one day marry, who’d take care of her and treat her well. And he’s humiliated her time and again and shown that he never cared to get to know her at all. But here is Meng Yao, a gentleman who spoke up for her despite his own poor standing and at great risk to himself. He looks quite similar to JZX too (well obviously, they are half brothers), but has the sort of righteous temper she’s always imagined on her ex-fiancée. And he seems to get along okay with her brothers!

Maybe it won’t hurt to get to know him a little better…

[flyingwargle]

sakuatsu week day 6: paranormal / supernatural

atsumu is sitting on the engawa, staring at the clouds, when a harsh foot hits his side and shoves him to the ground. "ow!" he glares at his assailant. "what the hell, 'samu?"

"yer gonna make inari-sama cry with yer language." his brother is holding a broom, gray-tipped tail flickering in annoyance. "get outta the way, i'm tryna clean."

grumbling, he adjusts his kimono and moves aside for osamu to continue sweeping. their days are idyllic like this, endlessly peaceful with the occasional spat caused by the youkai living in the area. recently, a pair of youkai have moved in from the next town over, after their home was destroyed, and their days have become increasingly more entertaining, especially with a certain dark-haired, brooding kama itachi around.

"ya got that look on yer face. what dumb shit are ya thinkin' 'bout?"

"watch it. inari-sama can't cry 'bout both o' us." atsumu looks to the sky. "i was wonderin' if i should do somethin' fer omi."

osamu stops his sweeping. "why?"

"just ta make 'im feel welcomed! motoya comes by more often than he does, so i thought it's 'cause he don't like us, or he's scared o' us." as inarizaki's guardians, their shrine is open to all youkai, either as a sanctuary or to hang around. suna does that often enough.

"yet not romantic at all. i bet ya'd give 'im a knife or somethin'."

"he got his own weapons.” atsumu’s ear twitches. “although...we do got some cool knives…"

"i was kiddin'. don't give 'im a knife."

atsumu frowns at him. "then what should i do?"

his twin hums contemplatively, broom grazing the wooden floorboards. "tooru said those spring lilies are in season. ya could bring 'im there. it's on a cliff, so it looks pretty."

"an' how did ya learn 'bout that, dear brother? did someone take ya?" atsumu wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "someone like sunarin?"

"shaddup, or i'm gonna whack ya." osamu brandishes his broom, and atsumu jumps away with a laugh, turning his back.

"i'm gonna find omi!"

his brother shouts after him, but he can't hear him as he transforms in a puff of smoke, shifting into his fox form. with light feet, he bounds across the shrine grounds, down the stone steps, and through the forest.

many youkai live in the surrounding area under their watch, or the western forest under suna's, or the southern forest under daishou's. the itachi settled wherever that kiyoomi deemed clean, which happened to be the trees around the shrine.

he pads through the undergrowth until he finds their home, a sturdy oak tree. atsumu climbs the trunk and eventually finds kiyoomi in his humanoid form, a beautiful young man with dark curls, two moles over his eye, wearing a yellow and green kimono. he looks up from his book, eyes widening. "atsumu-sama." reverence makes his words rushed. "why are you-"

atsumu flicks his ear, then transforms into his own humanoid form. "c'mon, omi, i told ya ta drop the honorific. whatcha readin'?"

"i don't wish for inari-sama to smite me for disrespecting her guardians." he shows him his book. "it's a travelogue from a youkai in the karasuno crow pack. i yearn to travel as widely as they have."

"don't itachi travel 'round?"

“a bit. we’re often in threes, so it isn’t safe for us right now. motoya has been looking for a third to join us before we can travel.”

"oh." atsumu's voice drops. "does that mean ya'll leave afterwards?"

kiyoomi hesitates. “we may , but the forest is our home. we haven’t been here for long, but the hospitality we’ve received is…touching.”

"that's good. 'samu an' i do our best." atsumu smiles at him. "there's someplace that i wanna take ya, if yer free. how ‘bout it?”

“where?”

“the other side o’ the mountain! close ta tooru an’ his gang, if ya met ‘em before.”

“that’s rather far.”

atsumu grins. “not fer me!” he leaps from the branch and into the air, enveloped in another puff of smoke as he transforms into his true kitsune form, an elegant, white-furred creature with golden eyes, five tails tipped with gold. he hovers beside the tree, head lowered for kiyoomi. “climb on. i’ll get us there.”

he receives a bewildered look in exchange. “are you…is this all right? for me to…”

“i’m offerin’, aren’t i? ‘course it’s all right!” amusement rumbles deep in his voice. “behold the true power o’ atsumu-sama!”

after another moment’s hesitation, kiyoomi pockets his book and carefully jumps on, hands splayed gently across his scruff. atsumu takes off, trees rustling behind them.

he soars through the sky, reaches the next mountain in a matter of minutes. his eyes scan the mountainside for the spring lilies, spotting a patch of white. he starts his descent. “get ready ta jump!”

“hah?”

atsumu transforms again, and his humanoid form freefalls through the air before landing in the clearing. kiyoomi yelps after him, landing in his arms with a grunt. atsumu throws his head back with a laugh, a chortle that echoes around them. “ain’t it pretty?” he asks, jerking his chin toward the flowers.

the spring lilies create a blanket of white through the grass, waltzing with the wind. coupled with the fresh air and pure silence, it’s like they’ve been transported into their own world.

“atsumu-sama.” kiyoomi’s voice is hesitant. “you can put me down.”

oh. “oh!” atsumu quickly lowers him to the ground. kiyoomi straightens his kimono and takes in the view. “tooru loves flowers, so ya can find these patches ‘round his territory. we get together fer drinkin’ parties a lot in the spring, like how humans have hanami. hey, let’s come back with drinks – we can bring motoya an’ samu, an’ maybe sunarin would wanna come–“

“or,” kiyoomi cuts in gently, “we can enjoy the view for ourselves.” he moves forward, leaving him behind.

“yes. yes, we definitely can,” atsumu mumbles to himself, hurrying after him.

they find a rock to climb to the top and admire the sea of white. atsumu watches kiyoomi, admires the way his eyes widen at the flowers, the tiny smile that softens his expression. he could watch him forever, he realizes.

“if ya ever travel ‘round,” he ventures slowly, “i hope ya won’t forget all the sights that inarizaki has.”

“of course not. i won’t forget them in a hurry.” kiyoomi turns to him, unspoken words hanging between them. “thank you, atsumu-sama.”

“atsumu. please, omi.”

“fine. thank you, atsumu.”

he smiles. “here’s ta more sights ‘till then.” they return to the flowers, quiet spectators of their dance.

[darkwitchingflower]

Happy Birthday to our favourite Seaweed-Brain!!

[an-ruraiocht]

one of my annoying medievalist traits that i don't usually voice because it makes me sound like a snob is that i find it funny when people refer to a single medieval text as a book

[afterthegreatunknown]

sbg friendship: hector and olivia

i'm back at it with an old ask meme game i made a while back and being the creator i am doing it unasked nobody can stop me

Who I think befriended the other first: In a way, they befriended each other at the same time. Both thought each other as only acquaintances (help due to sharing mutual acquaintances and being in the same generation), but never friends proper.

But an incident involving Ishmael trying to teach them something broke down that barrier. Ishmael was trying to teach them a particular technique on how to set a fire (for 'right' reasons, like camping). Ishmael in trying to 'set' it out with a fire extinguisher got himself cover in the foamy stuff, and had to change his clothes. Hector and Olivia couldn't help but talk about it for days.

Who I think would steal the food of(f) the other plate: Olivia, but only with fries and potato chips. Hector tries to stop her, but she persists and will succeed in stealing one.

Which one would tell the other a secret first: Hector. Olivia jokingly tells him that she will tell others of said secret, but she never does so. Olivia likes Hector to not betray his trust.

(This makes her eventual death darkly true, for by then, she gives what others want. And that includes secrets she swears to keep.)

Ideal Hangout Locations: Either of their apartments (it's fun to stay in), Caligari Carnival (when it was in it's peak and golden days, it was a place to visit), Food trucks (especially if it's a Mexican taco trucks), stores (they enjoy the most mundane of shopping activities, like buying groceries or picking out hair care products or party decorations)

Which one would pretend to be their significant other if the situation ever calls for it: Olivia. She puts a good act too, as if she spotted her boyfriend from across the room, or if she came from the restroom and just saw a random person hitting on him. Hector is quite impress by her talents, saying she's ought to give acting at try.

What causes them to fight (seriously or jokingly): Truth to be told, they're the friends who never fight with one another. Sure, they have heated debates, but they never really fight with one another. They can't even do it jokingly.

How they stop being friends (or not): Being assign to the middle of the Hinterlands with almost no way of proper communication created a slow, painful end of Hector and Olivia's friendship. Both think fondly of those by-gone days, and they hope the other is happy with their life.

(It's fun to think that, no?)

[lolli-says-stuff]

Alex: am I straight?

The entire Sagitta squad: uh no.

Yassen: you’re as gay as a maypole

Alex: I meant my parking.

Marcus: still no.

[sodamnbored]

Other people: Jason is the worst of the seven. He barely does anything for the whole series. We don’t even know anything about him. What is there to like or find interesting?

Me, an intellectual:

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

Theyre going to think I like canon and purely canon if I keep going on like this