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ronaldanthony4 · 3 months ago

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Creating digital fan art has always been one of my favourite creative outlets, and today I’m excited to share a new piece from one of my all-time favourite cartoons: Butterbean’s Café. The series has a special place in my heart, not only because of its charming characters but also due to its positive messages about teamwork, creativity, and kindness. In my latest artwork, I decided to focus on Butterbean herself, the café’s owner and the fairy leader of the Bean Team.

As I sat down to work on this art, I reflected on why I love Butterbean’s Café so much. It’s a cartoon filled with life, magic, and food—a combination that’s comforting and inspiring. Butterbean, the protagonist, is a 12-year-old fairy chef with an unwavering passion for running her café alongside her friends. The show itself is a delightful mix of animated food, whimsical adventures, and a strong sense of community. It's set in the magical land of Puddlebrook, home to anthropomorphic chipmunks, rabbits, and other creatures who enjoy the delicious creations made by the Bean Team.

My fan art captures Butterbean at her best: mid-action, with her signature whisk in hand, ready to whip up something delicious. When I started sketching, I wanted to focus on her vibrant personality and appearance. Butterbean has a very distinct look that stands out, even in a world filled with fairies and talking animals. She has these big, bright blue eyes that seem to sparkle with enthusiasm, and her brown hair is styled so neatly, with a small braid on one side. Her fairy wings are truly something special—they resemble cookies covered in blue icing and sprinkles, a design that fits her role as a chef perfectly.

In the cartoon, Butterbean's style is a blend of practicality and whimsy. She wears a white chef's jacket adorned with pink details and bean-shaped buttons. The jacket's sleek design is balanced by the bright colours that represent her playful side. I spent a lot of time trying to replicate the tiny details on her outfit, like the pink bean-shaped pocket on her jacket and the cute, glittery bean symbols on her sleeves. Her skirt, a frilly yellow and white piece, adds a burst of colour and matches the general cheerful tone of the show. Underneath the jacket, she has a simple pink T-shirt with a white collar and more bean symbols—small touches that make her outfit unique to her character. I love how everything about Butterbean is themed around her café and the food she creates.

But beyond her appearance, Butterbean’s personality was what I wanted to highlight in my artwork. She's known as the “fairy best boss,” not just because she’s good at running a café, but because of her leadership style. She’s caring, encouraging, and never afraid to try something new, especially when it comes to creating recipes. Watching her work with her friends and little sister, Cricket, always brings a smile to my face. The show has this light-hearted feel to it, but the lessons it imparts are meaningful, particularly about teamwork and perseverance.

One of the reasons I was drawn to creating fan art of Butterbean this week was because I was thinking about how she never lets challenges bring her down. There’s a sense of optimism in every episode that makes the world of Butterbean’s Café feel so inviting. In my piece, I wanted to capture her mid-action, ready to take on a new recipe with her whisk—a magical item that she uses to create her wonderful dishes. Her whisk is also her fairy wand, which adds a bit of magic to her cooking, and it was such a fun detail to include in the art.

I worked hard to make her expression as lively as possible, as she’s a character who’s always smiling or laughing, radiating joy and energy. In my artwork, her brown hair frames her face perfectly, with the braid on the side adding a cute, detailed touch. Her hairstyle never changes throughout the series—it’s as if it’s as constant as her cheerful personality, smooth and shiny even after a long day of cooking. The bright colours I used for her outfit and background help to emphasize her vibrant personality, making her stand out in the artwork. The overall composition captures the essence of her character, bringing to life the joy and magic she exudes in every episode of the series.

While working on this piece, I couldn’t help but think of the episodes where Butterbean demonstrates her cooking skills. She’s always inventing new dishes, and they’re as creative and colourful as she is. Her food reflects the magic of her world. It’s not just food—it’s art, a way of bringing people together. And that’s something I tried to emulate with this fan art. Butterbean is the kind of character who, even at 12 years old, has the wisdom and compassion of someone far beyond her years. She’s patient, kind, and never gets angry, except in one memorable moment when she briefly gets mad at her sister Cricket for messing up a dress. But even then, her forgiveness came quickly, reminding us that mistakes are just a part of learning and growing.

Drawing Butterbean’s fairy wings was one of the most enjoyable parts of the process. Her wings are shaped like cookies, a brilliant design that ties her love of food to her very identity as a fairy. They’re topped with blue icing and colourful sprinkles, making them look good enough to eat! I wanted the wings to pop out in the artwork, so I used vibrant colours to highlight their playful, whimsical nature. The wings are an extension of her personality—sweet, magical, and full of life.

The background in my fan art mirrors the setting of Puddlebrook, the magical land where Butterbean and her friends live and work. I kept the background somewhat blurred to draw attention to Butterbean, but I added hints of the colourful and vibrant world she inhabits. In the series, Puddlebrook is filled with rolling green hills, bright flowers, and bustling creatures. It’s a place where adventure and magic are always just around the corner, and I wanted my art to reflect that same sense of wonder.

Butterbean isn’t alone in her café adventures. Along with her younger sister, Cricket, she has a team of friends who help run the café: Poppy, Dazzle, and Jasper. Together, they make the perfect team, each bringing their unique talents to the café. Butterbean, however, stands out as the leader, always guiding her friends and coming up with new ideas. She’s also the one who most embodies the spirit of the show—its heart. Through her leadership, she teaches the importance of creativity, collaboration, and kindness. In Butterbean’s Café, food is a way of bringing people together, and Butterbean’s role as chef and leader showcases that beautifully.

Working on this fan art gave me a deeper appreciation for the character of Butterbean and what she represents. She’s more than just a fairy who runs a café—she’s a symbol of positivity and resilience. Even when things don’t go as planned, Butterbean always finds a way to solve problems, whether it's coming up with a new recipe or helping a friend in need. That’s why Butterbean’s Café resonates with so many viewers, young and old alike. It’s not just about food or fairies; it’s about the values of friendship, creativity, and kindness.

Creating this fan art was not only a way for me to pay tribute to a character I admire but also a chance to reflect on the joy that shows like Butterbean’s Café bring into the world. As I look at the finished piece, I’m reminded of how art, whether it’s digital fan art or a magical dish made by a fairy chef, has the power to bring people together and make the world a little brighter. It serves as a reminder of the positive impact that wholesome and heart-warming content can have on individuals, sparking creativity and spreading happiness. The vibrant colours and playful themes in Butterbean's Café fan art capture the essence of what makes the show so beloved by its audience.

In conclusion, this artwork of Butterbean is a celebration of her spirit—the joy she brings to her friends, her café, and her fans. Every detail, from her cookie-shaped wings to her bright blue eyes, represents the creativity and magic of her character. As a fairy chef, Butterbean is always thinking of others, and through this artwork, I hope to share some of the same positivity and light that she spreads in her world. For me, Butterbean is more than just a character in a cartoon; she’s a reminder of the power of kindness, teamwork, and the joy that comes from sharing what you love with others.

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galechives · 11 months ago

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It is a particular kind of self-harm, my looking at those notebooks. Before, I’d look at them and think, haha, look what I didn’t know how to do yet. It was the same attitude I had as a child when I‘d accidentally stumble upon toys that I had outgrown and I’d feel a rush of glee, thinking, wow, I was such a baby last year! I had a plastic workbench! Hahaha! Now I have action figures! The same delight a slightly older baby feels upon seeing a slightly younger baby and realizing for the first time in their lives that time is a thing they are moving through. Then there was a period of time, starting about two years after I graduated, when I’d go looking in those notebooks for a certain kind of clarity that I felt I was missing at the time. In 2021, I was in such a despair about a loss of focus and drive in my work, and so I wanted to go back to the me who had written so intensely and so furiously to change his life, to see it dashed upon those pages.

But now, four years or so after graduating, and now that I am a teacher of creative writing myself, looking at those notebooks just makes me sad. Because I can see how intensely unhappy I was. How sad and frustrated and hurt and needing guidance, needing attention, needing care, needing to feel that I mattered to someone or anyone, that my work was coming along or not coming along. When I look at those notebooks and the towering dark cliffs of graphite and ink that I doodled into the margins, I am struck by the fact that this is the work of an unruly and anxious consciousness, a storm building with no outlet. The notes I took of other people’s workshops contain the usual mix of things: quotations from the teacher, from my classmates, observations and questions, my own formulations of storytelling. I can see a sensibility coming together across those notebooks, a slow realization of what matters to me in fiction and what doesn’t. A stance, a view, is cohering in those pages. Slowly, fitfully, sometimes angrily, but it is there, a mind sharpening itself. But when I look at the pages pertaining to the days when I was workshopped myself, it’s just sad. Smudged graphite, smeared ink. Truly unwell, surreal drawings and doodles. Blocks that shimmer and dance across the page. But what I am most struck by is how intensely the margins push in and narrow, so that the words themselves are forced down a jagged inlay, like falling through a crack in the earth.

I recognize in the doodles the same visual process from when I was very little. I mean that when I was little, I built images up out of squares. I’d make a castle out of nestled squares. Or I’d draw people made from squares. In middle school, I started just layering squares and rectangles and circles upon each other, for no reason at all except to quiet my mind. I don’t even know that this was a conscious thing, you know. I say to quiet my mind, but that implies a level of agency that I do not know that I felt when I was doing it. I just remember being twelve, thirteen, sitting in class, feeling furious about anything and everything, and just making the shapes again and again. I did it at home and at school. I did it on the corners of newspapers and notebooks and construction paper. I made them in sand and I carved them on asphalt in the summer with rocks. I sometimes drew them on the rocks themselves with a pencil or with my mother’s eyeliner. I traced them on the fogged glass in winter and I drew them with the point of my fingernail into the cheap leather on the school bus seats. Tracing the lines again and again until it made something like peace in me. But again, I wasn’t doing it to make that peace. It’s more, I was just venting an urge and the peace was just the side effect of having vented it. That’s the best way I can explain the almost accidental, non-causal relation between feeling better and having done the doodles. The whole story of my life might be told in these intensely repetitive structures. In some way, I imagine that they are my first and true means of expression.

from Brandon, "my variations" (2023)

#brandon #art

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kuroshitsuji-scenarios · 3 years ago

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Another for the Silver Fox himself! Could we possibly get headcanons for what a lazy morning, or a lazy day in with his s/o, would be like? Maybe for Grell as well if possible?

Undertaker:

Lazy morning truly means lazy morning with him. Once he schedules a day free, there is nothing that could get him out of bed so easily—he will sleep for as long as possible, then lay flat and stare at the ceiling thinking or cuddle you to wake you up. It is so boring without your voice, after all!

Undertaker would snuggle his nose up the line of your neck and puff at your exposed skin to give you goosebumps. After receiving the reaction he longed for, he would chuckle and drag a single nail across your side, drawing invisible circles and shapes, sometimes tickling. If it still would not be enough to wake you up, he would start kissing and nibbling, purring to create vibrations and—

You might want to hit him with the pillow since it would be the only way to stop his ministrations. This or simply submitting and returning them. Either way, he would be so happy to finally have you awakened and once your eyes are open and mind back to the senses, he would withdraw and smile at you like an eager puppy.

“What are we going to do today, my love? The day has just barely started.”

Undertaker will hope that you personally offer to do nothing so he would not feel guilty about keeping you at home. You were so young, after all, there was still a lot you should see and experience and most likely prefer to do than to spend another day with an old fart like him... but if you would willingly admit that you wanted to stay in bed, he would be absolutely delighted.

He might want to spend this day on talking, sharing stories and addressing troubles. Most of the time you were both occupied with everyday duties and so, it would be a perfect opportunity to get closer together. In a meantime, he would play with your fingers while listening to you carefully, intertwining your fingers with his and admiring the texture of your skin.

After a while, he would try to persuade you into making breakfast, stating that you always do it better than him! Besides, it always turns out much more delicious! Not to mention how lovely you look in the apron.

In the end, lazy mornings with Undertaker will almost always turn out to be rather cozy and playful, filled with hugs and kisses and laughs. He would cherish them for a long time, hoping to repeat it again soon.

Grell Sutcliff:

What do you mean by ‘lazy day’, morning skincare routine won’t do itself, sweetheart!

She would wake up early, doing her best to keep as quiet as possible and then sneak to the bathroom without waking you up. Then, she would take care of her hair and skin, brush the teeth, put a little bit of pink on her cheeks, apply lipstick and try the I-woke-up-like-this look in the mirror. Only after being satisfied would she return back to bed, hoping that you did not notice her missing.

Additionally, she would take some nice position in bed—something which would make her look mysterious and pretty at the same time, like a damsell in distress. Then she would wait for you to wake up.

“Grell, did you just put the whole makeup on...?”

“How rude! Don’t you believe I look like this everyday?”

“You know I’ve seen you in the bath, right?”

“And if you don’t drop the subject you’ll end up there yourself, this time filled with cold water!”

Eventually, you might decide to give up and let her do as she pleases. Grell is a busy woman, after all, and it is not often when you can both have a whole day to yourself so there won’t be any reason to argue about such a thing, even if her actions could make you feel insecure about the amount of trust in your relationship.

She definitely wouldn’t want to spend the whole day in bed, considering it as a waste of time, and instead would offer to grab this opportunity and take care of yourself—dye hair, apply the balm to your whole body, get rid of the unnecessary hair, prepare conditioners, take a massage... anything you can think of which would relax your body and mind. In a meantime, she would offer you a glass of fine wine to soothe your mind also.

Considering the fact that you would share this time together, she would brag about her co-workers and job, telling some vague stories about the people she had to reap, everything to get off her chest. She would greatly appreciate it if you listened to her and maybe gave an advice there and there. Grell would always consider you as the smart one in your relationship, after all.

#black butler #kuroshitsuji #undertaker #undertaker x reader #grell sutcliff #grell sutcliff x reader #grell #headcanons #shinigami

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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years ago

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Day 28, Post #1 by @floreatcastellumposts

Title: The Argument Author/Artist: FloreatCastellum Pairing: Gen Prompt: “Siblings: The only enemy you can’t live without” -Anonymous Rating: T Trigger Warning(s) (if any): Mild language

When he was a child, Ron had sometimes sat secretly on the stairs, feet in slippers too big for him, teddy tucked under his arm, listening to the goings on in the kitchen. Often his sister or a brother or two would be with him. This was especially the case when there was an argument, because they were a nosy bunch of kids, and they would grin gleefully at one another as they heard their mother roar over some issue, like when Bill came home with his first tattoo, or Charlie had done something dangerous like climb on the roof, or the many, many, many things that Fred and George had done. They would gather on the stairs and snigger and delight in their siblings being in trouble - that it wasn't them, and usually it was over something hilarious too.

Today was quite different. The stairs were narrow, so Ginny was pressed right up against him, but she was gripping hold of his arm too. Behind them, Fred and George sat in grim, stony silence, their knees occasionally knocking the back of Ron's head, but, remarkably, none of them were squabbling.

'Is it so hard to just be happy for me?' Percy was bellowing, and that in itself was unusual, because it was never Percy in trouble.

'It's not about that,' Dad was bellowing back, 'are you so naive? Are you really so foolish-?' This was unusual too, because it wasn't usually Dad bellowing.

'Percy... Percy, we're just worried, we're just concerned...' Mum was sobbing. This was unusual, because she usually had a bit more fight in her, not this desperate pleading.

'You're so cynical, the pair of you-'

'We're realistic! You've been promoted well above your grade before the dust has settled on the inquiry-'

'STOP BRINGING UP THE INQUIRY!' Percy sounded quite deranged; the ferocity of his voice made Ginny jump slightly, and grip Ron's arm harder. 'That - wasn't - my - fault! That was the point of it! That PROVED I wasn't to blame, I was acquitted-'

'Yes, and we were delighted,' said Dad, and to Ron's astonishment, his words sounded bitingly sarcastic, 'but even so, you have to see that mass scandal is not usually a precursor to promotion!'

'He SAW something in me!'

'Yes, he did! He saw a potential spy! On our family - on Dumbledore-'

Percy let out a maniacal laugh, forced and sneering and sanctimonious, it made Ron wince as he heard it. 'And you say I'm arrogant?'

'We've never said you were arrogant-' Mum tried to chip in desperately, but Percy continued talking over her.

'You think you're important enough to warrant the Minister for Magic spying on you? You think he considers you in the same circle as Dumbledore? More to the point, you think Dumbledore truly respects the likes of you?'

'Fudge has been going round making it more than clear that anyone who supports Dumbledore can clear out their desks-'

'Utter rot-'

'-He knows I'm friendly with him, he knows I have advised the school on muggleborn inte-'

'No one cares!' Percy screamed. 'No one cares about that stuff! You're ludicrous!'

'Ludicrous?' Dad echoed, with an uncharacteristic scoff to his voice.

'Ludicrous! Not everything is a conspiracy, not everything has an anti-muggle agenda - I know what this is really about, you're embarrassed that your own son is rising above you, is succeeding where you haven't-'

'Percy!' Mum's gasp was so clear that Ron could easily imagine her hand leaping to her chest.

'I've had to struggle against your lousy reputation ever since I started! Do you know how embarrassing it is? Do you know what it's like having people ask if I'm related to the muggle-mad Weasley on Level Two-'

'That's enough,' said Dad coldly.

'I lie to them, d'you know that? I tell them we're only distantly related.'

'What the fuck?' Ron heard one of the twins whisper behind them. 'Is he serious?'

'I never imagined I had raised you to be so small-minded-' Dad was spitting back.

'It's baffling that you raised me at all! You, who has no ambition, no sense, no idea of how ridiculous you come across with your obsession with muggles - is it any wonder you've always been passed over for promotion-'

'-Because of bigotry!'

'-Any wonder you've left your children to grow up in poverty? To be humiliated by the failures of their father?'

'Stop it! Percy, stop it!' Mum was wailing, and whether it was Fred or George directly behind him Ron didn't know, but their knee was trembling against the back of his head.

'It's not failure, it's a matter of principle and integrity!' Dad roared back. 'There are more important things than gold, that's what we've always-'

'You are deluded! You are so blinded by your persecution complex, by your victimhood, that you cannot be happy for your son!' Percy’s voice was hoarse and raw, whether from tears or overexertion, Ron wasn’t sure. 'You can't bear to see him succeed where you failed! To see him make something of himself!'

'Why would I be happy watching my son be manipulated and used? Make no mistake, Percy - this is no achievement, this is Fudge playing you as a puppet - if you're ashamed of your background, that's your prerogative, but there's no denying this family is known to be close to Dumbledore and Harry, and Fudge is waging a vendetta against-'

‘You’re an idiot to run around with Dumbledore!’ snapped Percy. ‘He’s heading for trouble - gone completely power mad the last few years - you know full well his glory days are over. You’ll end up going down with him-’

‘Fudge is fighting a campaign against Dumbledore when he should be-’

‘I know where my loyalties lie, and it is not with my old teacher! It is with my employer, the leader of my government, with people who look at the facts!’

‘The facts are that Harry-’

'Yes - Harry - here we go,' snapped Percy. 'You rank the word of a child above the expert testimonies and mountains of evidence brought up by the inquiry, above your own boss - no wonder he thinks you're cracked. You’re determined to see conspiracy everywhere-’

‘How can you say that? You saw the aftermath of what happened, you saw him-’

‘I saw the actual dead boy, I saw Diggory!’ snapped Percy. ‘Think what his family is going through, their child’s death being used as a political quaffle-’

‘That is Fudge’s doing! That is his choice! He has chosen to make a mockery of Diggory, to disregard Harry-'

‘To question the story of a teenager,’ corrected Percy. His tone was cold and quiet, the kind of sanctimonious "I'm being the grown up here, actually" patience that Ron found unbearably aggravating. ‘The only evidence is his word, it’s not unreasonable to question a witness. In fact, it’s a perfectly standard part of due process.’

Ron’s growing anger was now twisted with a kind of lurching dread. The snide little comments in the Daily Prophet, which they had all blustered and raged and gasped in revolted disdain at over breakfasts for the past week, suddenly felt sinister. As he thought about it, Percy had never joined in… had always been silent…

‘Percy…’ said Mum, so faintly that, as one, Ron, Ginny, Fred and George all leaned forward to listen. ‘Percy, surely you… surely you believe him? Surely you can’t believe he deserves what they’re saying about him? He’s just a child - it’s like the whole world’s forgotten that he’s just a child.’

'Yes, he's just a child - so why should he be the centre of everything?' Percy demanded. 'Why should he shape our family? Impact our careers?'

'Percy… if you had seen him in the hospital wing, if you had looked into his eyes…'

'Mr Fudge was not convinced,' said Percy, as though that settled the matter.

‘Has he asked you about Harry?’ Dad asked abruptly. Beside Ron, Ginny was shaking. ‘Casually?’

‘I - no more than is to be expected when you have someone famous living under your roof-’

‘What did he ask? What did you say?’

They heard a brief, thick silence, and a sharp exhale of air. ‘He… he’s not relevant to this discussion. This is beyond - this isn’t the issue - the only evidence is his word, as I said-’

‘You don’t believe him.’ Dad’s voice was blank, stunned, quiet. ‘You… you know that boy, Percy.’

‘You don’t believe in me,’ said Percy, and Ron could hear his tears now, the slight thickness to his voice, the sniffs between words. ‘You’d rather believe in some ludicrous conspiracy theory from a teenager who thinks he sees You-Know-Who around every corner than believe that your own son might have worked hard, might be talented, might deserve his career. You’d really think so little of me.’

‘That’s not it. That’s not it at all,’ Dad said quietly, and Mum was crying loudly. ‘We just-’

‘I don’t care!’ said Percy harshly. ‘I don’t care what you think! Not any more! Years I’ve put up with it, years! I’m going - I’m gone - I don’t want to see either of you again - you’ve made it clear that you don’t have my interests at heart, this was your choice-’

‘What do you mean?’ Mum shrieked, and they could hear the scraping of chairs being moved aside, thundering footsteps, Mum begging-

The door was thrust open, and Percy stood for a moment in the hallway, looking up at the four of them sitting on the stairs. His expression was unreadable. Tear tracks shone from beneath his horn-rimmed glasses, and his mouth was a thin, grim line.

‘Move,’ he told them.

‘You’re being a right bellend,’ said Fred at once.

‘MOVE!’

They did not, and Mum had come running after Percy, hanging desperately onto his arm though he tried to shake her off. ‘Come on, Perce,’ she pleaded. ‘Come and sit down, let’s all cool off and talk about this-’

‘Get out of my way,’ Percy told his siblings once more, and now Ron stood.

‘Harry’s part of our family,’ he blurted out furiously.

‘He’s not, Ron,’ Percy growled. ‘He’s your friend, that doesn’t mean everything he says is right - move out my way.’

‘How can you say that!’ Ginny demanded. ‘What’s wrong with you? How can you say all these horrible things?’

Percy started climbing the stairs, pushing Ron aside and stepping over Ginny, furiously struggling past Fred and George who immediately made their bodies as big and awkward and gangling as they could imagine, shouting colourful insults at him as he pushed past and thundered up to his room.

‘He just needs to calm down,’ Mum was squeaking. ‘Go - go to your rooms, let me and Dad talk to him-’

‘No chance!’

‘I haven’t said my piece yet!’

He returned just a few moments later, carrying a bulging bag with a jumper sleeve trailing out, a little line of abandoned socks and a pair of underwear left on the stairs. ‘I’m going to stay with friends,’ he said.

‘You haven't got any,’ goaded George.

‘Be quiet, George!’ Mum wailed. ‘Percy-’

‘Then I’m getting my own place, I’m not staying here anymore - I’m not letting you all drag me down with you. If you’re all going to be traitors to the Ministry I’m going to make sure everyone’s well aware that I don’t belong to this family any more-’

‘You do, Percy, you do - you’ll always be my son-’ Mum’s words were barely audible beneath her crying. Percy pushed past her, and stormed towards the door.

‘Percy!’ Ron shouted, and to his surprise, Percy turned and looked at him.

Ron could not find the words for his contempt, could not find an insult strong enough, could not decide what to do with the rage that was coursing through him. All he could hope was that Percy could feel it in his cold, hard stare. ‘How could you?’

Percy said nothing, simply looked back for a moment, and then turned his back and strode swiftly to the door. Mum was running after him, and though they heard the ear-splitting crack of disapparation, she stood in the doorway shouting his name.

Dad had not followed, and with a creak, Ginny rose beside Ron and descended the last few stairs. She peered through the doorway to the kitchen. ‘Dad?’

Ron heard a splutter, and then dry, heaving sobs. Ginny vanished into the kitchen. Behind him, Fred and George were muttering mutinously, swearing and cursing.

‘What’s he playing at?’

‘He’s an idiot. A big-headed, pompous, ridiculous idiot, we’ve always said it, we were right.’

‘Who does he think he is? Does he really think that promotion is normal? Does he honestly think he’s that extraordinary?’

‘Moron…’

Ron’s jaw was aching from gritting his teeth so hard, his heart was trying to break through his ribcage and go after Percy to beat him.

‘Do you really think he meant that stuff he said to Dad?’ George said. ‘It’s just…’

‘I bet he does, the git,’ said Fred. ‘I bet he really does pretend he’s not part of the family. He’s ashamed of us. Slimy, brown-nosing prick…’

‘All that stuff about poverty? So uncalled for.’

‘That’s it, really, isn’t it? He’s a greedy arsehole.’

‘Well, he’s certainly written himself out of the will now, hasn’t he?’

‘He won’t care, nothing for him to inherit anyway, apparently.’

That prickling, heated anger was back - his very ears were hot with it, he wouldn’t be surprised if steam had been bursting out of them. The memory of Harry, pale and shaken in the hospital wing, his hands gripping Mum’s robes as she hugged him, was lingering in his mind. ‘Did you hear all that crap about Harry? Did you hear what he was saying about him? Harry!’

‘Yeah,’ muttered George. ‘Pillock.’

‘Why would he say that? What the bloody hell is going on with him? He’s gone bonkers. When did he turn into such a - a -’ He still could not quite find a word strong enough.

‘Berk?’ suggested George.

‘Something along those lines…’

‘Easier than admitting he’s horrible, selfish, idiot snob, I suppose,’ said Fred.

‘Money’s always been an issue, but blaming Dad like that is just…’

‘Nasty,’ said Ron, simply.

‘You can make money without completely selling out and betraying your family,’ said Fred seriously. ‘You can do it and keep your integrity.’

‘He’s acting like we weren’t fed enough,’ said George spitefully. ‘Percy didn’t even get that many hand-me-downs, really - Mum and Dad were doing all right before they were hit with twins, and we all know Ginny was probably unexpected.’

‘Was she?’ said Ron distractedly.

‘Are you joking, you were only about eight months old, who picks then to decide to have another baby?’

‘Mum.’

‘Fair.’

‘Anyway,’ said Fred, ‘Percy��s not exactly been hard done by, not really. He’s just always been ashamed we’re not as well-heeled as his smarmy new colleagues at the Ministry.’

‘It’s childish,’ said Ron, who was feeling another lurch of guilt as he thought back on the previous year. ‘It’s really petty…’

‘We’ve all wished the family was better off now and then,’ said George fairly. ‘Who wouldn’t? But that was a seriously low blow. God, poor Dad,' he added, his voice lowering further. 'I'm glad Ginny's gone in to comfort him, I don't even know where to begin.'

‘Do you think he’s really gone for good?’ asked Ron.

‘Hope so,’ said Fred viciously. ‘Hey - one less mouth to feed now, maybe the family’ll be better off.’

'You know what else,' Ron said sharply, his brain whirring, 'did you hear him dodging Dad's question about what he's said about Harry? Good thing he's buggered off before we go to the Order Headquarters, isn't it? Who knows what he would have blabbered about?'

Fred was looking at him as though in a new light. 'You know what, Ronniekins, that is a really excellent and disturbing point. You're a bit of a bright spark at times, aren't you?'

'Brighter than Percy,' Ron muttered.

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #submission #tw: mild language

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colossal-fallout · 4 years ago

Text

Cock Canons

Reiner - Porco - Bertolt - Levi - Hange

This is NSFW. You MUST be over 18 to be on this blog.

Graphic descriptions of characters cocks and prefered strap ons. Pics are included (Pictures are as close to what I imagine as possible)

- Feel free to request more characters for the cock Canons -

Reiner Braun 💥

Reiner has a monster cock. It's at least 9" and its girthy too. It slightly curves at the top, rendering it impossible to not have an orgasm while he's inside of you, as his fat head prods at your G-Spot over and over.

Reiner's cock has that clean salty taste. He showers often with all of the training he does so it's never unpleasant to have in your mouth.

When it's errect the veins are pretty protruding; having to keep such a large muscle supplied with plenty of blood as he fucks you into the other world.

His balls a large but not overly so. The skin around them is pretty tight and he likes to shave them because he doesn't like the feeling of being over-grown. And he loves it when you sensually suck on them.

[ This ] is the closest pic I could find of what Reiner's cock would look like. It would be a slighter darker shade but the heads shade of pink is pretty spot on.

His pre cum is super sweet, like corn syrup or something delightful.

His cum is more salty but still not bad. It's extremely thick and ropey. This cock, with all of his testosterone, breeding kinks and his natural pheromones, is just designed to impregnate.

Porco Galliard 🥵

Porco's precious penis is shorter than Reiner's but just as - if not more - girthy.

It's more rounded at the top and oh so deliciously fat. Like his neck.

Porco also showers as often as he can, as he's always pushing himself during training so his dick is usually nice and clean.

It's still a fucking weapon so his also has a strong appearance of veins as it requires a lot of blood flow.

Porco has a hard time dealing with intense feelings of lust, often losing control and letting himself getting too fired up, so you'd better make sure the safety is on for this gun, pal.

The closest pic to Porco's junk is [ this ]. But longer and more girthy. His balls are also larger than that.

Porco Galliard is an absolute animal in bed once he's within his comfort zone with you, and this dick can deal a lot of damage.

His cum is sweeter than Reiner's but is just as thick.

Bertoldt Hover 🌭

Bertoldt's banging baton his like him; long, slender and timid. But awaken it and... My god you'll be sorry. Once this man gets fired up and slips into the mists of madness, there's is no stopping him.

Bertoldt's cock loves attention; start stroking it or touching it in any way, it won't be long until every shy fiber in this boys being turns to cinders and ashes.

There's a few pictures I found that's pretty accurate. Let me know which one you like the best for this beast boy.

[ here ] , [ here ] and [ here ] .

Bert's cum tastes the best out of anyone in this list. It's almost like salt water taffy or sweet and salted popcorn.

His balls are tight, slightly smaller than his fellow warriors but that really doesn't mean a thing. He will still absolutely ruin you with ease. Once he sees the red curtain he's sure to perform well.

His cock is the twitchiest of the bunch. When it's errect it can not stop still, almost like it's trying to hurl itself into your hand or any part of you, really.

Levi Ackerman

Oh boy.

O---h boy.

Levi Ackerman is one with his cock. It's like it has its own consciousness and they meld into one. He knows just how to use it, what to do next to push you to the next level of ecstasy.

Levi's dick is big and thick. Deliciously thick. He's definitely packing down there. It's got a nice shape to it to, and the closest pic i could find to do it any justice is [ this one here ] (except bigger)

If he's not on an expedition, Levi's hygiene practices are second to none. It's always a pleasure to have him in your mouth.

His jet black pubic hairs are trimmed nice and neatly into a cosy little landing strip, beckoning you to descend onto the rolled out welcome mat.

Levi is short because of his malnutrition as a child. But that did not effect the growth of his manhood. It's a nice clue to how well built he would have been, had circumstances been different.

He can go again and again and again with short intervals. He truly is one of the king's of sex in this universe.

Hange Zoë

Hange has a wide range of strap ons and dildos she likes to use on her partner's whether she's being Dom or Sub.

When she's feeling particularly dominating she likes to unleash [ this ] onto your poor, unsuspecting booty.

It vibrates and her womanhood is very sensitive, so when she's unleashing this on you, she's pretty much constantly cuming.

It helps that she has the sight of you being absolutely destroyed by her device .

Hange is loud during sex so with her repeating orgasms, you'd better prepare yourself for Levi to complain about the noise when she's using it.

She's a squirter so sex gets very fuckin messy when she's using this.

She has a name for it too; "Titania"

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ticklishfiend · 4 years ago

Note

Of o were to give you a lee Deku fic, I’d say something where Todoroki is obsessed with giving Deku raspberries especially on his tummy. He’s super ticklish there and Todoroki thinks it’s the cutest thing ever. 💖💖

A/N : okay while i was writing this i got carried away and wrote lee!todoroki instead bc i completely forgot that i LITERALLY ASKED FOR LEE!DEKU PROMPTS...i’m an idiot and i sincerely apologize LMAOO i hope you enjoy it anyways but i WILL be writing a lee!deku in the very near future so don’t you worry lol

So Comfortable (My Hero Academia)

Lee!Todoroki / Ler!Midoriya

Summary : Todoroki and Midoriya are cuddling in bed when Midoriya decides he wants to feel Todoroki’s heartbeat under his hoodie. When he realizes his boyfriend is a little sensitive, he can’t help but take advantage of it.

Word Count : 1905

REBLOGS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED!! MWAH <33

...

Todoroki breathed in the comforting scent of green apple shampoo, his nose nuzzling into the mess of curls snuggled underneath him. The boy with the power to control fire had never felt a cozier warmth in his life, the back lying against his chest substituting as the best blanket in the entire world. One of his hands held onto Midoryia’s front protectively, while the other was laced with the green-haired boy’s own scarred and calloused fingers, though to Todoroki, nothing had ever felt softer.

Everything felt so right. So perfect. So comfortable. The bi-colored boy hadn’t known real comfort in so long, and somehow this shorter, timid kid he had only met a little over a year ago now had brought more comfort into his life than he had ever truly known. He felt safe close to him, which to most people wouldn’t mean that much. But to Todoroki, closeness meant everything. He wasn’t going to let just anybody be this close to him, and he wasn’t going to be this close to just anyone. Midoriya had managed to wiggle his way into Todoroki’s comfort zone, and the previously-thought cold-hearted boy hoped he never, ever made his way out.

Todoroki felt the mess of hair under his nose move, tickling his face slightly, and he looked down to be greeted by Midoriya looking right back up at him with a small, relaxed smile.

“Hey,” Midoriya spoke gently, his thumb caressing the top of Todoroki’s hand.

“Hello,” Todoroki smiled a little awkwardly, but Midoriya knew he was sincere either way. Midoriya shuffled a bit under Todoroki’s protective hold, repositioning himself on top of the boy’s body completely, but this time with his stomach down on the other’s so he could look right up at him.

“You’re nice to look at,” Midoriya smiled dopily, his head tilted slightly. Todoroki chuckled, not being able to help the small blush on his cheek from the most endearing compliment. He looked at his partner with the utmost fondness in his eyes, bringing his hand up to stroke a thumb over his cheek.

“Right back at you,” Todoroki’s words were laced with a smile, Midoriya humming in response. The green haired boy leaned down to nuzzle his face into Todoroki’s warm chest, his cheeks smushing against the firmness of his muscles created by years of training.

“I can feel your heartbeat,” Midoriya’s words were muffled by the fabric of Todoroki’s hoodie. He brought his face down lower towards the boy’s stomach, Todoroki gasping slightly when he felt Midoriya’s hands creep underneath the fabric and onto his sides, worming their way upwards towards his chest. “Wanna feel it with my hands.”

His hoodie was now pushed up towards his lower ribs, pale tummy on display as both of Midoriya’s hands rested over the spot on Todoroki’s chest that concealed his heart, which at this point was beating harder than it had the whole afternoon. Midoriya smiled down at his belly, nuzzling his face into it’s pale, taut expanse. Todoroki let out another small gasp at the strange feeling, his hands moving up to gently tangle into the mess of green hair.

“Midoriya, what are you doing..?” Todoroki’s words were soft from fluster, his eyes a little wide at the odd display of affection. He couldn’t help the small tinge of smile on the corners of his lips, however, as the boy’s nose felt just ticklish enough to ignite that nervous flame in the pit of his stomach.

“You’re just so cuteee,” Mirodiya cooed into his belly, bringing his hands down to hold firmly onto Todoroki’s sides to make it easier for him to continue his playful nuzzling. The dual-haired boy choked on a small giggle, squeezing a little harder on the boy’s hair. He could feel Midoriya’s lips smile against his tummy, a blush creeping up from Todoroki’s neck to paint over his cheeks and ears. “Does this tickle?”

Todoroki let out a huff of air, embarrassed and oh, oh so flustered. “Um, a-a little, yes,” he mumbled out in a stutter, his partner chuckling in response.

“That’s adorable,” Mirdoriya hummed, kissing right above the boy’s belly button with an intensely gentle softness that made Todoroki feel like he could combust at any given second. The freckled boy didn’t just stop at his one kiss however, oh no. He started peppering them with that same softness all over the boy’s tummy, and Todoroki was helpless to the small and obviously flustered titters that escaped from the softest parts of himself he didn’t even know he had before meeting the boy.

“Ah- M-Midoriyahaha-” Todoroki breathed out the smallest of giggles, which only pressed his partner on further, his gentle lips now journeying over towards his left side, the ticklish feeling making Todoroki choke out a real giggle this time. “It tihihickles!”

“You’re so ticklish, it’s too precious,” Midoriya smiled brightly against the boy’s skin before lifting his head up to gaze at his face. Todoroki’s cheeks were painted with the most delightful blush, a dopey smile taking over his features,making Midoriya genuinely feel like the single luckiest person on the planet to be able to see such a stoic boy from this perspective.

“Have you ever had a raspberry, Shoto?” Izuku asked with a tilt of the head and a mischievous smirk. Todoroki blinked.

“Like...like the fruit?” Shoto asked, his brows a little furrowed in confusion, Midoriya just chuckling at his response. “I don’t understand, why are you laughing?”

“You’re just cute,” Izuku said, enjoying the blush and pout Shoto gave him. “I’m not talking about the fruit, Sho. Here, I’ll just show you.”

With that Midoriya leaned back down towards his partner’s tummy, drawing in a rather large breath, expanding his lungs as much as he could, before pressing his lips back down on the soft skin of Shoto’s belly and-

“PPPBBBTTTHHH~!” Midoriya blew hard onto his tummy, his partner letting out the loudest surprised squeal he had ever heard before cackling as Izuku continued placing smaller raspberries all over the expanse of Shoto’s sensitive tummy.

“GAHAHAHA! IZUHUHUKUHUHU! NAHAHA! WHAHAT IHIHIS THIHIS?!” Todoroki screamed, kicking his legs out behind Midoriya as the mischievous boy began kneading at his oh so sensitive sides, throwing Shoto into an entirely new wave of cackles as he now gripped tightly onto the boys shoulders (though he wasn’t pushing him away, much to Midoriya’s amusement).

“Raspberries, silly! Do they tickle?~” Izuku asked, blowing more ticklish raspberries all over his sensitive tummy and sides, even travelling just far enough upwards to blow one right on his bottom ribs, making the writhing boy underneath him jerk hard with a scream.

“YEHEHES! IT TIHIHICKLES!” Shoto cackled, squeezing his eyes shut tight. His body instinctively tried curling in on itself, folding forward until his own nose was nuzzling unintentionally into Izuku’s messy curls. “PLEHEHEHEASE!”

Midoriya chuckled. “Please what, Sho?”

“I DOHOHON’T KNOHOHOW!” Shoto shook his head frantically through his laughs as Izuku moved his hands downward to squeeze and knead into the boy��s hips. Shoto bucked at the sensation, throwing his head back against the pillow in mirth, digging his heels into the bedsheets behind Izuku.

“Aw, you don’t know? Does that mean you like it? You don’t want me to stop?~” Izuku teased, before inhaling sharply and blowing another torturous raspberry into Todoroki’s tummy, making the boy scream out another fit of high-pitched cackles.

“NAHAHAHA! NO TEHEHEASES! YOU’RE SO MEHEHEAN!” Todoroki babbled around his laughs, his giggles becoming more frantic. Midoriya thought it might be time to give the boy a breather, slowing his tickles down to just his nails tracing teasing little shapes into Shoto’s sides and on the bottoms of his ribs. Todoroki absolutely melted into a puddle of breathy giggles, his grip on Izuku’s shoulders still just as tight. Izuku rested his cheek onto Shoto’s tummy, looking up at his partner’s ever-flushing face with the utmost love in his eyes.

Todoroki finally calmed down enough to open his eyes and look down at his partner, who was still lightly tickling at his sides enough to keep him on a giggly edge.

“Sohoho that’s a raspbeheherry?” Todoroki asked, his face suddenly scrunching up in a clenched smile, his eyes squeezing shut as Izuku found a particularly sensitive spot right on the backs of Shoto’s lower ribs. Todoroki arched his back a bit, frantic breathy giggles escaping his throat as Izuku’s fingers stayed on that one torturous spot. He teasingly traced shapes into the area, smiling as he realized just how sensitive the boy under him truly was. “Izuhuhukuhu! Nohohot thehehere, ihihit-”

“-Tickles?” Midoriya asked, Shoto just nodding his head through his snickers and titters. Izuku just chuckled, moving his fingers back down a little to tickle at a less sensitive area and calm his partner down a little. “So sensitive. I could do this all day.”

“I don’t thihink I could survihihive,” Todoroki snickered before finally bringing his hands down to stop his partner’s torturous and wiggly ones at his sides. Izuku pouted a little as he was forced to stop tickling until Shoto laced their fingers together and looked the boy in his eyes. “Kiss me? Please?”

Izuku just smiled, his heart overflowing before melting through his ribs. He nodded, bringing his face up to meet Shoto’s lips in the middle. He dissolved into the kiss, feeling as if he was melting into Shoto’s face with how jelly-like he felt. He unlaced his fingers with Shoto’s to cup at the dual-haired boy’s cheeks, his thumb caressing at the scar he thought brought out Todoroki's eyes.

Once their interlocked lips parted, they both looked into each other’s hazed over eyes. Midoriya brought his face down to gently nuzzle into Todoroki’s neck, leaving tiny kisses wherever his lips could reach. Todoroki’s shoulders instinctively tried bunching up at the ticklish sensation, his giggle fit coming back, this time much softer and much breathier.

“Really? Ticklish here too?” Izuku smiled into his neck, leaving peppered kisses again on purpose this time just to hear the boy giggle. He felt him nod, and he knew they boy had to be blushing.

“Cahahan’t help ihihit,” he giggled, scrunching up so much his cheek smushed into Izuku’s head. Then he felt Midoriya draw in another big breath, and before he had the chance to do anything about it, Izuku blew another fat raspberry, this time into the boy’s sensitive neck.

Todoroki screeched, shoving his heels into the bedsheets and grabbing at the boy’s shirt for anything to brace himself with. “GYAHAHA! QUHUHIT! YOU’VE MAHAHADE YOUR POHOHOHINT! I’M TICKLIHIHIHISH!”

Izuku pulled himself out of Shoto’s neck with a wide grin, kissing Todoroki’s nose before laying his head back down onto the boy’s chest, nuzzling into the fabric of his shirt. “M’sleepy…”

Shoto chuckled with a shake of his head. “Oh yeah, I’m sure you’re just so wiped out from nearly killing me just moments ago,” He snickered before placing a kiss on top of the boy’s head. Izuku giggled with a nod.

“You know it,” Izuku yawned, and before Shoto knew it, the boy was snoring on top of him. Todoroki just smiled down at the boy, thumb caressing over his freckled cheek.

“I love you,” Todoroki whispered to the sleeping boy he knew couldn’t hear him, gently laying the blanket beside him over him and his partner’s sleeping frame.

Todoroki was finally truly comfortable, and he only had one person to thank.

...

A/N : thanks for all the support i’ve been getting recently! sorry this is kinda short, i’ve been having a lot of migraines recently so i haven’t felt like writing much, but i’ll be getting to more of those prompts soon! hope you enjoyed! much love <33

#tickling #my fic #tickle community #tickle fic #my hero academia #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #todoroki shoto #izuku midoriya #deku #tododeku #lee!todoroki #ler!deku #ler!midoriya #ticklish!todoroki #mha tickling #anime tickling #anime tickles

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bubbleteaimagines · 4 years ago

Text

End Up Here

Porco Galliard Oneshot

Summary: How did you end up in your captors bed of all places, contemplating on staying?

Pairings: Porco Galliard x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, fingering, light spanking and hair pulling, creampie, unprotected sex (please wrap it every man is not porco)

how did this happen? you wonder, as his rough hands, calloused from war and stained with the blood of countless enemies, roam over your body.

how did i end up here? you think, while his lips, plump and puffy, lean down to capture your own. they taste sweet, a stark contrast from how he actually was.

he hated you, didn’t he? and you hated him. at least, that’s how it had been for months, with you locked up in a marley jail cell.

after the attack on liberio, you had been one of the survey corps members to miss the plane and ended up stuck in marley. after that, you were taken as a prisoner of war and left in the custody of the warriors, or what was left of them.

with zeke being gone, reiner, pieck and porco had been the ones to look after you, questioning you for information and such.

of course, with reiner’s mission to paradis you already knew him. in fact, you thought it was absolutely hilarious how hypocritical he sounded while asking you why exactly you guys had attacked marley.

“i could ask you the same thing, reiner,” you had spat coldly, thinking back to that day seven years ago.

that was the only time you had ever seen reiner flinch, your glare causing his head to throb.

admittedly, before all of this, before all of the mess and the lies and the betrayal, you and reiner had actually been close once upon a time.

there was a time that you had idolized reiner, wanting to be just like the older boy. you wanted to be strong, you wanted to protect those around you.

you looked up to reiner as someone that was good, and the thought disgusted you.

how could you have idolized someone who caused so much destruction? someone who started a war with innocent people?

as you kissed porco back, your hands going to run through his hair, you supposed you did end up like your idol after all.

a hypocrite.

of course, you hadn’t always been that way. in the beginning, you truly did hate porco.

you hated the way he stalked around, glaring at you like you were the devil itself. you hated the way he talked, spitting insults left and right. but most of all, you hated how he wore that damn armband proudly, as if it made him any better than you.

you were the same, and porco hated you for constantly pointing it out. he hated the way you were so stubborn, never giving information but always having something to say nevertheless.

he hated the way you smirked, knowing they’d never get anything out of you but death. and most of all, he just hated how annoying you were.

for months, the two of you went back and forth like the enemies you were. glaring each other down, providing insults instead of answers.

honestly, who would have thought that one day you’d be beneath him, whimpering from his touch and moaning out his name as he left sloppy kisses down your neck?

you sure didn’t.

you were supposed to hate him.

but all that changed in a blink of an eye.

you don’t quite remember what it was, but one day you found yourself hating porco a little less than the day before. actually, you did remember. it was the one day you had seen porco show any emotion other than hatred. the one day of the year he just couldn’t bring himself to hate anyone, not even you.

his brother’s birthday.

you had watched, partially amazed, as porco lit twenty-three candles for marcel. even when he was on duty, he couldn’t forget to honor him.

when you had asked porco about it, genuinely curious, he told you his story and it was then that you saw him become more...human.

was that what it was? was that what lured you into his bed, lured you into melting at the way his honey eyes stared at you?

no.

there had been more after that.

after that day, after seeing that porco was in fact capable of human emotions, you decided to test him. would he show you some sympathy if he heard your own story? would he still think of you as a devil if he knew you guys weren’t all that different?

he didn’t.

after you told him about your own brother, about how he had been killed that day shiganshina fell, something inside porco softened.

perhaps it was guilt. perhaps it was actually sympathy that drove him to understand, but he did.

he understood you then. why you joined the survey corps, why you idolized someone like reiner. why you had attacked marley.

he understood it all.

he understood that it was all for him, all for your brother.

and then he began to understand that you guys weren’t all that different after all.

he often curses himself for that. for him, that was the starting point of it all. if he had just turned his back away, if he had just rolled his eyes and told you that he didn’t care about your pathetic life story, that it still made you no less than a devil, then maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t be under him in that moment.

“porco...” a breathy moan left your lips as the boy teased you with his fingers, hovering right over your arousal just to torture you. he liked seeing you like this, an island devil flustered by him, begging him to please her any way he could. “please.”

“please what?” his smirk was cruel, tilting his head in mock confusion as if he didn’t already know what you wanted. “use your words babygirl.”

you groaned. you hated when he teased you, but you weren’t gonna get anything out of him any other way. “please just touch me already! i can’t take it anymore!”

your body was aching for him, months of pent up longing for him just begging to be released.

luckily, porco wasn’t that cruel.

not long after your request, he found himself obliging, quickly yanking off your soaked panties. a low groan escaped his throat as your sweet aroma filled the air, pussy gleaming in the moonlight.

“is this all for me babygirl?” he asks, taking a finger to rub against your wet folds.

a whimper leaves your lips at the sudden contact, your hips bucking up for more.

“y-yes,” you can barley contain your excitement as you nod eagerly, causing porco to smirk. “yes it’s all for you, pock.”

“good,” he looks satisfied and decides that you deserve some attention. gently, he spreads your legs and then those long fingers of his begin to sink into your tight cunt, filling you just how you liked it.

“fuck!” you threw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut as porco began to move.

“don’t come yet,” he teases, knowing just how fast he can make you come undone.

you lift your head up to glare at him, but the sudden addition of another finger makes your anger quickly fade away.

“o-okay,” you’re a stuttering mess under him and porco loves it.

“that’s it,” he cooes, bringing a hand up to play with your nipples as he finger-fucks you. “you love my fingers, don’t you baby?”

if you were in any other position then maybe porco would get answers. but you were too occupied; too focused on the pleasure and the way he filled you beautifully to even get a word out.

“you’re gonna cum, aren’t you?” porco accuses as he assaults that one sweet spot over and over again. he knows it— he can see it in the way your face is scrunching up and he can feel the way you’re clenching around him. so good, so tight, his cock begins to twitch in anticipation.

“i- yes,” you moan out weakly, your eyes beginning to roll back.

“good,” he smirks as he feels your body shaking. “cum for me, baby. let me taste that sweet pussy.”

to edge you on further — not like you needed it — porco bends down and immediately latches his mouth to your sensitive nub. he sucks sweetly on your pussy, eager for what’s to come as he pumps his fingers in and out of you viciously.

“porco,” you moan his name as the coil in your stomach begins to unravel. your legs shake, and pleasure clouds your every sense but that doesn’t mean porco is stopping. as you scream and moan out his name, desperately grabbing at his slicked-back hair, porco continues lapping at your pussy and pleasuring you until he feels satisfied.

once he is, he pulls away from your pussy and grins at the way you’re shaking underneath him, breathing heavily. honey-colored eyes lean over to meet your own and you can see they’re filled with absolute lust, your slick juices dribbling down his chin.

“on your knees,” he demands, no longer being able to take it. his cock is itching to be free, itching to be inside of you and porco feels like he’s about to burst.

“y-yes sir,” you nod slowly, your eyes still clouded over but you’ve got the right idea as you shakily turn over, turning your ass up and stuffing your face in the pillow.

“atta girl,” porco cooes with delight as your slick pussy gleams right in front of him, begging him to fill it with his cum.

“fuck,” he curses involuntarily as he moves to situate himself behind you. then, porco finally relieves himself from his pants and hisses as his cock springs free.

“you’re gonna take me so good baby,” he tells you, gently rubbing himself over your folds, just enough to tease you. “you ready?”

“yes,” you nod eagerly, wiggling your ass a little at him. this is the moment you’ve been waiting for all night— the opportunity to be stuffed with porco’s thick cock.

“good girl,” he praises you before finally settling himself at your entrance, reaching up to lighty smack your ass.

your hips buck a little at the sudden sting but then your body is completely relaxed as porco begins to push himself in, a moan leaving both of your lips.

“fuck!”

porco can’t believe how tight you are, even after his fingers. it feels like your pussy is sucking him in and he has to steady himself as he sinks in deeper.

“pock,” a whimper escapes your throat, your mouth dropping in an ‘o’ shape as he fills you deliciously. “fuck, baby— you feel so good.”

your pussy is throbbing, soft mewls leaving your lips as you involuntarily buck your hips for more. you can feel every moment from porco as he slides in until he’s buried at the hilt, stuffing you nice and full.

“haven’t even gotten started yet baby,” he grins, and then once he’s settled in he begins to pick up the pace.

porco was never a patient man, so it’s no surprise when he immediately starts to buck his hips into you, starting at a steady pace.

“fuck, pock,” his name is the only thing in your vocabulary as your eyes roll back again, a hazy smile on your face as porco fucks you just right. his strokes are deep, passionate, and he stretches you out in way that fills you with absolute pleasure.

“baby,” porco has a hard time controlling himself but he’s managing, playing with your bouncing tits and occasionally slapping your ass to distract himself. “you feel so good around me, you know what?”

“uhhh!” you gasp when he grabs your hair, forcing your back to arch even further and allowing him to go even deeper. fuck, this is just what he wanted, a smirk on his face as he watches your face become unintelligible.

“there we go,” porco chuckles as you begin to clench around him again. and god, if you don’t feel absolutely incredible. porco swears he’s in heaven right now, which is ironic because he’s fucking an island devil.

“that’s the spot, isn’t it?” he’s growing cockier by minute as he watches you begin to unfold underneath him.

gasps and moans reply to him instead of words, your hands going to grip anything you can find. subconsciously, porco begins to fuck you even faster and pulls your hair tighter.

“pock!”

he knows he’s got you on the ropes when you start explicitly moaning for him, begging for him to bring you to your release. your pussy is already dribbling with juices, the sheets beneath you stained but you want more. you want him and porco’s gonna give it to you.

“almost there sweetheart,” he promises, feeling himself on the verge of his own orgasm. and god, he can’t wait until he fills you up.

he knows that’s what you want, too, but he’s determined to get you there first. reaching down, porco rubs at your clit which only sends more pleasure rippling through you. he keeps his pace rough yet steady, abusing your g-spot over and over again before finally, you come undone.

a scream leaves your lips as you cream all over porco’s cock, arms and legs going limp. you see stars and porco has to physically hold you up. but he’s still fucking you though, still pleasuring you right up until the moment comes for his own release.

“fuck, y/n!”

your name falls from his lips like a prayer, porco screwing his eyes shut as he cums deep inside of your womb. and you can feel him— every inch of him as he stills and continues pumping you full of his cum, your pussy milking him until there’s nothing left.

“you’re the devil, baby,” porco says, out of breath as he slowly pulls out of you. there’s a trail of cum that dribbes down your leg as he does so, and porco smirks when he realizes he really did stuff you.

even then, you whine at the sudden loss, your pussy sore yet still aching for him.

you know you won’t be able to take another orgasm though, not like this. and so you settle for porco’s touch elsewhere, snuggling into him after he wipes you off and then holds you close to his chest.

“a devil you say?” you smile lazily, turning your body towards him to look him in his honey eyes.

“oh yes, the worst kind at that,” he smirks but you know he’s only joking. “using sex to lure me in.”

“how ironic, since i recall that it was you who wanted me in the first place,” you snort.

porco acts mocked surprised, but he knows its true. he’s the one that fell for you first, against all odds. and now...now he had you in his arms, resting comfortably but the future was still uncertain for you both.

“what will you...what will you do now?” he dares to ask, peering at you curiously. “will you go back to that island, or...?”

“i wasn’t aware i was allowed to leave,” you tell him honestly, looking down. gently though, porco raises your head up again.

“you know i wouldn’t keep you here against your will,” he says quietly, frowning. “if you wanna go back, i’ll...i’ll help you.”

it pains porco to say this and you can see it in his face. he doesn’t want you to go— but if going home was truly your desire then he’d make it happen.

“that’s the thing, though,” you tell him, slightly biting your lip. “i don’t...i don’t know if i do, not anymore.”

“what?” porco frowns. “b-but it’s...it’s your home, isn’t it? why wouldn’t you wanna go back? it’s not like you have any reason to stay.”

“i do now,” you say softly, looking at him through your lashes.

you wait a couple of seconds to get his reaction, and when you do, porco is undeniably shocked.

he can’t believe what he’s hearing. it’s almost too good to be true.

“you’d...you’d stay here, for me?” he asks incredulously, looking at you with wide eyes. “but why? you know we can’t— it’s forbidden for us to be together.”

“wouldn’t be the first time we broke the rules,” you chuckle softly, referencing your naked bodies and the fact that you weren’t even supposed to be out of your cell right now.

“that’s true,” porco muses, but he still continues. “you have your whole life back in paradis, though. staying in marley, staying with me, it’ll only bring you pain.”

it almost sounds like he’s trying to scare you away. like he wants you to go home, but you know that’s not the case. you know that all porco is saying is the truth. you were a prisoner in marley after all, you couldn’t be with him. but still...

“it’s better than being an entire ocean away from you,” you say, shaking your head. “waiting for you every night. wondering if i’ll ever see you again.”

“you know what this means, then? if you stay...” porco trails off.

“if i stay then i’m with you. one hundred percent, and we’ll find a way,” you promise him.

porco grins. “you’re always so stubborn,” he says affectionately, stroking your face. he remembers a time when he hated that about you, but now it’s one of his favorite traits. “i gotta say— having a secret rendezvous has always been on my goal-list.”

“oh,” you lightly punch his arm. “shut up. this is serious, pock.”

“i am,” he defends himself. “the war is over. the yeagerists are gone— i need something spicy in my life again.”

“god— you’re so stupid sometimes, you know that?” you giggle as porco grins, loving the way he can make you laugh.

“you’ve told me that on multiple occasions,” he says, “but i think this one just might be my favorite.”

“everything about this night is perfect,” you sigh, pressing your hand against his. “i never want it to end. especially not by going back to a jail cell.”

“hey...let’s just be grateful we ended up here,” porco says. “don’t think about tomorrow— just focus on the fact that we have tonight.”

“i think i can do that,” you smile softly. after all, how could you not?

you’re in the arms of the man that you fell for. comfortable and safe, even it’s only for a few hours.

it was strange, really, how the person you once hated the most became your reason to stay. but you supposed that destiny would always find a way, and if yours just so happened to be intertwined with porco’s then dammit you’d find a way, too.

#porco galliard smut #porco snk #porco aot #porco galliard x reader #porco x reader #porco galliard #attack on titan smut #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan imagine #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyoujin fanfiction #shingeki no kyoujin imagine #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #snk #spicytea.txt

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randomgamefan · 3 years ago

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It's the playtester AU it's back-

Chapter 3 babey let's go! Playtester is on A03 now, however you guys will be getting your updates first :]

Coming up for names of chapters has been a delight though, and if you need any reason to check it out, it should be that!

Here's your chapter 3 update first though, evil little gremlin crimes yaknow >:]

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The sun was streaming through the trees by the time Luke and the two scrybes reached the bridge that led to the small island between the four scrybes' lands. It stretched over a seemingly infinite chasm, Luke tossing down a couple stray rocks to see if he could hear them hit the bottom. He didn't.

Glancing to his left, Luke could see some of the strangely shaped islands that made up Grimora’s domain. He knew logically that they made up a skeletal hand, but from this angle, it just seemed like odd shapes.

Ghosts of all sorts floating in the area, most seemed to just aimless in their movements. Some of the spirits simply sat and stared into the distance, while a few played games of Inscryption against each other. However, none of them truly seemed happy. It made Luke shiver to think he could one day end up like that, endlessly floating around in a domain of the dead, unable to rest and with nearly nothing to do. He really hoped something else was waiting for him when he died.

As the group walked to the island, Luke let his thoughts wander back to the issue he had pushed down while playing Inscryption with Leshy - how did he end up here? Tracing his thoughts, the last thing he remembered was going to bed after finishing the game, plans of calling news agencies and posting his videos all traced out in his mind. Was this a dream? If this was a dream, surely Luke would have been able to control it, right? Then.. was he dead? Luke didn't feel dead, pinching his arm before wincing. Okay, so he could feel pain, good to know. Then.. this had to be some sort of dream or coma, right? Guess there wasn't much else to do than wait to wake up. This wasn't the worst situation to be in, he knew these characters at least. Though Luke would much prefer to be dreaming about his siblings, or well.. most other things, considering recent events. Watching the game delete itself, seeing these characters fade away in their final moments.. it was just hard. He just wanted a second to think about something else.

His feet collided with dirt, shaking Luke out his thoughts as he looked up. They made it to the center island. Leshy and Grimora glanced at the stones up a small hill, a representation of the four scrybes. Right, they were used in game to pick a starter deck. Luke wished subtly that he had his old deck - he'd built it up to be pretty strong - but he doubted he'd be getting that back.

Without a word, the scrybes turned away from the stones and continued forwards, though their composure seemed a bit more downtrodden. Guess it made sense, probably wasn't the most fun place for the scrybes to be. Not like they had challengers often, anyways.

Luke turned his attention to the second bridge itself as the three started to head across it. It seemed to be wood reinforced with steel, and was rather solid, though there were a couple of parts near the middle where it was clearly repaired with less quality materials.

Luke frowned, wondering why they might have chosen to downgrade when repairing something this important. Certainly, they had the materials... unless...

"Did P03 help with the original construction of this bridge?" Luke asked suddenly, turning to the two scrybes he was walking with. The two paused a conversation that Luke had admittedly not noticed they were having, glancing over.

"Yeah, that was a long time ago though," Leshy answered, frowning to himself.

Grimora nodded. "We have done our best to help with repairs, though nothing we can give is quite as high quality as the original materials used. P03 is not interested in the repair of the bridge, keeping to itself most of the time."

Leshy made a soft humming noise, seeming annoyed at that fact. "I think it would rather the bridge had stayed broken." He muttered.

Grimora sighed. "I think perhaps it is just being petty, Leshy."

Luke glanced away from the two scrybes as the conversation turned to dead air. He decided to stick as much as possible to the parts of the bridge that were constructed originally - he didn't feel like finding out how far down that chasm went.

Luke was relieved when the bridge finally ended, stepping onto a small but solid island in between Magnificus and P-03's domains. The looming figures of the tower and factory were visible in the morning sunlight, the factory itself reflecting enough light back in Luke's face for it to be moderately annoying. He raised a hand to block it as he turned to look to the others, noticing Grimora was looking at Luke rather than either of the buildings. Unsettled, Luke looked away, hoping she would too.

"So, if we're not staying at the factory, I guess we should go there first, right?" Luke questioned, squinting at it.

Leshy gave a small noise of acknowledgment and seeming agreement, Grimora nodding as well. "I suppose."

With that, Luke took a step forward, the scrybes following behind him.

Guess it was time to see P03

There was one last bridge to cross, but it seemed much more stable than the last one, which Luke was ever so grateful for. He was really starting to get tired of crossing the abyss.

Soon, his shoes landed on pure metal ground, light reflecting off of almost every surface. Luke raised a hand to try and block at least some of it, with minimal success.

"Let's get inside," Leshy grumbled. The scrybe of beasts seemed quite uncomfortable in a land of pure tech, which was exactly what Luke would expect. It seemed like they were moving forward as a group, so the trio walked towards the factory together.

Once close enough, Luke could start to comprehend the size of the thing. He'd seen only a small portion of it when he'd gotten to P03's section of the game, and had really only seen what was required to fight him. As he stepped towards the building now, though, he wondered just how many types of robots were built here, and what they did.

Grimora seemed to know her way around best, opening a small side door to the inside of the factory. The room opened up into a large warehouse space, boxes neatly stored and accounted for by countless small robots, doing a variety of tasks. They were simple in design, sensors for eyes, wirring around on wheels that were the same size as the robotic base or floating just above the floor. Quite a couple had lights attached, just in case the area was too dark. They were functional and quite innovative compared to anything Luke had ever seen before. He even watched a couple sorting through defective robots to find whatever scrap may be useable to be melted down and worked on again. At least, that's what the large sign in that area said.

Luke's thoughts were cut off by a sudden voice. "I know a shortcut," Grimora said, leading Leshy and Luke around the robots carefully. There was a large central staircase leading up to what was presumably the production area, but Grimora completely ignored it and headed for the back of the warehouse. Luke kept an eye on his feet, careful not to step on any of the smaller robots buzzing about. He was tempted to pick one of them up, but held himself back.

It didn't take long for the group to reach an elevator, which clearly wasn't used often. Grimora pressed the call button, and the doors opened with a smooth whooshing sound.

"Doesn't seem like P03 to have an elevator," Luke commented as he stepped inside.

"It's for emergencies, I believe is what it told me. P03 is very careful." She said, tapping her foot thoughtfully.

"Careful is one way to put it." Leshy huffed, his tone full of disbelief.

Grimora didn't bother commenting on that as she pressed the button for the top floor, the group of three waiting in silence as the elevator began to rise. The humming sound that commonly accompanied these types of machines was quite well muted, and the elevator was rather quick in moving them towards the top. It wasn't long before the doors opened once again with the same smooth whooshing sound.

Grimora stepped out first, followed by Leshy, Luke taking a second to glance around the space they had walked into. A conveyer belt stretched across the back of the room, with robots lining it. In the center was a single desk, cards scattered across it. A simple recycling can sat behind the desk, filled with cards that must not have met standard. Overall, the place was boring, mechanical, and was the perfect place for the robot that was at the desk.

P03's expression was smug, and Luke could almost feel the sticky sense of superiority leaking out of it. "Well, Grimora, looks like your plan once again ha-"

P03's expression flicked suddenly to one of shock, something Luke hadn't seen up until that point. And, to make it worse, it was staring right at Luke.

Grimora was, for once, able to take a smug stance herself as P03 glanced between Luke and the other Scrybes. However, Leshy and Luke shared an expression of pure confusion, Luke taking a nervous step back.

"Am I intruding on something? I can go." Luke pointed towards the door, feeling quite nervous and put on the spot. Grimora simply shook her head, and P03 looked away.

"No, in fact, I'd be happy to have others watch Grimora agree that The Great Transcendence was a better plan than her own." The smug smile returned to it's face.

Grimora grimaced, biting her lower lip before taking a breath.

"Well, I feel like that is a discussion we can have with Magnificus in the room, don't you?" She remarked plainly. "It's for the best all four of us can discuss how to move forward from this point, and with a plan that does not involve you overthrowing the rest of us."

P03s face fell into a disappointed grimace, and it sighed.

"I suppose we don't have much choice at this point, we don't have any idea when a new challenger will be here to try and usurp one of us." The fellow scrybe agreed, though with some reluctance in it's voice. Luke wasn't entirely convinced that was it's actual intention with coming, and Grimora didn't seem either, but in the end, they got the wanted result. "Especially since the Great Transcendence was stopped."

Luke could swear he felt eyes staring at him, but none of the scrybes seemed to glance his way.

"Oh, and Leshy? You're not forgiven for that stunt you pulled." It said with a low growl. "None of you are, but especially not you."

"I think I'll live." Leshy replied, raising an eyebrow at P03.

Grimora already seemed more exhausted. Hopefully, this part of the road trip would be short.

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

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Same River Twice (aka Time Travel Nie Bros) - part 4 - see ao3 or tumblr part 1, part 2, part 3

“You know what,” Nie Mingjue said, several shichen into the most awkward conversation he’d ever been forced to overhear in his life, “I think Wei Wuxian needs more friends.”

His father stopped contemplating the window with an expression that suggested he was considering throwing himself out of it and looked at him. “So you’ve mentioned before.”

“Yes, I know,” Nie Mingjue said, because he had in fact brought it up after Nie Huaisang’s no doubt unintentionally apt suggestion. “But on second thought, he needs them urgently. As does Huaisang. You don’t want them growing up barbaric and unsocialized, do you?”

His father mouthed the words ‘barbaric and unsocialized’ to himself, looking delighted. “By which you mean that you’d like to take them to visit the Lan sect, I assume?” he asked, not bothering to hide his amusement. “To learn good habits from them there?”

“To avoid learning bad habits here,” Nie Mingjue said. “Alternatively, you could always kick all of them out so that all of us can stop getting the loud and dramatic rendition of all the different types of bad decisions adults can make, courtesy of our friends in the Jiang sect and our new guest disciples.”

“…take Zonghui with you,” his father said. “Have a nice trip. Enjoy the quiet.”

There was a better than decent chance that he was being sarcastic, but Nie Mingjue wasn’t going to wait around long enough to find out – he saluted and turned to run away at once.

“Don’t get into too much trouble!” his father shouted after him.

That was ridiculous. What sort of trouble could Nie Mingjue get into in Gusu, of all places?

“Nie-gongzi, has anyone ever told you that you have really weird taste in rewards?” Nie Zonghui said, looking long-suffering as always.

Wei Wuxian, who was riding on his shoulders, craned his head down to look at him. “Rewards? What is Nie-da-ge getting rewarded for?”

“He performed especially well on his first ever night hunt,” Nie Zonghui told him, while Nie Mingjue flushed red and Nie Huaisang, who was riding on his shoulders, giggled. “His father wanted to reward him, and determined to do so by granting the first request he made.”

“He didn’t tell me he was planning on doing that,” Nie Mingjue hissed. If he had, he might’ve asked to visit Yunping City to collect Meng Yao – finding a reason to go there was much harder to achieve than arranging a simple visit to the Lan sect, which would’ve happened sooner or later anyway.

His thoughts hadn’t been focused on reward at all. He’d only really, truly desperately wanted to get away from any further discussion of Sect Leader Jiang’s sex life.

(Cangse Sanren was blunt and straightforward in her speech, something Nie Mingjue greatly appreciated right up until she was shouting things about size and shape and performance and also her husband…it was absolutely mortifying, even just as a spectator, except possibly Jiang Fengmian was into things like that because he just kept on arguing. In his past-future life, Nie Mingjue had had to sit across the table from Jiang Fengmian for years, and might yet have to do so again if he was not successful in adverting his father’s death, which was something he wouldn’t be able to if he kept hearing things like this! He didn’t want to know things like this!)

No, Nie Mingjue hadn’t thought about rewards at all – had already put away all thoughts of that particular night-hunt in favor of showing of his improvement with Baxia, who practically purred in his hands when he wielded her, so that he could win his independence sooner rather than later.

Even picking Gusu as their destination had been primarily motivated by seizing on the last place anyone had mentioned to him as a plausible destination that could be sold to his father.

Nie Huaisang had asked him, all big and wide-eyed and adorable, why they were going to somewhere as far away from the Unclean Realm as the Cloud Recesses, and Nie Mingjue had blamed Nie Huaisang’s suggestion of introducing Wei Wuxian to the Lan sect.

Nie Huaisang had also asked why they were going now and Nie Mingjue had explained in a rush of tangled words that sometimes grown-ups liked to talk about private things very loudly and maybe it would be better to leave them to it.

Nie Huaisang had found that dreadfully funny for some reason, giggling until both he and Wei Wuxian were rolling around on the ground laughing their heads off at the idea of going to Gusu –

Nie Mingjue didn’t care. As long as they went, and with them his excuse to go as well!

(Besides, it would be nice to see Lan Xichen.)

“Of course he didn’t tell you about it, Nie-gongzi,” Nie Zonghui said patiently. “It was meant to be a surprise. Wouldn’t have been much of a surprise if you knew about it, would it?”

Nie Mingjue sighed. Nie Zonghui was a half-generation above him – older than him by over a decade, entitling him (if only technically) to be called uncle rather than cousin, but young enough that he sometimes felt more like a peer. Certainly once Nie Mingjue himself had become sect leader, having someone like him to help figure out how to communicate with the elders had been priceless.

That didn’t mean he didn’t want to punch the man in the face on a regular basis.

Stupid sense of humor.

“Wouldn’t da-ge be happier if he could pick what he got?” Nie Huaisang asked. “What if he’d asked for something stupid, like a map?”

Nie Mingjue reached up to one of the legs currently dangling next to his ear and pinched him lightly, making his little brother squeak and then giggle again. He wasn’t sure why Nie Huaisang was still so worried about his offer to buy him a map – he hadn’t even known that the under-five age group could have a sense of financial economy, much less guilt over it, but then again he didn’t know much about kids that age anyway – but no matter what he wasn’t having any of it.

In this life, his brother would be happy for as long as Nie Mingjue could give him.

Of course, making Nie Huaisang happy would be easier if he wasn’t so picky.

“Didi, didi, it’s all right,” he said, trying to be soothing and not really remembering how. “You don’t need to be afraid - Lan Xichen is a friend…I’m sorry, Xichen, I really don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

“It’s no problem,” Lan Xichen said, looking exactly as one would expect a nine-year-old being addressed as a peer by a twelve-year-old that his guardian routinely praised as a role model would be – which was to say, a little pleased, a little uncertain, and mostly confused. The shrieking four-year-old wasn’t helping matters, either. “I don’t think I’ve done anything to offend him...?”

“You’re blind,” Nie Huaisang hissed at him, tears still streaming down his face. “Blind, blind, blind!”

“No, Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue said helplessly. He had no idea where Nie Huaisang got these ideas into his head, was it a feature of early childhood or something? “He’s not – look, the bandage is around his forehead, right? Not his eyes. And since when do you have something against blind people anyway?”

Nie Huaisang buried his face into his side. “Stupid da-ge.”

Nie Mingjue patted him on the back. “Sorry,” he said to Lan Xichen again. “This isn’t exactly the first impression I was hoping for.”

Lan Xichen abruptly grinned, looking for a moment like a regular child rather than the polite and reserved young man Nie Mingjue had known for so many years – it reminded him a little of the boy from the future timeline that he’d only seen brief glimpses of through the pieces of his soul that were attached to the pieces of his body, the loud and irreverent one called Lan Jingyi.

Back then he'd wondered abstractly how exactly such a boy could be related to the Lan clan, stately and elegant even when they acted radically, and now all of a sudden he saw that boy staring out of him from Lan Xichen’s immature face.

“Bet you thought you’d look a lot more dashing, didn’t you?” Lan Xichen asked merrily. “Flying in on your swords, jumping down for a perfect landing, and then – waaaaaaah!”

Nie Mingjue laughed, because it really had happened a bit like that.

“Don’t forget the domino effect,” he said wryly, glancing over at where Wei Wuxian was being plied with treats from a bag pulled from Nie Zonghui’s sleeve – he’d started sympathy crying when Nie Huaisang had inexplicably started wailing, and was having trouble stopping even though he admitted that nothing was actually wrong with him other than having feelings. “They’re probably just over-tired from the trip.”

“Did you really fly all the way from Qinghe?” Lan Xichen asked eagerly. “All by yourself?”

“We made a lot of stops –”

“But you were on your own sword, right? Just you?”

“It’s a saber and I was carrying Huaisang, but yes, in terms of who was in charge of propulsion, it was just me.”

Lan Xichen heaved a sigh full of obvious envy, and Nie Mingjue smiled. “If you want, I can petition your uncle that you act as my guide to the surrounding environs as well as the Cloud Recesses itself? He’d have to let you fly by yourself if that was the case.”

“Oh, would you?” Lan Xichen enthused. “That would be great! I’m not that good yet, but I’m not going to get good if I don’t have a chance to practice, except Uncle is always saying that – oh, wait, I’m not supposed to say –”

“Speaking of others behind their back is prohibited,” Nie Mingjue said solemnly, then cracked up at the dumbfounded expression on Lan Xichen’s face. “No, I’m sorry, I won’t quote your sect rules at you, I promise, it was just a joke…”

“You’d better!”

He rather liked this enthusiastic version of Lan Xichen, Nie Mingjue thought.

Even Nie Huaisang seemed to have gotten over his initial fright to start begrudgingly enjoying all of Lan Xichen’s chattering and bustling around – Nie Mingjue thought he might, given that Lan Xichen currently reminded him immensely of an extremely chatty blue-breasted quail and Nie Huaisang had always liked those. There was so much life in Lan Xichen, good humor and cheer filling him up until he was practically bursting with it; he hadn’t yet had to learn how to hold back his feelings and hide them, hadn’t yet learned that the only acceptable way to interact with others was through a carefully practiced smile.

Perhaps what was why Lan Xichen had been so drawn to Meng Yao, Nie Mingjue reflected – Meng Yao had hidden himself underneath a smile, too. Where he himself had admired Meng Yao for what he had thought was his strength of character, his ability to ignore the jibes and the slights he faced in favor of carrying on and doing what must be done, just as Nie Mingjue longed to be able to do, perhaps Lan Xichen had from the very first moment seen Meng Yao as someone in need of sympathy and affection. Perhaps it had been his own suffering projected onto Meng Yao’s open, facile face that had so tugged on his heartstrings.

It was a little odd, though.

It was a long time ago, but Nie Mingjue recalled meeting Lan Xichen when they were both quite young, and if he put his mind to thinking about it, he was pretty sure they would have met in about two years’ time – his fourteen to Lan Xichen’s eleven, with Nie Huaisang nearly six and Lan Wangji nearly seven. And yet the Lan Xichen he had met had been so very different from this, far more serious and reserved, quiet more often than not, that practiced smile already on his face and only with great reluctance melting into something real…

He wondered why there had been such a great change.

In the meantime, Nie Mingjue relieved Nie Zonghui of his duties on account of their safety – the older man had been to Gusu before for discussion conferences, and looked extremely bored – and took Nie Huaisang’s hand in one hand and Wei Wuxian’s in the other, and the three of them followed Lan Xichen around as he pointed out all the things he liked best.

Wei Wuxian broke away at one point and sped into the brush, shrieking something about a rabbit, and when they gave chase and found him again, he’d somehow bumped into Lan Wangji, who with his white clothing and solemn expression resembled nothing so much a bunny himself.

“Nie-da-ge, this is my friend!” Wei Wuxian hollered, even though they couldn’t have been talking for more than a few minutes before the rest of them caught up. “His name’s Lan Zhan! I’m keeping him forever!”

Nie Huaisang sniggered, and Nie Mingjue poked him – it was rude to laugh at other people’s earnestness.

“That’s nice, Wuxian,” he said, and formally saluted Lan Wangji, knowing how much the other boy liked rules and things being done right. “I’m pleased to meet you, Wangji. I hope we can be friends as well.”

Lan Wangji stared at him mutely for a long moment, and then his entire face slowly turned bright red as if he were boiling.

Nie Mingjue blinked, unsure about the reason for such an extreme reaction, but standing beside him Lan Xichen cackled. “Oh, oh, this is great,” he crowed. “Wait till I tell Mom!”

Lan Wangji attempted to bite him, which naturally made Wei Wuxian leap to his friend’s assistance, and somehow Nie Huaisang ended up wading into the fray with a stick that he waved around like a war-fan, seeking inexplicably to defend Lan Xichen despite having previously displayed no fondness for him at all.

Nie Mingjue waded in as well, of course, trying to separate them and somehow ending up as everyone’s target when they realized that he was strong enough to pick them all up and toss them (lightly) into the piles of soft grass that covered the meadow, even Lan Xichen, and at that point they all threw themselves at him eagerly in order to be throw back.

Nie Mingjue wasn’t really thinking about that, though. He was thinking about what Lan Xichen had said.

He was thinking about – Mom.

Not Nie Mingjue’s own, naturally. She’d been gone since he was younger than Nie Huaisang was now. Perhaps it was because Nie Mingjue had his father and his aunts and his uncles, but he had never really felt the lack of her all that much, except maybe when he needed to learn some etiquette he didn’t know or when his peers spoke fondly of their own mothers. Nor was he thinking of Nie Huaisang’s mother, who had been very nice and whose untimely death had upset him immensely; he honestly hadn’t thought of either of them in years and years by the time he’d died.

But rather, he thought about Lan Xichen’s mother – Lan Wangji’s mother –

Nie Mingjue hadn’t learned the story of her fate until much, much later in life, when he was very nearly an adult. The Lan sect had always kept their secrets very well, and he might never have learned the details if it hadn’t been for Lan Xichen willingly divulging them. He’d told him the whole awful story of how his mother had not loved his father even though he loved her, how she had killed someone dear to him, how he had married her to save her and gone into seclusion to punish himself, how the Lan sect, ever concerned with its face, had covered it all up by forcing her into permanent seclusion…

The story had never really sat right with him. A punishment was one thing, entirely justifiable; murder was murder, and life imprisonment was a valid sentence, a valid commutation of the death sentence that she probably ought to have received. It was not Nie Mingjue’s place to question how the Lan sect selected and imposed punishments…

And yet, something about it had always felt rotten.

Maybe it was only that the Nie sect didn’t believe in solitary imprisonment. Or, well, really solitary anything, with even seclusion being done in a relatively well-traveled area so that those inside could, if they wished, open a one-sided window to hear the noise and know that their family was around them. Even their tombs, their saber halls, were joined together into what was practically a necropolis – even in death, the Nie sect would rather be together than apart.

If he recalled correctly, Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji’s mother would soon be taken away from them for good. She’d died when Lan Xichen was – ten? Ten to Lan Wangji’s six, yes, that sounded right.

A year from now, then. Less, maybe.

“– xiongzhang is da-ge, not er-ge!”

“No, you don’t understand, my da-ge is older – and bigger – so he’s da-ge, and your xiongzhang is er-ge, and that means you’d be san-ge, and Wei-gege is – wait, which one of you is older?”

“Huaisang, it doesn’t work that way, we’re not the same family –”

“What are you even talking about?” Nie Mingjue asked, abruptly coming out of his thoughts. They’d continued playing while he daydreamed, and now Lan Xichen was perched on his back like a monkey, with Nie Huaisang on one of Nie Mingjue’s shoulder while Wei Wuxian hung off the other arm’s bicep and Lan Wangi clung to his neck in front like a sloth on a branch, as Nie Mingjue demonstrated that he could, in fact, keep walking with all of them attached. Every single one of them seemed to think this was the absolute height of entertainment. “Who’s related to what now? Huaisang, can’t you just call Xichen Xichen-ge or something?”

“Oh, fine. Xichen-gege! Xichen-gege!”

“Nie-didi! Nie-didi!”

“Too loud,” Lan Wangji sniffed.

“Didn’t you hear Lan Zhan?!” Wei Wuxian promptly hollered at the top of his lungs. “You’re all being too loud!”

“I’m going to throw each and every one of you into a pond,” Nie Mingjue said. “One by one, if I have to.”

“Do you promise?” Lan Xichen giggled in his ear. “That sounds like fun!”

“Actually,” Nie Mingjue said, “I had a different thought. How about we play hide-and-seek?”

The advantage of future knowledge, Nie Mingjue thought, was that he knew exactly where Madame Lan’s home was and how to get there within the time period he’d suggested for the initial hiding.

The disadvantage was that he was so focused on achieving his goal that he forgot that what implications might be taken from a twelve-year-old boy breaking into a woman’s home, especially at a time when she wasn’t expecting visitors.

“I’m so sorry!” he all but shrieked, covering his eyes even though he had already turned his back. “Please put on clothing!”

“Oh, your face –” Madame Lan was guffawing. “You’re so red – boy, you don’t have to throw yourself out the window in penance or anything. I’m still wearing my inner robe, you can’t even see anything.”

“It’s still inappropriate!”

“Could be worse. I could’ve been –”

“Please don’t finish that sentence,” he begged. “I swear I’m not actually doing this because I have a crush on you, so please, please, please don’t give me any details about what you do in the privacy of your own home, okay? And stop offering me your under-things! I don’t want them!”

“I was only doing laundry,” she said, almost crying with laughter. “I didn’t mean to throw my underwear at your face, it was really just the closest thing to hand…who are you, anyway? Shouldn’t you be introducing yourself to me?”

“I’ll introduce myself when you’re dressed and not a moment earlier.”

“Oh, all right, have it your way. Give me a moment.” There was some rustling. “All right, turn around.”

He peeked and sighed with relief: Madame Lan was, in fact, appropriately dressed in a lovely white silk dress, adorned with the typical Lan sect cloud embroidery and everything. The style was a little freer and less conservative than he might have expected to see the mistress of a Great Sect wearing, but then again he supposed she’d never actually had to do the work associated with it. It was hard to host a society party from seclusion…

“Qinghe Nie’s Nie Mingjue greets He Kexin, Madame Lan,” he said, saluting properly. “I’m a visitor to your sect.”

“I hadn’t realized that we were anticipating visitors from another Great Sect,” she remarked. “Normally there’s a great deal more hustle and bustle involved with preparing to receive a visit.”

“It’s an informal one,” Nie Mingjue explained. “Somewhat, uh, abrupt. We didn’t send word in advance. You see, we recently accepted Cangse Sanren and her husband as guest disciples, and shortly thereafter the Jiang sect paid us an unexpected visit…”

Madame Lan had clearly heard about that disaster, if the way she put her hand over her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle her chortling was any indication.

“I think I see the issue, being as I happen to remember Cangse Sanren very well,” she said, her eyes dancing. “What a troublemaker. She even shaved off Qiren-xiaoshuzi’s beard one time! I’m guessing based on the way you turned into a boiled crayfish that she scared you out of your own home?”

Nie Mingjue opened his mouth to protest, except, well, that wasn’t entirely inaccurate…

“What a charming little egg you are! You’re such a rotten liar that you can’t even do it to save face.”

“Being dishonest isn’t saving face,” Nie Mingjue said, even though his face felt like it was burning and he was probably just as red as she said he was. “The truth is what the truth is, that’s all. You’re not wrong, that’s more or less what happened – I brought Huaisang and Wuxian here so that we could get away from all the yelling.”

“You picked a good place for that,” Madame Lan said, and there was a dull look in her eye all of a sudden. Nothing like the liveliness from a few moments before. “There’s nowhere like the Cloud Recesses for quiet.”

Nie Mingjue bit his lip, not quite sure how to say what he wanted to say. Right up until that moment, she hadn’t seemed at all sick, the way he’d thought she’d be – less than a year before she died, from what he remembered of Lan Xichen’s stories. He’d assumed she’d already be ill with the early stages whatever it was that had eventually taken her from her sons.

But now, he didn’t think she was sick, not really, only…bored.

Dreadfully, horribly bored. The sort of bored that drained your life away bit by bit.

Formal training in swordsmanship and scholarship began at six at the Cloud Recesses, Nie Mingjue abruptly remembered. There were plenty of lessons prior to that, of course, but at age six they would become formalized, the children shifting over from the realm of babies to proper young-adults-to-be. Once Lan Wangji turned six, Madame Lan would have had nothing to look forward to in life.

Nothing, except for her children starting to drift further and further away from her: nothing to do, no purpose, no friends…

Just boredom.

“The Unclean Realm has a communal prison,” he blurted out, and then smacked his hands into his face to hide his shame for being such an inconsiderate ass. Why had he thought he could do this by himself?

He wasn’t even sure what he’d originally come here to accomplish, other than to let Madame Lan know that she ought to see a doctor sooner rather than later in the hopes that they would be able to catch and stymie whatever disease it had been that had killed her, except now of course Nie Mingjue understood that it was no disease at all.

“…what?” she said blankly.

It was too late to retreat, so Nie Mingjue gathered up every bit of courage he’d ever had and barreled onwards.

“I just mean,” he said, tripping over his words, “if you’d like to be – a bit less quiet. Even if your sentence is life imprisonment, surely you don’t have to necessarily serve it here, right?”

Madame Lan stared at him. His shoulders started creeping up to his ears.

“Actually,” she said abruptly, “I was never sentenced.”

He gaped at her. “You – what?”

“Qiren-xiaoshuzi pushed for it, said it was only fair that I knew the exact contours of my punishment, but the sect elders refused,” she explained. “They didn’t want to lose face by having a trial at all, not even privately.”

“But – but if you haven’t been sentenced, you can’t be imprisoned!”

“Is that so?” she asked, looking amused.

“You can’t,” Nie Mingjue insisted, horrified. “The laws of war say that someone can be executed on the spot for committing a crime, but in peacetime they have to be sentenced first even if you catch them red-handed. What if your accuser recants his accusation, whether because he was wrong or because he decided not to press charges? If they recant, you can’t be tried; if you can’t be tried, even if everyone knows you’ve done wrong, you still must be released. No trial, no sentence, no imprisonment!”

“Tell that to the Lan sect,” she said dryly. “Not even my husband could do more than he did to forestall my punishment, and he’s sect leader. Nominally, anyway.”

This did seem to be a problem of the Lan sect. Of all sects, really – he had his own share of old men causing issues and sticking their noses into things – but he’d never had anywhere near the problem with the sect elders as Lan Xichen had had with his Lan sect.

“Why should I?” Nie Mingjue asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t see why we have to tell them anything at all.”

“Why are we doing this?” Nie Huaisang asked, tugging on Nie Mingjue’s sleeve.

“I already explained,” Nie Mingjue said, which he had. He’d also explained that he’d run in there by accident while looking for a place to hide, and he’d tried to look as much like a stupid twelve-year-old as possible when he said it. “About the lack of a trial –”

Nie Huaisang tugged again. “Not that. Why are we rescuing her?”

“Because she might die if we don’t,” Nie Mingjue said. “She’s very bored in there all by herself.”

“So?”

“What do you mean, so? It’d make Xichen and Wangji sad if she died.”

“So?”

“So they shouldn’t be sad if they don’t have to be! I don’t want them to be sad because they lost a parent…don’t you remember being sad about your mom having died, Huaisang?”

“No,” Nie Huaisang said. “I had da-ge.”

Nie Mingjue sighed. He’d keep this conversation in mind for later when Nie Huaisang was old enough to actually understand the concept of death, and then he’d use it to torment him forever.

“Wouldn’t you be sad if da-ge died, then?” he asked, and felt Nie Huaisang’s hands abruptly clutch tight on his arms. “There you go. That’s why we’re doing this.”

Nie Huaisang nodded, but he was still scowling a little in his adorable childhood way, and Nie Mingjue thought for a second that he heard him murmuring something about inviting unnecessary trouble under his voice, but…whatever, it wasn’t important.

What was more important was that Lan Xichen had arrived with what Nie Mingjue had asked him to fetch for him, his cheeks bright pink with excitement. “Nie-da-ge,” he hissed even though there wasn’t anyone in the area, thrusting the package into Nie Mingjue’s arms. “I got it!”

“Good,” Nie Mingjue said, then paused. “Er, you don’t mind, do you?”

“Mind? Mind what?”

“That I’m kind of, uh, well – I mean, I’m kidnapping your mother. You won’t be able to see her as often as you do now if this works…”

“She’ll be free,” Lan Wangji, trailing behind Lan Xichen as always, said solemnly. Then he stuck his thumb in his mouth, which somewhat ruined the effect.

Wei Wuxian, who’d rushed over to stand next to him as soon as he’d seen him, hugged him tightly. “You’ll come over all the time,” he assured him. “My mom will like your mom, and we’ll all go outside and play all the time. We’ll be really happy!”

Lan Wangji sniffed and buried his face into Wei Wuxian’s shoulder.

“It’s like Wangji said,” Lan Xichen said. His eyes were intense. “She’s not happy here, she’s not free here, and we only see her once a month anyway – less, in the future, once we’re both busy with lessons all the time. If she can be free somewhere else…you will let us come visit, right?”

“As often as you’re allowed,” Nie Mingjue promised, as it was about all he could do. “I’ll talk to my father about it…”

His father would probably have a fit.

Still, this was an injustice. Even if his father disagreed, it was something he had to do. He’d justify it with reference to their sect principles, and take any punishment duty his father chose to impose.

“It doesn’t matter, he’ll agree,” he said firmly. “You’ll definitely be able to visit.”

“Can I raise an objection?” Nie Zonghui said mournfully from where he was hovering by the side of the clearing. “Possibly two – no, three objections.”

Nie Mingjue looked at him and tilted his head to the side in silent question.

“One, your father said not to get into trouble, if you’ll trouble yourself to remember back that far,” he said, raising a finger. “Two, how exactly do you plan to break the array keeping Madame Lan imprisoned? And three, even if you do break it, how do you plan to get her out?”

The first was irrelevant. The other two…

“We’re going to walk out the front gate,” Nie Mingjue said, and opened up the package Lan Xichen had gotten him – as he’d suspected, there had been spare robes for Qinghe Nie disciples left behind from the previous discussion conference, and sure enough the Lan sect had kept hold of them as a courtesy to the owners. “The Lan sect has never affirmatively stated that Madame Lan wasn’t allowed to leave; they just said she was too sickly to do so. Therefore, if we leave with a Nie sect disciple who is clearly capable of walking out, there’s nothing they can do to stop us without admitting that it’s her and that she’s a prisoner – which they won’t do, because then they’d lose face.”

“That barely counts as a plan,” Nie Zonghui said, and for some reason Nie Huaisang nodded in agreement. “But sadly I think it might actually work.”

Nie Huaisang looked betrayed.

“It will work,” Lan Xichen said. “Especially if you insist that she’s one of yours. They won’t be able to call you out without calling you a liar, and they wouldn’t want to do that. Not publicly, not about this.”

“Won’t there be a problem that she’s a girl wearing boy’s clothing?” Wei Wuxian asked, patting Lan Wangji’s head.

“No, that’s not a problem in Qinghe,” Nie Huaisang told him. “You’re new, so you’re not used to it, but it really isn’t. I mean, she could be misaligned or something, it’s not our business.”

“And we won’t be lying about her being one of ours,” Nie Mingjue said. “Since I’ve offered her sanctuary in our sect, it’s even technically true.”

Nie Zonghui sighed. “And if they ask Lan-gongzi and Lan-er-gongzi if she’s their mother?”

“Wangji won’t say anything,” Lan Xichen said at once. “And I’ll – I’ll lie if I have to.”

He was truly unbearably cute at this age.

Nie Zonghui appeared to be suffering from a similar problem, reaching over and patting him lightly on the head in helpless amusement. “Okay, okay. Let’s hope they don’t ask,” he said. “But – Nie-gongzi, we still have the second problem. How do you intend to get Madame Lan out of the imprisonment array?”

Nie Mingjue patted his cousin – who he knew from his future experience was one of the finest array breakers in their sect, a charming side-effect courtesy of his dual-wielded saber cultivation style – on the shoulder. “I intend to delegate.”

Nie Zonghui blinked, then glared. “I walked myself into that one, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Nie Mingjue said peaceably. “Can you break it? I can use Baxia, if it’ll help.”

“Hmph. Yes, it would help a great deal, but will she agree to consume an array for you? That’s fairly high-grade work, and talent or no talent, you’re still fairly new to mastering the saber.”

Nie Mingjue put his hand on Baxia’s blade, which felt warm and pleased. Practically purring. At some point he would need to investigate why she was so happy all the time – she’d never been this compliant in his first life, and he’d expected her to be more vicious, not less. “Yes, she’ll be happy to help.”

“Fine. Let’s go.” Nie Zonghui paused briefly. “Also, if your father asks, you held Baxia to my throat and made me do it. It was definitely not me being curious about whether or not I could break such a complicated array.”

“Of course it wasn’t,” Nie Mingjue said understandingly, and drew Baxia. “All right. Let’s go get ourselves banned from the Cloud Recesses.”

#mdzs #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #lan xichen #wei wuxian #lan wangji #nie zonghui #madame lan #my fic #my fics #time travel nie bros

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joy1579 · 3 years ago

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self indulgent

I've been sad. so i wrote a thing to make me less sad. maybe it'll make someone else less sad too or at the very least they can laugh at my “cringe” but either way it did make me less sad so goal accomplished.

Mc and jumin organize a bookshelf jumin asks what neko girls are and MC short circuits his brain for a couple of seconds. no smut just fluff

Moving hadn’t taken long. You had opted to donate your furniture to the local homeless shelter since Jumin’s penthouse was furnished with the highest quality furniture you could dream of. Honestly most of your things paled in comparison to the lavish goods Jumin considered tawdry. Still there were a quite a few boxes you had decided to save, filled mostly with sentimental keepsakes and the few odds and ends that catered to your specific tastes. You were practically finished by noon save the three or four boxes that sat in the main room next to the larger than life bookshelves. Certainly there was plenty of room on them. You never where a fan of negative space on bookshelves but if you were being completely honest that had more to do with how many books you needed to fit in such a finite space. Jumins bookshelves had plenty of room with just enough negative space to look perfectly balanced and while you knew Jumin had told you to do whatever you wished this felt intimate. Bookshelves where holy spaces after all, housing books that change hearts and minds alike that shape the soul and … okay so maybe you just really liked books and that made them seem important to you either way this was definitely something you wanted to do with Jumin. When you heard the door rattle with Jumin homecoming you bolt towards it excited to greet him after work.

“Jumin! Welcome home!” you cried bouncing in place as he made his way inside. You smiled as you saw the creases in his brown flatten and the stress slip from shoulders when he saw you. You waited all of 5 seconds for him to close the door giving you both some privacy from the bodyguards stationed outside before you pounced, leaping upon the business man wrapping your arms around his neck. You delighted in the deep honey of his laughter as he caught your waist in kind and kissed the top of your head gently.

“darling. I’m so glad to be home. How was your day? did you get settled?” Jumin asked as you pulled yourself back slightly giving him room to loosen his tie and set aside his coat.

“everything is in its place except um Jumin there is one thing I need if you don’t mind”

“name it and its yours”

“I wanted to share your bookshelves and I was hoping that maybe you could organize the books with me?” you admitted shyly. It had seemed like such a good idea in the beginning he could show you his favorite books, walk you through his favorite plots and tell you his favorite quotes and you could do the same with him. Yet now as you presented the idea to him you worried. What if he was to tired he had worked all day after all, what if he thought you too needy, or your books to childish. what if he didn’t want your books displayed in the living room because they weren’t very pretty, all of his books where gorgeous leather bound tomes or mint condition hardcovers, yours where second hand at best many where decommissioned library books or garage sale rescues, broken in battered and bruised by years of use. It would make sense to have them put away in a back room where they couldn’t tarnish the pristine collection Jumin had on display. Perhaps you where spiraling, working yourself into a nervous frenzy in the span of a few seconds.

“nothing would make me happier love. We can call the chef to start dinner and begin emptying the shelves for rearranging while he works.” You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face or the giggle that escaped your lips. The surprise on Jumins face was evident if only for a second before it gave way to a warm sort of fondness. “had I known simple redecorating would make you this happy I would have stayed home and done it all with you” he said affectionately running his fingers through your hair.

“it’s not that I just,” you paused face flushing a bit “books are a big deal, ya know? My dad used to tell me that every book you read becomes a part of you and that you can learn more about someone by the books they love than by the words they say so I wanted to share that with you” jumins eyes where so soft and gentle in that moment you felt your breath hitch “I want to know everything about you and, and I want you to know everything about me” suddenly his lips where on yours fervent and full of passion the hand that had been in your hair now on your chin guiding you too him. The kiss was short and when you parted from him he stayed close, just a hairs breath from your face.

Jumin voice was little more than a whisper as he asked “how is it that every day I manage to fall more in love with you?” you couldn’t help but lean forward and kiss him again an all too familiar giddiness bubbling its way through your soul. You loved this man more than life itself and you knew that would never change.

“so your ‘Encyclopedia of Fairies’ should go next to the Catherynne M Valente series so we can reference it while reading agreed?” you giggled thrilled that his collection of mythological reference books slotted together with your fae fiction so perfectly. Puzzle pieces connecting to create a masterpiece.

“yes I think that’s perfect. I can’t wait to read her interpretation of such ancient mythos. I also have ‘The World Guide to Gnomes, Fairies, Elves and Other Little People’ if you’d like to add it to that shelf” he said grinning like a child at show and tell.

“oh my goodness yes! That’s perfect and your book on Romanian vampires should be near my ‘Dracula’ and ‘vittorio’ that way that shelf over there can be dedicated to the occult, hauntings, and psychic reference books”

“that sound wonderful and takes care of all the written word but we still haven’t found a place for your comics” Jumin informed glancing toward the woefully large stack of manga you had brought.

“not comic Jumin manga and yeah I think we’re out of space though. I um I didn’t think I had that many books. Sorry” you admitted not meeting his eyes. He tilted your head up to look at him.

“there’s no need to apologize it simply means that tomorrow we can go shopping for another shelf and the next day we can organize those. I’m quite curious about ‘la petite cossette’ you said these where Japanese but that is most certainly a French title.”

“oh I actually think you’d like that one a lot it’s about a man who falls in love with a woman in a cursed portrait its actually pretty tragic in the end.”

“How interesting” he mused retrieving it from the pile of books and skimming through it “the art is truly enchanting and you said that manga has its own subculture?”

“yeah from neko girls to shonen action tropes it has its own vocabulary, history and groups of people its really fun”

“neko girls?” Jumin repeated and your eyes widened at his confusion. This was definitely something he of all people should know about! You jumped up and sprinted to the closet you had filled earlier that day with the few cosplay supplies you had. At the time it had taken nearly half your pay check but if Jumin liked them right now the purchase then would be completely justified. You put on your surprise as quickly as possible before rushing back out to greet Jumin who had just made it to the edge of the living room to come find where you had gone. He froze for a second processing what you were now wearing. White cat ears that moved and twitched fairly believably and just as he was able to cope with that your made paws with your hands and tried your best “nya”. For a moment you feared you may have broken him. He didn’t move his face blank, eyes fixed on you. You tried again hoping to spur some sort of reaction from him “nya?” you said turning to the side slightly to show off the other half of your surprise a white tail complete with pink bow and bell at the base where it attached to your skirt. You tilted your head to look up at him through your lashes trying every trick in your arsenal to look as cute as possible but nothing. He was completely frozen. “Jumin? Hello?” now you were getting worried “darling are you okay?” you asked placing the back of your hand on his forehead to feel for a temperature. The second your hand touched him however his face flushed.

“neko girl.” He muttered “that’s neko as in cat” you could see him trying to calm himself. Fiddling with his shirt sleeves and attempting to stay in control. You smiled standing on your tip toes to kiss his cheek and whisper in his ear.

“am I a good little kitten at least?” you couldn’t contain your giggle as you heard him choke slightly before scooping you up bridal style.

“certainly not, in fact I think you’ve been a very bad little kitten.” He said his voice deeper than normal as he carried you back towards the bedroom.

#Jumin #jumin x mc #jumin han #mm jumin #jumin fluff

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roughentumble · 4 years ago

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did it ever really mean anything?

geraskier, 7k, pining, angst with a happy ending. crossposted to ao3 here

Geralt goes along with Jaskier to meet some of his Oxenfurt friends, and comes to realize he isn't the only one Jaskier gets touchy-feely with or calls "dear heart".

The realization that those gestures don't mean what he thought they did-- that he seemingly doesn't mean as much to Jaskier as he thought-- leaves him a pained, pining mess.

~*~*~*~

"Gibby!" Jaskier shouts with delight at the sight of his friend and rushes forward to greet her. His arms envelop her with ease, like it's a practiced motion, like he does this all the time, and she folds into the embrace with enthusiasm. "Oh, it's wonderful to see you again, dear heart." He says, and,

Dear heart.

The phrase ricochets around in Geralt's mind. Jaskier's used that endearment with him before, and it always sounded so weighty, so... meaningful. Dear heart. Doesn't sound like something you throw around for just anybody, but here it is, laid out casually at the feet of someone who he'd never even mentioned before. Someone who wasn't important enough to be the subject of even a passing tale to regale Geralt with on their many nights around a campfire.

He's struck a bit dumb as they continue to greet each other, hands clasped together in a friendly way, patting cheeks and ruffling hair, and he thinks about,

Jaskier, just after a winter apart, standing at a crossroads together, hand pressing only the faintest pressure into his shoulder, lips brushing his cheek so tenderly, words practically whispered right into his ear,

I missed you, dear heart.

The realization comes slow, but hits hard all the same. It twists in his stomach, burrows slowly between his ribs and clenches down tight on his heart.

He doesn't mean as much to Jaskier as he thought.

He's always held value in touch, in words, he's never handed them out easily or casually. And logically, he was aware that Jaskier was his opposite in this regard. Bright and vibrant and eager to bend someone's ear or pull them in close, loose with his affections, Geralt... Geralt knew all that. But somewhere deep down, he'd thought that these were a bridge too far, even for Jaskier. That these tender moments were something of milestones to him as well. They'd felt too weighty, too momentous to be something casual.

So, of course he'd been wrong. He'd known he was wrong, but he'd still held that hope, until... well. Until Jaskier handing out every tender moment he'd had to fight tooth and nail for with Geralt to someone in the middle of a crowded tavern, like it was nothing more than party favors. Like it was almost perfunctory-- that's what you did.

Is this what it looks like? To watch Jaskier with him? Is this what they look like to outsiders? Geralt's never seen him with a friend before.

This is just what he's like with friends.

Geralt's not special.

And he knew that, really he did, but there's knowing something and there's knowing something, and it's so hard to see someone else pulled into the force of gravity that is Jaskier's undivided affections. Given freely, with no expectations of reciprocation, because that's who he is, and,

and it never once mattered they were given to Geralt.

His consternation must show on his face, because Gibby shifts nervously and asks if he's alright. Is he glaring? Must be, although he didn't mean to. Jaskier waves a hand dismissively. "He's fine, just not a big fan of loud places." It's either a smooth lie, or a genuine assumption, but either way the subject is dropped.

"So, Geralt, this is Gibby, and-- well, there'll be time for proper introductions once everyone's here, of course, but suffice to say we had more than a few classes together, and she was my unofficial partner in crime for some time." He ushers the two of them into their seats as he rambles, and Gibby titters goodnaturedly where it's appropriate, but otherwise seems uncomfortable under Geralt's gaze. Her eyes linger a bit too long on a few too many spots on his face that he knows hold things like scars, or unnatural eyes, or the hint of too-sharp canines, and he feels bad for it, truly. It can't be comfortable being on the receiving end of his glare, but he can't quite get his face to arrange itself any other way, so he turns the weight of his gaze to the side instead to inspect the room with unseeing eyes.

Jaskier either doesn't notice the discomfort or decides the best way to deal with it is to ignore it in hopes that time and exposure will ease things.

It doesn't.

More people filter in, join them at the table, and Geralt's introduced to each in turn, and then the group as a whole, but most of it goes in one ear and out the other. He feels bad about it-- Jaskier wanted him to meet his friends, he wanted to meet Jaskier's friends-- but as soon as he gets his eyes to focus, sounds grow vague and muffled, and when he focuses on making out words he loses his ability to connect shapes with any sort of meaning. He spends most of the night with his nose in his ale-- overpriced and watered down, though it is.

He takes in snapshots, catalogs them away. He doesn't want to, but he can't stop himself, mind catching on every instance like a hang-nail, Jaskier's voice,

Dear,

Darling,

You are a wonder,

hand on a knee,

an elbow,

a shoulder,

tucked around a waist,

nose behind someone's ear, whispering conspiratorially,

eyes crinkling at the corners with delight.

There's a man to Geralt's immediate left that, through the haze of the evening and his newest revelation, he recognizes as a bit of a pompous man. Voice a little bit grating, and a little too interested in his own successes, prompting more than one eye roll from Geralt, but Jaskier takes it all in stride, turns everything around into a joke without making it at anyone's expense, pulls the conversation back on track without leaving him behind.

Because Jaskier is easy with affection, talented at making friends,

even with people who aren't necessarily worth it.

~*~*~*~

He feels as stupid, as foolish, as every one-night-stand who thought Jaskier might stay in some no-name village for her. Of course he never meant anything. Of course they were just casual friends. Of course it was him, getting too intense and making assumptions.

Jaskier couldn't have meant anything bad by it, of course. Hadn't even intended to string anyone along, probably hadn't even realized he'd done so. He was just so funny and charming and personable and free with affection that it sucked you right in, he made you feel important, because for a minute, when those blue eyes lock on you, you are important.

Just. No more important than anyone else he spots.

No more special than the next shiny, flashy thing to catch his attention.

No cruelty in it, just a shortness of attention span and a certain openness that most other folks've had beaten out of them by the world once they reach his age.

Jaskier isn't evil, isn't trying to be calculating by any means, but Geralt lays in bed and clutches a pillow to his chest and aches anyway. Aches over how he'd let himself forget, aches over how he'd let himself be tricked, aches for the closeness he'd thought he had.

~*~*~*~

The next morning, Geralt gets up early, dons his armor, gets his bags together. He almost leaves, just like that, but-- well. Jaskier might get anxious if he just up and vanishes overnight, and Jaskier hadn't done anything wrong precisely. Geralt doesn't mean this at a punishment. So he knocks on Jaskier's door, and after far too long, he answers, bleary and smelling faintly of vomit.

Geralt comes up with a lie, says a contract came up suddenly, and Jaskier's face falls. "But-- we were supposed to..." He starts, leaning against the door frame for support, then thinks better of whatever he was going to say and heaves out a sigh. "Well. Alright. I suppose it can't be helped."

"I-- I liked meeting your friends." Geralt says, because Jaskier looks sad, and he doesn't want Jaskier to be sad.

Jaskier perks up at that. "Oh, you did? That's wonderful, and they were so eager to meet you too, they absolutely loved you!" Jaskier says enthusiastically.

Geralt thinks back on the space he'd been given all night. No one had bumped him, even accidentally. Almost none would meet his eye.

"I'm glad," he says.

"I," Jaskier's voice sounds a bit odd, maybe a little over-eager as he reaches out to take Geralt's hand in his own, "I have a performance coming up in about a week. I don't know how long this contract will take you, but... if you can, I'd like to see you there."

He should say he can't make it. He should say it'll be a long contract. There isn't even a contract, it's a lie he's making up so he can skulk away and lick his wounds without anyone around to notice and call him out for being pathetic. Jaskier has friends here, they'll come to his performance, he doesn't need Geralt. Instead, what comes out is "We'll see."

Jaskier lights up even further, grips his hand even tighter. His eyes crinkle at the corner, just like they did the night before. "Well, do try your best to make it, my dear. And be safe, alright?" He leans in, and before Geralt can move, plants a kiss right on his cheek. "For good luck." He explains.

Geralt's cheek tingles from the contact. He wants-- he wants to shuck the swords from his back. He wants to explain the contract wasn't real, he wants to shoulder his way into Jaskier's room and press kisses to his mouth until he's red-lipped and rosy-cheeked, he wants-- he wants--

But he doesn't. Because it isn't like that, because Jaskier isn't his, because he doesn't mean it that way. Because Geralt's another in a long list of pining fools, waylaid by Jaskier's effortless charm. Because they're just acquaintances, and none of it ever meant anything.

Geralt steps back, and nods curtly, and Jaskier mimics the gesture in a way that's both mocking and completely fond, and that's that.

~*~*~*~

He does, actually, stumble on a contract, so he doesn't make a complete liar of himself. A whole stack of them, in fact. There's a little town less than a day's ride out from Oxenfurt, on the opposite side of the city from where he'd initially entered with Jaskier, and it seems they've got more than a few beasties vying for the land they're sitting on.

Ghouls and rotfiends and drowners, oh my.

It's a straight week of shitty, tedious work. Of running himself ragged taking out minor but insistent infestations. Of maybe staying up later than he should, and waking up earlier as well, because in the back of his stupid mind, all he can think about is how Jaskier had asked him to come. As he decapitates a ghoul, the day of the performance in question, he knows-- knows it's not important that he personally shows up. That Jaskier just wants a friend there, anyone he knows, and-- well. He just happens to know Geralt. It's not important. It doesn't mean anything. He's thinking about how it doesn't mean anything when a different ghoul catches him right in the thigh, an impressive swipe of razor-sharp claws, bright-hot and agonizing. He curses under his breath and returns his mind to more pressing matters.

He should've taken the time to wallow, like he'd intended. He should've taken the time to pine and ache and be a miserable bastard. Instead he lost himself in the flow of his work, because--

because--

because Jaskier asked him to come back.

And it was stupid, anyway, to run away, so he might as well keep right on being stupid by ignoring the issue entirely when he lays in bed at night.

The decision to walk back is split-second, but he's also been operating under the assumption that he was definitely going back, his mind and time itself seemingly on some sort of disconnect. He's back in the moment now, maybe, he thinks, though it feels like his brain's been shut off and his feet have been making their own decisions the past few days.

~*~*~*~

When he stumbles into the tavern-- the same one he'd met Jaskier's friends in, spent the night in-- he's absolutely drenched in rapidly congealing blood. Mostly ghoul, but some his own. Jaskier's on stage, and Geralt's seen him perform often enough that he has a vague idea of what his setlists normally look like, what the usual flow of a performance by Jaskier feels like. He gets the impression he must be more than halfway through already. A few people turn their heads and gasp when he gets closer, shuffle away from him in horror, but no one screams and he isn't kicked out, so he just stumbles over to the nearest wooden beam and leans against it for support.

Jaskier's voice washes over him as he waits, world gone slightly fuzzy at the edges. He should've stopped somewhere to stitch up his side, but-- well. It certainly won't kill him, and...

he didn't want to get there too late. Didn't want to miss this, have Jaskier think he didn't care. Which is a terrible, mindless decision, because they're really not that close, apparently, but, well... Story of his life. He cares too much-- he can't make himself stop caring too much.

It's over too soon, the music giving way to applause and Jaskier's expressions of gratitude, proclaiming the tavern to be a lovely crowd. Without a tune to follow, Geralt suddenly feels bone-deep tired, and his head droops a bit, but somehow-- probably all the blood, honestly-- Jaskier spots him through the throng of people. He pushes through them politely as he can, lute thrown over his shoulder, and makes a beeline for Geralt.

More people turn and gasp as they move out of the way, following Jaskier's line of sight, but he isn't deterred. "Geralt!" He announces brightly, "You made it!" He pauses then, and adds after a moment, "You're absolutely filthy. Didn't think to wash any of that off, darling?"

Darling. The word leaves him feeling hot and cold at the same time. "Didn't want to miss your show." He mumbles, which is a little too honest, but he has a flesh wound, so he thinks he can be forgiven the momentary lapse in judgement.

Jaskier lights up, of course. "Oh, aren't you sweet?" He asks rhetorically, then glances to the side and notices his audience's attention has continued to follow him. "The great White Wolf, back from another successful contract!" He announces as an explanation to attempt to quell their obvious discomfort, sweeping his hand out as if Geralt were something impressive to display, and not a man bleeding all over the floor. Ah, well, he'll clot soon enough anyway. "If you'd be so kind as to draw a bath for my companion, good sir." He calls out, locking eyes with one of the employees and reaching for the purse on his hip.

The man nods and Geralt huffs. "I can pay," he starts, but Jaskier waves him off.

"Nonsense. I just got paid, my treat."

Geralt rolls his eyes. "I also just got paid. I can afford my own bath."

Jaskier grabs his hand and pulls him away from the support beam, following after the person on his way to fill a tub. "You buy us a pitcher, then, or dessert. I'll get the bath." After a moment he screws up his face and glances down at their joined hands. "It's slimy."

"That'd be the blood."

"Ew." His nose scrunches up further, but he doesn't let go.

~*~*~*~

By the time the bath is filled, the blood's dried just enough that separating their hands is a bit of a hassle, and while Jaskier makes some (justified) disgusted squawking at the way their palms peel apart, Geralt's busy going on a bit of a downward spiral about the prolonged contact. It makes his heart do something funny in his chest, which he then has to chastise with a quick reminder that the gesture doesn't mean what his heart seems to think it means, which then leads to a lovely (it is not actually lovely) sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Well, hurry up and shuck the armor." Jaskier says, apparently having paid the man while Geralt was busy staring at his own palm. "You're not going to get any cleaner just standing there." He swirls his hand around in the bath, then uses the rim to scrape off the worst of the gunk.

Geralt sets to work unbuckling what needs unbuckling, trying not to think too hard about Jaskier's little pet names and affectionate gestures. Jaskier watches out of the corner of his eye-- not perversely, so much as critically. "You're quiet." He says. Geralt flicks his eyes up, then back down to the buckle on his left side. His fingers slip off it, and he mutters a quiet curse as he attempts to wipe his hands off on his pants, to no avail.

"Aren't I always?" He responds, and manages to get the buckle on his second try with a liberal usage of fingernails.

Jaskier tilts his head, considering. "Not quite like this, no."

Is he acting different? He doesn't feel like he's acting different. He almost looks up-- gets as far as seeing Jaskier's boots before he's looking back down again-- and wonders if maybe it's that he can't seem to make eye contact. His chest piece hits the floor and he works on peeling off his shirt, steadfastly ignoring Jaskier's scrutiny.

"Did something happen on your last contract?" He asks, voice laced with concern.

Other than the chunk missing from my leg because I was too busy brooding? He thinks, but doesn't say. "No," he says instead, bending over to unlace his boots. Jaskier makes a little, appraising sort of hum, but doesn't press further. When Geralt straightens, Jaskier has his back turned, slipping his doublet off his shoulders and hanging it on a nearby hook. He stays like that as he rolls his shirt sleeves up to elbows, and Geralt takes the opportunity to shuck his pants(makes a mental note to patch the thigh, now in tatters) and slip into the waiting tub.

The hot water feels better than he'd like to admit, though he can't help the small hiss that escapes as it envelopes his thigh. Jaskier looks sharply over his shoulder at the sound, eyes narrowing. "You're hurt, aren't you?" He asks, turned to face Geralt now, hands on hips. "Should've known some of that blood was yours... I thought I told you not to do that. What did you waste the luck I gave you on?"

And really, Geralt has something for this, some quip he could come back with, but the memory of Jaskier's kiss-- just a little peck, nothing more, and yet-- makes his stomach twist uncomfortably and all words flee him. He grunts back, and Jaskier heaves an exasperated sigh. "Of course. How silly of me. I've seen the light." He says in a deadpan drawl, dragging over a stool so he can sit beside the tub. "One of these days I'm going to crack through that grumpy exterior and find the soft, gooey center I know you have." His voice is light, teasing, and he picks up a wash cloth and reaches for Geralt as if to help, and it's suddenly too much.

Geralt doesn't know what it all means, except that it must not mean anything, because it seems to easily handed out to everyone, equally. He's not so selfish that he feels entitled to some sort of special treatment, but he doesn't-- he doesn't know what it means. Just that it suddenly feels very hollow, and far too casual, and he can't stand the idea of those hands touching his skin casually. Like it means nothing. Like he's anybody.

His body jerks out of the way to avoid Jaskier's touch of its own accord. "Geralt?" Jaskier asks, sounding almost alarmed, and Geralt heaves out an answering sigh, dragging a hand down his face. His hair falls down around his bowed head like a clumpy, bloody curtain. He doesn't know how to act, now that the dynamic's shifted-- or now that he understands it better, anyway. He's suddenly very tired.

"Geralt, are you sure you're alright?" Back to concerned again, hand reaching for Geralt's shoulder, but he flinches away before they touch.

"I'm fine." He grits out.

"Dear heart,"

"Don't call me that." He bites back, bowing his head further. Because I can't tell, he thinks to himself miserably, I can't differentiate. I can't make myself remember how you mean it. It feels too real.

"But I--" Jaskier starts, only to get cut off once more.

"I said don't." I can't take it. I can't take it.

After a tense, quiet moment, Jaskier finally says "Alright." and he sounds defeated, but a weight lifts itself from Geralt's chest, knowing he won't have those words burrowing their way under his skin any longer.

Guilt starts to creep in as seconds tick past and the room remains silent but for the water gently lapping at the sides of the tub. Jaskier asked him to come, was excited about this performance, but Geralt had never asked what made this one special, and now here he was elbow deep in Geralt's mess and miserable. He feels his stomach twist itself into knots all over again. He hadn't meant--

He chews on the inside of his cheek, hunches in a little further. Reaches out tentatively, but keeps his head bowed and face obscured. "Could--" And even as quietly as he said it, his voice sounds almost painfully loud in the silence. "Could you pass the..." He trails off, but the soap is placed in his upturned palm anyway. He hums a short 'thank you' sort of sound, but he just holds the bar in his hands, examining it. Jaskier doesn't say anything. "You were good tonight." Barely more than a whisper, but it still feels so loud. Is there an echo, or is it just his imagination? "I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner." The silence stretches on, and he almost thinks there won't be a response at all.

"Are you just saying that to make me feel better?" His voice is carefully even.

It startles Geralt a bit, and he glances up, brow furrowed. "No, I... I wouldn't..." He looks away again, down at the water. It's too pink, saturated with blood. He'll never be able to get fully clean. "I liked it." He says again, unsure of how to say it in a way that proves he means it. "It's-- your voice is... soothing."

Jaskier huffs a sigh through his nose. "Well, in that case, thank you very much, Geralt." Geralt. Seems too impersonal, after everything, but it's what he'd asked for, isn't it? No right to complain about it now. "I'm glad you made it. Always nice to see a familiar face in the crowd at the end of a long set. Here, let me." He adds as an aside, plucking the bar out of Geralt's hands. Geralt ducks away once more, and Jaskier gets quieter, pleading gently. "Please? If... if you truly want me to leave I will, but... please let me help."

Geralt doesn't say anything for the longest time, and eventually Jaskier reaches out, presses a hand to his shoulder. He flinches again, but he doesn't pull away this time. It rubs up against him wrong, but Jaskier huffs a sigh of relief, and he wants-- he wants it to be like how it was. How he thought things were.

He doesn't want Jaskier to be upset.

He allows the washcloth sliding across his back, and tries to pretend it doesn't just leave him cold.

~*~*~*~

"I never asked... what made this performance so special?"

"Hmm?" Jaskier's nails scratch over Geralt's scalp pleasantly, and he shrugs. "Oh, nothing in particular. I just wanted you here."

Something warm and sweet curls up low in Geralt's stomach. He tries to remind himself that it doesn't mean anything.

~*~*~*~

"Before we set out again," Jaskier says the next morning, once Geralt is clean and rested and the world seems more solid under his feet, "I have one more friend I'd like to see, and if you're willing, it would mean a lot to me if you'd come with me and meet her. We've been friends for the longest time, you see, and she's very dear to me, and honestly the group you met the other night were mostly drinking buddies, but she's an actual friend. A companion, you know? So..." There's a sinking feeling in Geralt's stomach as Jaskier continues to ramble, but Jaskier looks so hopeful, hands clutched around his lute strap like that, eyes glittering... Geralt steels his resolve and agrees.

~*~*~*~

He berates himself on the short walk to her house. Honestly, if he can't handle meeting one friend-- one-- just because they're closer to Jaskier than he is, he's even more pathetic than he thought.

He can handle this. It won't be fun, but he can handle it.

~*~*~*~

They're gorgeous together. Her hair is blonde where his is russet, eyes a deep, honey brown where his are bright and blue, but otherwise they look alike in that way that only disgustingly gorgeous couples do. She matches his wit, and they share a passion, and once Jaskier gets over his seeming allergy to commitment, Geralt could envision him back here. With her. Making music together, a perfect little matching set. It works too well for it to go any other way. And even if they don't figure it out, well... they're very close. Best of friends.

He calls her dear heart and misery claws its way up Geralt's throat.

Geralt waits until Jaskier is in the middle of a story he's already heard to very quietly excuse himself for some fresh air. He steps out the front door and leans against the exterior wall of Priscilla's rented home.

How selfish, he thinks, standing alone outside the house of a woman he barely knows, waiting on a friend who's barely a friend, how fucking selfish.

What right does he have to jealousy?

What right do I have? He thinks, almost wildly, an edge of hysteria to his thoughts, what right do I have,

we're not even that close.

~*~*~*~

Apparently he takes too long, because eventually the front door creaks and Jaskier joins him outside, looking confused. "Is everything alright? What are you doing out here?"

"Fine." Geralt keeps his eyes closed and his head tilted back, pressed against the bricks. "Just needed some air."

"Air?" He parrots back incredulously, brow furrowed.

Geralt presses his head back against the bricks more firmly, so they dig into the back of his skull, little dull pinpricks of pain. "Priscilla's nice." He says, to avoid the topic of why he's outside, and because it's true.

Jaskier lights up at that, steps a bit closer. "Isn't she just?"

"You make sense, the two of you." Something aches in his chest to say it.

"We do, don't we? Been two peas in a pod, ever since we first bumped into each other at a bardic competition. Oh, and she was so excited to meet you, as well, what with all the stories and the songs n' such."

Geralt can't help but snort at that. "Mhmm, sure she was over the moon."

Jaskier's brow furrows again. "Well, what do you mean by that?"

He sighs. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."

"No, clearly something's wrong, I want to know what."

Certainly Priscilla had been made of stronger stuff than Jaskier's other bard friends, hadn't so much as flinched, but the rest... "Most people aren't you. They don't really feel much desire to fraternize with witchers."

"Oh, that again." He says dismissively, rolling his eyes. "Well, these aren't most people, they're my friends, whom I've regaled with many a tale of both your bravery and your kindness."

"Lots of people you talk to still don't like witchers by the end."

"Are you doubting my abilities as a storyteller, or just as a judge of character?" he asks hotly, arms crossed over his chest. "I know them, they wouldn't--"

"I'm not a complete fool, I know when people are frightened of me." He bites out, harsher than he meant to.

There's a beat of silence as he stares sullenly at his feet. "Oh, darling..." Jaskier says, tone pivoting to something sad and earnest as his hand reaches out.

"I asked you not to call me that." He says, same harsh tone, because the endearment twists between his ribs, and Jaskier's hand falters, his shoulders slump a bit further.

"I thought-- I mean, you'd only mentioned... I thought you just didn't like dear heart, but I can... I can stop using others too, if you'd like." He sounds soft and confused and a little bit hurt, and Geralt groans, scrubs a hand down his face.

"Fine, it's-- fine. I am a fool, actually. Just... call me what you like."

"No, if it upsets you, I won't say it anymore, just tell me which ones to avoid and I will."

"It doesn't matter, Jaskier, it's fine. I'm being stupid. I know that's just what you call people, so..."

Jaskier's entire face scrunches up this time, instead of just his brow. "What do you mean by that?"

He lifts a shoulder, fingers coming together to pinch the bridge of his nose, eyes shut tight. "I mean what it sounds like. You don't mean anything by it. It doesn't matter. Say whatever you're going to say."

"No, you're-- you're phrasing it oddly. What do you mean by that?" He reaches out to grasp at Geralt's wrist, tugging his hand away from his face to try and meet his eye, but Geralt just glances past him instead, eyeing the door.

"We should go back inside. Rude to keep someone waiting."

"You've never cared a day in your life what is or isn't rude."

"I care when the person's nice."

"You've never minded being rude to me, though." He sounds indignant.

"I care when the person's nice." He repeats, trying to pull the conversation back into something approaching companionable ribbing.

Jaskier gasps theatrically, puts a hand to his chest in mock-offense, but blocks the way when Geralt tries to shoulder past. "She's not that nice, and you're not getting out of this conversation. You've been acting oddly for a while, and now the sudden offense over endearments-- what's wrong? I'd like a straight answer, please."

Endearments. As if there's anything endearing about him. He leans back against the wall with a groan, tipping his head back so it thunks gently against the brick.

"It's not..." He tries to say something, but the words get stuck in his throat. He becomes, suddenly, crushingly aware of how embarrassing his current predicament is. "It's... pathetic." He mutters, glancing to the side so he doesn't have to look at Jaskier.

"You don't have to worry, you know I won't judge, not if it's really important." Jaskier's hand comes to rest on Geralt's bicep, and he gives it a reassuring squeeze. "Are you... worried about making friends, perhaps? Because we can get back together with them, give you another chance. Just because you got nervous--"

"It's not that." He replies, exasperated. "It's just... I... I get too attached. I forget who I am... what I am," he says with no small amount of bitterness, "I forget my place."

"Geralt, you don't have a place!" Jaskier visibly cringes at his own words. "Ah, I meant-- of course you have a place, you know, a place amongst friends n' such, I just meant... you're not lesser or anything like that."

"Right..." Geralt lets out a long sigh, scrubs a hand down his face once more. "It's just... rough being reminded that you're more important to me than I am to you." He clicks his tongue, mouth twisting into a frown. "Fuck, that sounds manipulative now I say it out loud. I don't mean it that way, it's-- fine, really. It's my fault anyway."

Jaskier inhales sharply and pulls back almost as if struck, mouth agape. "Wh-- Geralt, what are you talking about? You're very important to me!"

Geralt nods along, but he keeps his eyes trained on the ground. "Yeah, like your drinking buddies are important, and the barkeep you know by name is important, and... and everyone is important to you. I know. It's just... it's different for me. But really, it's my fault, I'll... I'll get the moping out of my system eventually, alright?"

"Geralt, I genuinely have no clue what you're talking about, you're incredibly dear to me."

He can't help the snort that escapes at that, but every endearment just stabs him somewhere deep now, brings with it echos of every other time he's said it, like the words meant nothing. Probably because they didn't. "Yeah, dear. Dear heart. I get it." He all but mumbles.

He can see Jaskier's hackles start to raise, out of the corner of his eye, and he turns his head a bit more to escape having to look-- having to see-- "What's wrong with--"

"Nothing." He says before Jaskier can get started. "Nothing wrong with it at all. I just... I built it up to be something it wasn't, in my head, and-- and I know I'm the one in the wrong for it, for making something out of nothing, for getting a scrap of kindness and assuming it had some deeper hidden meaning, when clearly you're just... a nice person. I'm not being accusatory-- not trying to be, anyway."

"Geralt," he says, and he sounds devastated, but that can't... that can't be right, because... because-- he reaches out and grabs Geralt by the shoulders, tries to meet his eyes, but he keeps his head turned away, "where is this even coming from? I-- wait, is this because I called my friends dear heart as well? At the tavern?" He sounds incredulous, and something about the tone makes heat rise in Geralt's cheeks. He scowls and tries to push the feeling down.

"I just thought... I was a fool. I thought you only... I thought... that maybe that kind of closeness was... different for you too, but I'm-- I'm just realizing it wasn't, and I know it's foolish, but it just kind of... it hurts, alright? So just stop trying to say that it's equal, because I know it's more to me, I know I'm... being more."

Jaskier huffs and grips him tighter, tries once more, unsuccessfully, to catch his eye. "If you'd just listen to me, and stop cutting me off, you'd hear what I'm trying to say, which is--"

"Stop--"

He just gets louder, grips tighter, "Which is that you've got it all wrong, you do matter to me. I consider you one of my dearest friends--"

"Just stop, stop trying to--"

"And I'm sorry I made you feel like you didn't. I never meant--"

The words come tumbling out so fast he doesn't have the time to think about what he's saying, or what he really means by it, he's too desperate to get Jaskier to stop. His mind casts back, reuses the metaphor it did when he was alone in his room that first night, and he says, "Yeah, Jaskier, I know, I know you never meant it, you never mean to, I'm just like every other two-bit fool you've left behind in every single shitty town who thought she was special just because you smiled at her, alright? And I'm just realizing that, even though I should've known it didn't mean anything special, because you're nice to everyone. But I didn't, and I let myself think it mattered, like a fool, let myself think I was more important than I was, so just-- hurry up and get your shit together and go kiss Priscilla," Jaskier echoes her name, sounding somewhere between mystified and scandalized, but Geralt barrels forwards, "and leave me behind like every other broken heart you've left strewn across the continent."

"Geralt," miserable, he sounds miserable,

The words stick in his throat, but he forces them out anyway. "And I'm not, I'm not mad at you for being you, or for saying it, or thinking we were some sort of friends, you're-- you're wonderful. That's the problem, see, you're wonderful, I'm mad at myself for reading into it, thinking it meant something more where clearly it--"

Suddenly, hands, strong and sure, are tangled in his hair, grabbing at him, forcing his head forward to finally face Jaskier, and he's tugged down into a kiss. It's little more than the firm press of Jaskier's mouth to his, but it brings his mind and his speech to a screeching halt anyway.

All too soon Jaskier is pulling away, as Geralt sits there, stock-still and dumbfounded. "Of course it means something," he says, quietly into the air between them but no less emphatically for it, "of course it does. It's always meant something when I say it to you." His hands slide forward, come around to cup at Geralt's jaw. "Who else do I travel with, like I travel with you? Who is it I wait for all winter? The pet names, the endearments, all those sweet words-- of course they mean something when I say them to you, darling."

He lets out a sound distressingly close to a whine, but Jaskier is right there, cupping the back of his neck and pulling him in close for another kiss. Geralt's hands come up this time, clutching at Jaskier's back, feeling the warmth of him through the doublet, and he tugs him in close, so they're pressed chest to chest. He kisses Jaskier until he's dizzy with it, his mind reeling, then pulls away just so he can tuck his face into Jaskier's neck and breathe deep, grounding himself.

Jaskier's runs a hand through his hair, petting him gently and pressing him that much closer. "My dear, foolish witcher..." he mumbles fondly.

"I thought--" Jaskier shushes him, murmurs a soft 'I know' against his temple, then tucks his own face into Geralt's neck. Geralt marvels at the feel of him in his hands, at the fact he knows what Jaskier feels like against his mouth, at the fact that this is something he can have, and he can't resist the urge to press a kiss into Jaskier's skin.

He giggles a bit and shies away, as if tickled, and Geralt tucks in closer, presses another kiss to the same spot, this one open-mouthed and sucking. Jaskier lets out an appreciative hum and tilts his head away to open up more space, fingers tracing nonsense patterns across Geralt's shoulders. "Fuck, that's nice... love you so much, darling."

A wounded noise works its way out of his throat, and his chest feels fit to bursting. "I love you too," he says, kissing a desperate line up Jaskier's neck, "I love you, gods, I love you," he repeats between kisses, over and over, until their lips connect again, as if he could somehow press the love into Jaskier's skin, sink the bone-deep truth of it into him in a way it could never leave or be misunderstood.

He walks Jaskier back and presses him up against the wall, intent on kissing him senseless, when he hears someone behind him clear their throat. Both of their heads snap to the side to find Priscilla lounging against the door frame, eyebrow raised and lips upturned. "Do you boys plan on coming back inside, or are we cutting this lunch date short?"

Geralt feels bad about eating into so much of her afternoon with his own problems, and is instantly chastened by her words, but Jaskier seems to hold none of the same reservations, eyes crinkling at the corner happily. "Oh, we'd love to. Good timing, by the way."

"I waited until the sounds of arguing stopped, but apparently I didn't wait long enough." She looks faintly amused.

"He was the one who pushed the issue..." Geralt mutters, face heating up once more.

"Mm, sounds about right. He's a little hellion when he wants to be."

"A compliment, I'm sure." He says brightly, and she rolls her eyes fondly and disappears back into the house, front door left ajar for them to follow after.

Jaskier turns back to Geralt, smiling from ear to ear, and takes his hand in his own. "We can talk more about this, and what it means for us, later." He presses a kiss to Geralt's cheek. "I do love you, dearest." He says quietly, then starts towards the door, tugging Geralt along after him. "For now, let's go finish visiting our friend, hmm? We can head back to our room after that."

Dearest. Our friend. Our room. Geralt's throat gets tight, and he nods weakly. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that. As long as you're with me."

"Of course I'm with you." Jaskier's smile gets a bit softer, just that much fonder, and Geralt falls into step beside him.

#witcher tag #writing tag #geraskier

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pandawriterstuff · 4 years ago

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Pinehallow Summary & Character List

This is my main WIP, if I'm complaining about characters doing whatever they want, this is them.

Pinehallow Summary-Monty, an eleven year old boy who has spent most of his life traveling from place to place with his in-demand lawyer mother, Irene, is sent to live at his uncle's horse ranch because she thinks he needs roots. Used to nearly everyone but his mother not being around long enough to get to know, Monty is more than a bit uncertain about this. But in scrambling to find his place in a town different to anything he's ever known, he finds friends, both human and animal, makes discoveries, and even manages to foil a plot against Pinehallow Ranch itself.

Character List

Monty (Montgomery) Cade Waller- Main character, 11, white. Monty is curious, bright, and more than a little awkward. He has a tendency to state the obvious, which can be endearing or annoying depending on your perspective. Big vocabulary and grown-up way of speaking because he’s spent more time around grown-ups than other kids. He’s quietly stubborn, particularly when it comes to being told he’s wrong when he knows he’s right. Insecure about socializing and friendships because of constant moving and traveling. Can’t hold a grudge for the life of him, even when he likely should. He likes bugs, birds and turtles, would rather read nonfiction than a story. Fills lonely afternoons with sketching, nature sketching on the ranch.

Irene Waller- Monty’s mother, 36, white. Irene is a powerful corporate lawyer, either full of energy or exhausted, never in between. She loves using words to sway minds and deciphering documents to find exactly what the opposition doesn’t want her to find. Sometimes Irene wishes she was using her skills in more meaningful ways, but also really likes the money, the traveling, and the competition. Has an almost encyclopedic knowledge of show tunes from musicals. She has a hard time letting people get close. Would stab someone for her baby, but knows it’s better to teach him to stab for himself. Only partially joking. Dolly Parton is her hero, and as much as she loves her music, it’s Dolly the business woman and Dolly the philanthropist that she strives to emulate.

Keith Waller- Monty’s uncle, 34, white. Horse Rancher. Keith loves working hard and getting dirty, and if he’s not exhausted at the end of the day he’ll be looking for something else to push him there. Otherwise he gets antsy. Loves animals and absolutely will not tolerate anyone mistreating any of the animals on his ranch-ordinarily he’s very careful of his size and strength, in that situation, all bets are off. Times that by about ten for any of the ‘barn rats’ that help around the ranch for riding lessons/time. Loves romantic comedies and telanovas and doesn’t care who knows it. Keith doesn’t read a lot, it never came easy to him, but if he’s taking a long trip he’ll always check an audio book or two out of the library instead of just relying on the radio.

Juniper - Keith’s goddaughter, 15, white. She has a calm, confident personality with a smile for most everyone she meets. If she doesn’t have a smile for you and it isn’t because her head is in the clouds over a girl, you’ve probably earned her scorn and will be ignored as much as possible. Juniper raises rabbits and it’s taught her patience, and a lot about unfairness when a kit doesn’t make it. She helps out with riding lessons at the ranch in exchange for riding time of her own, and has become a fixture, spending more time there than she does at home, and when she can get away with it, school. Loves sunflowers and her sunflower comforter is probably her most prized possession.

Nell - Caretaker/cook for the ranch house(would cooking lunch for the workers still be a thing on a modern ranch?). 38, white(?). Not about to put up with nonsense. Will make you cookies if she doesn’t have to put up with nonsense. Please. At one point she wanted to be a chef and has a year of culinary school under her belt, but quickly decided the super fast paced and competitive environment wasn’t for her. Anything that was making her hate one of her favorite things that fast could not be good for a person. She intends to live a long, long life and that kind of stress can just walk right out of the door. Loves to go on long walks, often into the hills (BLM land) behind the ranch. (maybe she was taught/took a class on foraging, and teaches Monty to find wild onions and stuff? But this would mean *I* have to learn about foraging in Idaho.) This leads to a contented, if often silent, companionship between her and Monty, who desperately wants to explore/record/sketch everything about the natural world of his new home, particularly the parts that are off limits to him without an adult along.

Ray- Family Friend/Co-Owner of R & M General (designed to feel vintage, but shiny. Bit of a tourist stop now, they decided to lean into it.), 50, Black. He uses his background in chemistry to make amazing looking candies and chocolates, using that to deal with a time he used it in less pleasant ways when he was in the military. He never expected anybody outside of his small town, or maybe the folks at the county fair to make so much fuss over them. This might embarrass him, if he weren’t so delighted. A cheerful man with a dreamer’s heart, a magazine once referred to him as a small town Willy Wonka. He dotes on his wife, often making and gifting her small surprises. An amputee in honor of my Grandpa (missing left leg at the knee, possibly missing one arm as well, but I’m not sure how that would affect candy making.). Has certain parts of his past he just doesn’t talk about.

Mavis- Co-Owner of ____ with Ray, 48, Black. Fierce and kind in equal measures, Mavis believes in protecting what’s hers, and as far as she’s concerned the entire town of (oh my god, it needs a name) is included in that. Mavis is very selective about the battles she fights, but when she chooses one she throws herself in whole-heartedly. On several committees around town, she’d be on more, but then she wouldn’t have enough time to really get into the work of the ones she loves. She knits in her limited free time, often while listening to the news, but sometimes opera. Has started knitting stuffies in the shapes of the more unusual candies Ray makes, it’s silly, but fun, and tourists and the local kids love it. Still head over heels for Ray, even though his often dreaming about things for ages instead of just doing them is also still baffling to her.

Leanna - Juniper’s sort-of girlfriend, 15, Vietnamese. Quiet, a little cynical, but very empathetic. She avoids the news because it’s that or be mad and want to cry all the time-until she hears about something she can’t not research, and goes on a 24 hour google search and learns far more than is probably good for her about a species going extinct due to logging in prohibited areas, or genocide being covered up by claims of violent uprisings. She loves manga and comics. Leanna sometimes tries for a cottagecore* type aesthetic, but mostly thinks it's too much work. She’s starting to worry about what she’s going to do with her future, and people telling her that she’s only 15 and doesn’t have to worry about it yet is NOT HELPING.

*even though cottagecore isn’t a thing in the early-mid 2000s this is maybe/vaguely set in. Shh, let me have this. Anne of Green Gablesesque maybe?

Winnie - Leanna’s mom, 45, Vietnamese. Widow? A little ditzy, but a lot loving. Everyone in town is convinced she’s the stoner type of hippy, but no one minds as she’s someone who truly wants to know how you’re doing when she asks and strangely almost always has very spot on advice. She’s rarely on time anywhere, but that’s because she’ll have stopped to talk, and often to help, whoever she’s run into. Leanna and her bicker over this when she’s late picking her up. Always wears bright colors. Loves Agatha Christie books. Calls everyone, even people 50 years older than her, hon.

Logan - Juniper’s stepdad, 40, white. Kind of a jerk, but most of the jerky things he says are actually jokes that fall flat or have simply gotten old. Tries really hard, like *really* hard, but has a tendency to get annoyed if people don’t appreciate his efforts right away-more in his personal life than professional, possibly because of his profession. A contractor, hard worker, loyal, has worked for the same company since he was twenty even though they don’t often treat him right. Sometimes tries to buy people’s affections. Wants to have better communication with Juniper, but it’s gotten really hard the last few years and he’s never quite sure why.

Candice - Juniper’s Mom, 39, white, works at a nursery that sells seedlings and baby fruit trees, has a cheerful, calm personality, but a lot softer and more lowkey than Juniper’s version. Very house proud, but has a ‘maximalist’ approach to decorating-everything is in its place, but there are places for lots of things. Loves spending time outdoors, but would rather spend it tending her garden than hiking or riding, preferably with a cup of tea by her side. On the weekends, a fruity beer or wine instead. Wants to go on one of those train rides where you get to drink wine, eat canapes and try to solve a mystery, thinks Winnie might be a good candidate for someone to go with her.

Ura - a ‘barn rat’, 12 and a half, white(maybe a Czech immigrant? 2nd generation?) . A cheerful, rough and tumble boy who is always climbing things, and often being told to stop when he gets too high for other people's comfort. Ura is fearless when it comes to physical feats, but has a fear of ‘slimy’ things like worms and frogs. He has a thick layer of pudge and a big appetite, but is athletic and strong enough that anyone bullying him over it would be doing it at their own peril. Not that he’s the type to start fights, or even finish them most of the time. Doesn’t feel he quite fits in with his family, who are all more serious, reserved people. Redwood is his favorite of the horses, and Keith has all but given up on telling him that sitting on the floor of Red’s stall to talk to the horse isn’t exactly safe.

Elliot - Ray and Mavis’s son, Black, 19 and a college student-maybe/probably at U of I. Lives on campus, but comes home at least a couple weekends a month. Has an older car that he and Ray fixed up together, that is his pride and joy. Quiet, with an irreverent sense of humor that he unleashes somewhat at random. Interested in robotics, engines and mechanics and generally has some project he’s working on, a piece of which may or may not be in his pocket. Often has oil, grease, or ink on his hands, either from working on or designing a new project. A bit of an overachiever, he can spread himself thin trying to live up to all his responsibilities at once. He’s best friends with Randy, a friendship his parents want to disapprove of, because the few times Elliot’s gotten into trouble not only was Randy there, but 99% of the time whatever it was is Randy’s idea, but never quite manage too.

Randy - Handyman at the ranch, mixed race Hispanic and white, 21. Technically head handyman, because the old head retired six months ago, and is a little young/inexperienced for the job, but he’s not the type to back away from a challenge and has risen to the occasion beautifully. Loves rock and metal music, and spends a lot of his free weekends at concerts, the ones crammed into little venues and bars where people are practically on top of each other and the beat is so loud and solid it throbs through you, connecting you to everyone even before you hit the mosh pit, are his preference. He’s been working at the ranch since he was 16, and feels like he has a claim on it, not afraid to speak up if he thinks a decision Keith is making isn’t right or that he isn’t taking something important into consideration. Can be a bit wild when he’s not being the responsible one, definitely doesn’t always think before he acts.

Alma - Local artist/worker at R & M’s, Hispanic, 25. Alma is a painter and poet, a confident young woman who’s figured out that half of surviving as an artist is being your own agent/a salesperson as well, and in addition to several shelves at the R & M that hold postcard prints of many of her pieces, both the coffee shop and cafe have some of her larger paintings displayed, and she always has a booth at the Saturday market, though the majority of her sales come from her website. Alma is cheerful, and likes to tease, and growing up the middle child of four brothers, is very able to hold her own in verbal sparring. She’s close with her family, still living with her parents, and while at first her father was dismayed at her choice of career, he now hands out her business card to basically everyone he talks to.

Miriam - Nell’s Mom, white, 71, a little deaf, speaks loudly, partially because of the deafness, partially because she spent too long letting other people push her around and when she hit about 50 decided she was going to be the one talking over people now. She’s earned it. Age has made her more delicate than she likes, bruising and scraping easily, but she’s determined to do most things for herself. Those that are beyond her she has no problem loudly ordering someone else to take care of. Volunteers a lot, often fosters kittens for the local animal shelter. Used to chain smoke, quit when Nell was a teenager because she kept leaving pictures of diseased lungs everywhere. Still uses the candy ones as a substitute.

Places

Unnamed Town- Somewhere in Latah County, Idaho, where there is not already a town in the way. Around 200 years old and has grown and shrunk and grown again, and currently has a population of about 12,000. Having grown out from a traditional mainstreet, _______ no longer has the western style boardwalk seen in old pictures, but it does have a large cluster of local businesses and ‘hot spots’ still along that old main street, a coffee shop, a diner, a combination bookshop and independent library, a hardware store, a bar, a few places I haven’t thought of yet, and of course R & M General. There is a historical barn half a mile or so away from mainstreet that has been converted into a theater/meeting hall/dance hall, and a community center was added onto it in the early 90’s. During the summer there is a farmer’s market on the property every Saturday. The elementary school and junior high are all on one property, several miles out of town, because the majority of families live on farms, ranches or small rural properties rather than in one of the neighborhood clusters in the town itself. The junior high is 7th, 8th and 9th graders, in a newer two story building, and the elementary school is divided into lower and upper elementary with the bracket shaped building basically being cut in half, K-3 on one side and 4-6 on the other. The high school is outside of town on the other side by several miles, and actually serves kids from another town(s) as well. There is also a trailer park with about forty units, not exactly sure where it is yet, but Miriam(Nell’s Mom) lives there. There is also an animal shelter, a vet’s office, a cemetery, and a couple churches, and I’m sure more things to come.

R & M General (working title?)- Ray and Mavis’s store, a general store with a candy focused twist. A vintage Pepsi sign, neon still bright, and a charming green glass juke-box filled with hits from the 1940’s onward grace the front porch of the R & M, along with a long bench that locals are encouraged to use for a spell or to listen to a couple songs, provided they can behave themselves (teenagers arguing over who their favorite member of the rat pack is might be amusing, considering they were already ‘mom and dad’, or at least older brother and sister, music by the time Mavis and Ray were teenagers, but when they get loud it also gets annoying.). The store itself still has the original wooden counter up front and built-in shelves along the walls, but all refinished and polished to a high shine. A mixture of display types going down the middle of the store, barrels and baskets filled with skeins of colorful yarn and cloth or Mavis’s knitted stuffies(and during winter sometimes socks and mittens), other sewing and craft supplies, display racks with local arts, postcards and carvings, sometimes wind up toys made by Elliot, and of course many, many displays of candies and chocolates. They also have a lot of dry goods, and some of the simpler candy types have little instruction booklets and the ingredients it takes to try out making them yourself stocked in the same display, drink coolers, and sometimes have local produce available. Basically, they have a bit of everything, except for building equipment/home repair supplies, and that’s because of the hardware store across the street.

Pinehallow Ranch-A sprawling 100 acre ranch in Latah County, Idaho where the Waller family has been doing something or other with horses for four generations now. Originally it was a horse breeding ranch, but Keith and Irene’s grandfather felt the money was in training horses, and offered boarding as well, and Keith has continued to build that up, offering lessons for a variety of styles, ages, and skill levels. Butting up against BLM land that allows additional grazing and trail riding, the ranch has four pastures, a large corral, a medium sized indoor arena and two horse barns, one for boarded horses and one for the ranch's own stock, and an equipment barn, an old bunkhouse that is mostly used to store feed-though Randy has slept there when in between places, mostly unbeknownst to Keith-and some smaller equipment sheds, placed where they’re needed. The main house is an L-shaped ranch house with a porch that goes around the entire long front of the house with a large herb/kitchen and rock garden arranged around that. There are treed pockets scattered here and there, left alone as the rest of the ranch was developed, but the creek Monty and Juniper sometimes hang out at is on BLM land, as is most of the forested area around the ranch.

Pinehallow Taglist @sleepysera @enchanted-lightning-aes @odysseywritings @thegreatobsesso @writing-is-a-martial-art and @hiitsolivia If anyone else wants to be added just interact with the post :) (My more advanced tumblr knowledge has led me to believe this is better than asking people to reblog/comment to be added, but if I'm wrong just let me know.)

#character list #oc list #someday I'll do a proper series introduction #and an introduction for me #but today is not that day #pinehallow ranch #original writing #I tend to build my world around the characters #backwards I know

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beautifulterriblequeen · 3 years ago

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Trickster: an Ethari theory

I've had yea many Ethari headcanons, and I hope I live to have yea many more. Most of them are probably wrong, or incomplete at best. But boy are they fun.

I love to wonder what Ethari will really be like in canon when we get to know him for more than 3 minutes, but whoever he really is on his own, he will have an effect on Runaan , Rayla, and everyone who loves him, because they love him.

The first headcanon I can remember having for "Tinker" was that he could be like Leonardo da Vinci: a genius, creative, surrounded by beautiful ideas given shape by his hands, but also capable of creating deadly weapons, enchantments, and devices with equal beauty, and perhaps not really seeing where the line between them was. It was fun, but Ethari has ended up far softer than my headcanon, and I love and support him in his softness!

After a nice string of Ethari headcanons, this year I've started poking at the Trickster archetype and seeing if it applies to him. And I think it absolutely does!

Tricksters often seem like Chaos. But they're not. They're just Difference. "Chaos" is subjective. Like the "divergent" in "neurodivergent." Who says? Divergent from what, exactly? Perspective matters, and Tricksters have a very broad take on things which allows them to think outside any box people might try to invite them into.

My enjoyment of Loki has brought all kinds of ideas to my dash with the arrival of the Loki show. I've got a copy of the Edda, and I highlighted the hell out of it a couple of years ago as I searched for the roots of Loki's origin story. (It's truly fascinating reading and the symbolic language hidden inside their poetry is dazzlingly amazing and I'm super using it sometime just so you know)

Loki is a Trickster, and he's far from alone in myth and legend. Anansi, Coyote, and Sun Wukong are some you may have heard of. Aaravos is another, of course. Tricksters can be called upon to lend aid and wisdom when the rules don't have an answer for some extraordinary circumstance which the Trickster's people find themselves in. But that's not because they are truly outside the rule of order. They are actually a part of it. They are the catch-all for when the everyday ordinary rules fail people, and something "unthinkable"--in the literal sense--might just hold the answer.

This post crossed my dash today, and something finally clicked in my head, and all of this coalesced from what felt like separate places. But they're not separate, not anymore! Serotonin, baby. It's basically upped my headcanon to a full-blown theory.

What caught my eye was an answer to why Ethari's clothing is so determinedly asymmetrical, compared to Runaan's specifically, but Moonshadows in general. It's because of this:

Long protective sleeves below patterns on shoulders. A high collar paired with a bright and noticeable swoop around the neck. Fine detailing and graceful taste. Asymmetrical tunic point on the left, below broad strappy leather. Knee high boots with stylish protective gaiters.

And let's not forget the curling horns! In some comics, Loki has a broken horn. So does Ethari.

Yes, there is a lot of similarity here, but I'm not focused so much on the visuals as the reason they were chosen. Feel free to consider other aspects of Ethari's personality and how they might be similar to certain parts of Loki's. I did! But I wouldn't be me if I didn't go deeper than that.

My favorite book in the universe (so far) is Lois McMaster Bujold's The Curse of Chalion, and one of the many reasons why is because of her pantheon. It holds five gods, represented by a hand: Father, Mother, Son, Daughter, and Bastard. The first four all have their roles and places. The Bastard--the thumb--inherits everything else. He is the god of all things that do not belong to any other gods, and that includes self-sacrificing vengeance and queerness. He is a Trickster, and his influence on Cazaril's life is far deeper than at first glance. Chaos has its place. It belongs, and so do the Tricksters who engender it. God, I love this book. Please read it if you haven't. Bujold's work is amazing.

If you've seen or read any version of MDZS/Untamed, you know that Wei WuXian is a trickster. Competent and badass in battle, but playful and teasing to the point where sometimes even he isn't sure what he truly wants, he can bring a massive amount of power and focus when he wants to. It's always a matter of "but is it important to me?"

I love WWX so much. The Trickster vibe is very apparent in his character, and in a way you just don't get in Western media. We see him on his own, and we see him with family and loved ones. And he's always feeling something so intensely! He's driven by his emotions, for good or ill. He vibes with chaos, and he will create it if it doesn't exist yet. But he will also create family from nothing, and that's something you don't see enough of! WWX is a Trickster with an emotional preference for joy.

In TDP, Ethari doesn't have a lot of lore yet. It's being Moonshadowed because spoilers for future seasons, and I respect that. The longer the wait for S4, the more ideas I will just amuse myself with in the meantime--and yeah, this is one of them, so what? :))) But we do know a little about him.

He loves music. He loves to read. He leaves his mark on things in swirly form. He works very hard, even through headaches, because what he's doing is that important to him, even though he would much rather be making jewelry. He loves taking the time to polish rough stones into brilliant jewels, and he adores big pretty flowers and had them at his wedding.

Ethari has a temper, but he also loves puns. The weapons he crafts are exquisite: "light, elegant, strong, and clever." And he knew darn well that Runaan was trying to flirt with him, but why return a sentiment he may or may not feel yet when he can play with the overly earnest assassin just a little bit first?

Okay, just... A "simple craftsman" deciding that it's going to be fun to toy for a bit with a broody assassin's feelings? Would you risk that? Ethari got balls the size of the moon, and a brain to match. When he has to make weaponry, he does not half-ass it. Ethari's stabby creations nearly have a life of their own. His creations are literally called "trick weapons." This elf is a lot, okay. And it's possible that he doesn't even know how "a lot" he is. Yet.

We're meeting Ethari after he's found something that is, in fact, genuinely important to him: Runaan, and Rayla, and Laindrin too. Ethari has found a relatively stable place to settle and find a role to adopt. I say adopt, though, because making weaponry for his loved ones is not what he grew up wanting to do. It's what he had to do to keep them safe, once he found a place to bestow his heart.

But in the show, Ethari has lost his family, one by one. First Lain and Tiadrin, ghosted. Then Runaan, supposedly fallen on his mission. Then Rayla, ghosted for abandoning Runaan. He and Rayla have reconnected now, but the rest of his family is still out of his reach. If Rayla has indeed told him, by S4, what she learned at the Moonhenge in TTM, then Ethari may parallel Rayla's journey to seek answers. But even if he doesn't know yet, and gets pulled into some other story arc first, we will be seeing Ethari without his family.

Remember the ATLA episode "Zuko Alone"? Consider: "Ethari Alone."

Ethari has chosen, for love, to fit himself into a box that wasn't of his own making. And now that box has broken. His family doesn't need him to be their craftsman anymore. Perhaps others will need him to be other things to them. Or perhaps he will know that his family does need him, but to be far more than just a maker of pretty swords. A rescuer, perhaps. A healer, a guide? An avenger?

A trickster. Capable of taking many shapes, because he understands them all. Ethari works with form and function. If he needs to transform himself, he will.

That's what Tricksters do. It's delightfully queer and delightfully neurodivergent. Ancient peoples accepted and revered the different among them and actively sought their help with things they themselves struggled with.

Tricksters are Difference. Sometimes that manifests as chaos, sometimes as genius. But if you do not love and appreciate your chaos, it will absolutely turn on you. Wei Wuxian did. Loki certainly has, many times. Perhaps Aaravos is doing so as well.

I cannot wait to see what Ethari does with his difference. I have something very specific that I hope he goes and breaks.

All this from a picture of Tom Hiddleston in his Avengers 1 Loki costume? Yeah. Because Ethari was designed to wear asymmetrical clothing, in a Moonshadow culture that prides itself on balance. Sure, there are some other Moonshadows who wear this or that asymmetrical item, and I do love to see it. But Ethari has the most asymmetrical lines of them all. The meta glee I feel knowing that Moonshadow elves are designed to hold many layers of meaning in their appearances--that the writers, creators, and character designers just flexed with them--is truly a delight.

Ethari is asymmetrical. The full and practical application of that is a glass casket, and I hope it becomes a gift that keeps on giving, because boy do I want to keep receiving it. But right now, I'm genuinely seeing evidence of the Trickster archetype in him. And I really hope it gets to come out and play.

#tdp #tdp theory #ethari #trickster #tdp speculation #yes this means a whole new category for ruthari opposites #order and chaos #ethari and order are both on runaan's list of likes #but ethari is higher so #loki #wwx #wei wuxian

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