#but unfortunately i can’t get very far with out taking my dog into consideration

[bongjuiceconcentrate]

does anyone wanna come into my life and not abandon me ⁉️ last chance before i kill myself

[sowoozoo-7]

Love, Lust & Litigation | Ch2 (JJK, KNJ)

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem Reader x Namjoon

Genre: lawyer!AU, coworkers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut

Rating: M (18+) whole fic, this chapter PG-13 (I guess)

Warnings: some swearing in this chapter, nothing explicit

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: Unfortunately, you have developed a massive crush on your new boss. Even more unfortunately, your equally attractive coworker is also harboring massive crush on your boss. AKA Jungkook and reader both pine for big, sexy brain Namjoon. 

A/N: Aaand here she is! Chapter 2! It took me a while to finalize this draft, mostly because I was on a trip with my bff, but also because I was, well, procrastinating. I don't do well without a deadline, so I'm going to try to post a chapter every week on Saturday until the fic is done! Look out for Chapter 3 in a week :)

mlist | ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4 | ch 5 | interlude | ch 6 | ch 7 | epilogue

Your newest client sits across a large conference room table from you, Namjoon, and Jungkook, flanked by two impossibly large bodyguards holding equally tiny dogs. She’s one of the most popular singer-songwriters of the moment.

An indie artist filed a lawsuit claiming that your client copied lyrics verbatim and stole the melody from a song of his after attending an intimate showcase. To your ears, the songs sound vaguely similar, but you’re no music expert. 

In the press though, the indie artist has spun it as a David and Goliath story. The court of public opinion is firmly on his side already. 

“It’s a bullshit case,” says your client, rolling her eyes. “There’s only so many ways you can string the words ‘I,’ ‘love,’ ‘you,’ ‘so,’ and ‘much’ together in a song. And everyone knows that all modern pop songs have the same four chord progressions anyway.” 

Namjoon nods, taking notes on his legal pad. “We’ll take the case, but there’s no guarantee the judge is going to rule in our favor. These plagiarism cases can be very unpredictable.” 

“Right, but you guys are the best right?” She takes one of the fluffy dogs into her lap and starts petting it. The dog makes direct eye contact with you as it starts to pant.  

Namjoon lets out a little laugh. “We are, but we’re not miracle workers. We can’t guarantee a win even in the simplest case. But we do guarantee our best with some of the best lawyers in the field.” 

He caps this off with a little smile, one that makes his eyes look kind and his dimples pop. 

The songwriter melts a little and she honest-to-god starts twirling her hair around her finger.

“Well, if it looks like we’re not going to win the case, I’m not above settling with this guy.” 

You look over at Jungkook in confusion. She was adamant that she wouldn’t settle at the top of the meeting. He mouths back, The Namjoon Effect.

Ah. Yes. You can relate.  

“Understood.” Namjoon gives her another smile as he closes his legal pad. “And unless there’s anything else you would like for us to take into consideration…?” 

“I think that’s it.” 

She gives him a coy smile as he gestures her out of the conference room. "Thank you so much for your time."

Namjoon turns to you and Jungkook once she's gone down the hallway.

“Right. What’s our angle?” 

You and Jungkook look at each other in surprise. High profile cases usually go to Namjoon and you assumed this one would too.

You only ever play the “What’s our angle?” game when the case will go to one of the junior associates. The game is simple. Whoever has the best pitch gets the case. It's a brilliant move on Namjoon's part, really. It taps into you and Jungkook's natural competition and it makes you think out of the box to win cases. You’re keeping an informal tally in the back of your planner and so far, it’s an even split. 

This time, Jungkook beats you to the draw. “We still have contacts in the music industry who can be expert witnesses. With these two songs, it’ll come down to the specific instrumentation, composition, and lyrical flow.” 

You can feel the case slipping through your fingers — you haven’t been at Bang & Associates long enough to have a long list of contacts yet and Jungkook minored in music composition in college. He has all the advantage here and he knows it. He smiles, like he’s already gotten lead on the case. 

You shake your head anyway and speak up. 

“That’s an important component to the case, definitely, but it’s not the determining factor. There’s been an increase in these types of cases, with two high-profile cases in just the last six moths and countless others that flew under the radar, and the trend I’ve seen is that the outcome depends on precedent and how IP laws fit around the specific musical particularities.” 

Jungkook clenches his jaw, his tongue playing with his lip ring. Both of you wait while Namjoon deliberates. It’s all part of the game, one that Namjoon takes seriously. He considers every facet and it takes him unbearable minutes to make a decision. You've learned to not second-guess your pitches and to be comfortable in the silence.

This time, though, you don’t have long to wait. He nods and points at you. “Good thinking. You’re taking lead on this case. Jungkook, I want you on support. Normally, I’d take this case, but I have the class-action suit on my plate, and I can’t spare Jimin or Hoseok. Bring me your complete plan by COB tomorrow. Send me a calendar invite for a time that works for both of you.” 

You want to grin and do a little victory dance, but you nod instead, in a way that you hope looks level-headed. 

“Will do. Thanks, boss.” 

Namjoon's eyebrow twitches at the title and he gives you a look you can't fully parse. He leaves the conference room with a strange two finger salute.

Jungkook gives you a disgruntled look as soon as Namjoon is out of sight. You give him a smug grin in return. This is the second case in a row you've won, and you can officially tally yourself ahead by one.

“Congrats, I guess,” he says as he goes to leave.

You reach out a hand to stop him, your fingers brushing his sleeve. He looks down at your hand like it offends him and all his ancestors before him. He's sulking again.

“Do you have any meetings now?” It's impossible to deal with him when he's like this, but you have a quick turnaround on this case, so it leaves you no choice.

“Nothing on the schedule,” he says.

“Let’s meet now, then. Come to my office.” 

He follows you and sits in one your guest chairs, slumping down, spreading his legs long and wide. One of his legs bounces up and down. He doesn’t meet your eyes.

You lean back against your desk instead of sitting behind it. 

“Given you’re the music expert here, what’s your opinion on the songs? Do you think we have a good chance of winning? Just based on the songs themselves.” 

He shrugs. “Right now, it’s a toss-up. I’ll have to take a closer listen to really be able to say. But I have a couple of friends in the music industry who we’ve used before as expert witnesses. They’ll break it down to the nitty gritty.” 

“Great, get me those names and the specifics of how they can help with the case by the end of the day. Contact them if you can to see if they're willing to be our witnesses. I’ll take a closer look at the caselaw and the suit itself and get the memo for Namjoon together tomorrow morning. Unless you can think of something from the precedent perspective?” 

“Seems like you’ve got that part covered.” His tongue pokes out into his cheek, still not looking at you.

“Okay, then. I think that’s it. Maybe we can chat tomorrow before lunch to make sure we have all the bases covered.” 

He doesn’t respond, just gives you the barest of nods and gets up to head towards the door. 

“Jeon.” 

He turns in your doorway to look back at you. You’re still leaning against your desk, arms crossed. He takes you in, his eyes trailing from your heels all the way up to meet your eyes. Your breath hitches as his expression shifts to something darker. Hungrier.  

“Should I let you win next time so I don’t have to deal with you acting like a whiny little baby?” 

He huffs out a little laugh and rolls his eyes. The look from a second ago is gone. 

“If you did, I’d call Area 51 to make sure there was no extraterrestrial activity in the area because you’d for sure be an alien in disguise.” 

He leaves, the sound of his soft chuckle trailing behind him. It takes a second for your breath to return to normal. 

You and Jungkook go to court after a couple weeks of trying to negotiate a settlement, armed with files, documents and expert opinions. Namjoon takes time from his class-action suit to supervise. 

The case drags on for a week. Photographers swarm the court. They snap a picture of you, Namjoon, and Jungkook on the way to the courtroom the third day and the picture goes viral. It’s the first time any of your cases have been in the public eye like this. Even though you’re the defense, the internet goes crazy, with endless “Mommy? Sorry, Mommy? Sorry? Daddy?” memes. 

Whenever you’re in the office, you get playful comments from your coworkers. Jimin swears he didn’t mean to include the firm-wide distribution list in his email to the PR team about the photo. You don’t believe him, but you can’t really be too mad at him. 

It’s one of the best pictures you’ve ever seen of yourself. The three of you look like a promo picture for a legal drama on cable TV, with you in the middle, holding your own between your stupid-hot coworkers. 

Jungkook looks like a federal agent, his all-black suit fitted in the right places. He carries a shiny leather briefcase and the glimpse of the tattoos on the hand holding the briefcase is primarily what has the internet in shambles. 

Namjoon, in a navy suit and tie, looks like the hottest politician you’ve ever seen. His brown hair sweeps away from his face, lethal in wire-frame glasses. 

“Damn, girl, you look hot.” Your best friend, Nina, looks at the photo on her phone. You’re at brunch at your favorite cafe the weekend after the trial ends. “Aren’t you glad I convinced you to get that suit?” 

The court ruled in your favor, and your client — graciously — didn’t counter-sue the independent artist. Instead, she offered to have him feature on her latest single, so the royalties can cover the legal fees that he’s now responsible for paying. 

You’re sitting in the patio, an umbrella shading you from the unseasonably hot late fall sun. The rickety patio table groans under the weight of poached eggs, bacon, smoked salmon, fruit, and the best pancakes in the city. The mimosas go down easy. Life is good.

“I was running on so little sleep that day. The suit was really the saving grace.” 

You bought it on a whim on a semi-drunk post-brunch shopping trip with Nina a few weeks before you joined Bang & Associates. You balked at the price, but Nina reminded you of the massive pay increase you were about to get, and you caved. The suit fits you perfectly, with the skirt hugging in all the right places and the cropped suit jacket adding the illusion of height to your frame. You feel invincible every time you wear it. 

It’s thanks to Nina that you’re breaking out of the boring black and grey suits. She’s a local fashion influencer and runs a trendy boutique in the artsy part of town. 

“Nah, girl. The suit is the added bonus. It’s you in that photo totally rocking it.” 

“I wanna get that framed.” 

Nina laughs and clinks her glass against yours. You’re both a little drunk on mimosas and sunshine. “I’ll do it for Christmas.” 

You’re pleasantly buzzed when your post-meal lattes come out. Nina chokes as she goes to take a sip, her eyes wide. 

“Is that…” 

She doesn’t need to finish her sentence. You follow her gaze and thankfully, your cup is firmly on the table because you would have otherwise snorted coffee out of your nose. 

A sweaty and glistening Namjoon and Jungkook cross the wooden patio to go inside the cafe. They must have been running in the park across the street because they're dressed in exercise clothes, both in sleeveless tops and shorts that leave little to the imagination.

Namjoon is practically glowing. His shirt clings to his chest, outlining muscle you didn’t know existed until this moment. He runs a hand through his sweaty hair as they walk across the patio, biceps flexing. 

Your mouth hangs open. Muscle definition, on top of everything else?

Jungkook’s tattoos are on full display. You’ve seen part of them before, when he rolls his sleeves up at work, but you had no idea he had a full sleeve, bold and colorful. His sweaty hair sticks to his face, the waves even more pronounced. 

The spell breaks as soon as they disappear into the cafe. You and Nina exhale at the same time. 

“That’s indecent,” you breathe. 

“Holy mother of God,” she mutters. “How do you get any work done around the office?”

“They’re usually not prancing around half-naked.”

“I want to put my hands on their chests and squeeze.” She puts her hands out and makes grabby hands. 

You let out a squeak and swat her across the table. “Nina! Why would you put that image in my head? How am I going to get through meetings? I’m not gonna be able to look them in the eye.” 

“I would ask why you haven’t slept with them yet, but I know you’re too proper to shit where you eat.” She shakes her head. “College you would have been all over that.” 

“Namjoon is practically a monk,” you say morosely.

Nina chokes on her coffee again. “Oh my god, you actually like him.” 

A tiny, pitiful wail escapes you. “I mean, you just saw him, Neen. He looks like that and he’s nice and smart. It’s like if a man like Namjoon exists, he ruins all other men, really.” 

“What about e-boy?” 

You snort. “He’s cute, but he’s in l—“ 

“Cute?” Your friend looks at you incredulously. “That’s the understatement of the year. I want that man to pin me against the wall and — shit. They’re coming this way. Quick. Pretend we’re talking about my shop.” 

You swallow your coffee nervously. “Um. Tell me about the clothes you set aside for me?” 

“Oh!” She perks up, eyes shining. “Remind me to send you pictures. I just got the most gorgeous dress that would be great for your holiday party!” 

“Already? It’s not even November yet.” 

Nina rolls her eyes. “Your firm’s holiday party is the event in the law world. I’m not even in law and I’ve known about it since grad school.” 

You hear your name called, and your heart rate picks up. Your coworkers walk towards your table with iced coffees in their hands. From what you know about their usual coffee orders, Namjoon’s is an iced americano and Jungkook’s is some ungodly sweet concoction involving every syrup they have available. They look less flushed now coming out of the air conditioned cafe. 

“Come here often?” 

You roll your eyes. “Terrible line, Jeon. Working out?”

“Yeah, I live a couple blocks down and Namjoon wanted a running buddy today.”

“Sunshine is good for your health,” says Namjoon. “God knows we don’t get nearly enough when we’re in the office.” 

You wouldn’t know it from the way his skin glows golden in the sun.

“Oh, we must be neighbors,” you say to Jungkook before you get stuck ogling Namjoon’s exposed skin. “I’m a few blocks that way too.” 

You can feel Nina’s eyes boring hole in your skull. “By the way, this is my best friend Nina. Nina, this is Namjoon and Jungkook. Namjoon’s my boss, and Jungkook is the other junior litigation associate.” 

“Oh yeah, I thought I recognized you,” says Nina.

“The picture?” asks Jungkook. 

“The picture,” you confirm. “I kind of want to get it framed so I can show my grandchildren someday.” You put on an old lady voice. “‘Look kids, granny used to be a hotshot lawyer.’”

A thrum of satisfaction runs through you when they laugh at your joke. Namjoon’s eyes push up into half-moons and Jungkook’s nose scrunches in the most adorable way.

“Anyway, we won’t keep you.” Namjoon places a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder and steers him toward the exit. Jungkook inhales at the contact, and his cheeks redden a shade. You wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t watching him. “Have a great rest of your weekend.” 

“Enjoy the sunshine,” you say with a wave. 

“See you at work!” Jungkook calls over his shoulder. 

As soon as they’re out of view, you and Nina slump over. 

“Enjoy the sunshine? Really?” You bury your face in your hands. 

Nina pickup her coffee cup and puts it back down without taking a sip. “Why doesn’t my boyfriend have dimples. Why do I even have a stupid boyfriend?” 

The following week, you find the photo framed on your desk, wrapped in a simple ribbon.

So you can show your future grandchildren, reads the note. There’s no signature. 

It can only be one of two people and you decide not to say anything to either of them, you just simply put the picture up in one of the empty spots on your bookshelf. You don’t want to know how you would feel if you knew for certain who gifted it to you, and what it would mean for those hypothetical and very unprofessional feelings you definitely aren’t feeling already. 

That doesn’t stop you from tucking the note in the back pocket of your planner anyway. Just in case. 

A few weeks later, you’re wading your way through a series of ownership bylaws for the city’s pro basketball team. You lost the “What’s our angle?” game, and the case went to Jungkook. He actually fist-pumped in victory when he got lead. This means you’ve been sitting on at your desk for the past week, with fuzzy slippers and yellow-light glasses on as you scroll through endless PDF’s to find your client an out from ownership without having to pay a massive fine. 

A knock on your office door breaks your concentration. It takes your eyes a second to focus on something further than your computer screen. Namjoon leans against the doorjamb, coat on.

“Had lunch yet?” 

“No, I was going to wait until after our meeting.” Your computer pings helpfully with a calendar reminder and your stomach follows up with a growl. Breakfast consisted of a sad piece of toast and a latte too many hours ago, and you were too nervous for your performance review to even think about a snack. 

Namjoon chuckles. “Let’s do this over lunch, then. I’m starving, too.” 

You draw your coat around you when you step out of the office. The temperature has dropped decidedly in the past few days. No more sunny autumn days, just the impending chill of a snow-filled winter. You wrap your arms around your stomach in the pretext of warding off the chill.

In reality, you stomach is doing flips, and you don’t know if it’s because you’re hungry or because you’re nervous for your performance review. Objectively, you know you’re doing well. You’re efficient and ruthless in court, but when it comes to performance reviews, you’ve been blindsided before.

It’s almost inevitable that you end up at Cat’s Pajamas. It’s close to the office, they serve delicious food, and the owner, a slim, quiet man named Yoongi, is a longtime friend of Namjoon’s. You’re in there at least once a week, whether for a client meeting or just as an excuse to get out of the office for lunch. Whenever you’re there with your coworkers, you get a little treat sent from the kitchen, usually one of the cookies that Jin, Yoongi’s business partner, makes fresh every morning.

Yoongi stands at the host stand and greets Namjoon with a handshake. 

"Just you two today?" he asks, eyes flitting between you and Namjoon.

Namjoon nods. “How’s business?”

“I think your firm is keeping us afloat,” says Yoongi with a serious face. You think he’s joking.

He leads you to the back of the restaurant. It’s unusually crowded today, with office workers sheltering from the first cold snap of the season. 

Namjoon gestures for you to go first. You don’t know if it’s your imagination, but as you walk through the restaurant, you think you feel a whisper of a touch against your upper back, fingertips gently guiding you through the maze of tables. A shiver runs down your back, and you keep your eyes forward as you walk. You don't look back to confirm.

You're off balance already, and knowing that Namjoon is the type to guide you with a gentle touch would tip you over into the deep end.

Yoongi seats you in your usual booth. This probably means good things for your review, you tell yourself. The booth is secluded enough, but if there was anything serious to discuss, you would hope your boss would have the sense to have this meeting behind closed doors. You place your orders as you sit.

Namjoon takes out a paper form from his briefcase when Yoongi walks away. You must look worried because he gives you a reassuring smile. 

“Just an HR form to document the performance review. It’s dreadfully overdue, but it’s my fault, and I apologize for that. This was supposed to be your three-month review, but we're now at what, five months?"

He makes a face and starts filling out the top of the form. Your heartbeat speeds up and you play with the hem of the tablecloth under the table. Does that face mean good things or bad things? 

He looks up at you with a smile. Good things? 

“Unless you have anything to bring up with me, this is going to be quick. So far, I’m pleased with the work that you’re doing for the firm. Even though you’ve only been with us for a few months, you’ve integrated excellently with the rest of the team. Everyone has nothing but great things to say about working with you, so we can mark all these boxes as exceptional…”

You let out a sigh of relief as he concentrates on ticking boxes and filling out comments. All the tension you had stored up in your shoulders releases as you get the verbal confirmation that your performance has been up to par. 

“And I think that’s it. Anything you want to say to me on the record?” 

An image of Nina making grabby hands rises unbidden, and you have to fight to keep a straight face. 

“I don’t think so. I’ve been happy working here. The work is rewarding and I like your management style. I appreciate that you let us junior associates take ownership of our work and empower us to make our own decisions and mistakes.” 

“Ah, that’s too kind,” he says with a bashful smile, waving away your comments. “I’m glad you’re enjoying your time here." He pauses. "Is that all? No HR complaints to be filed against Jimin?” 

You laugh and shake your head.

“If anything does come up, you know my door is always open.” He looks at you with a serious look. “And I mean that. If you ever need to talk about anything, you can come to me.”

“I appreciate that, boss.” 

His expression flickers at the title, but he gives you a wide smile as he lifts his water glass in a toast. “Then, here’s to a successful working relationship and more wins in court.” 

You clink your glass against his, unable to stop the grin that spreads across your face. 

Lunch arrives soon after and you spend the rest of the hour chatting about an exhibit you both attended at the modern art museum. You get the sense that’s where his passion lies by the way he lights up when he talks about the artist’s specific choice of material for her sculptures and what that conveys about her underlying message on global warming. He makes you promise that you’ll go to the artist’s pop-up exhibit during the Christmas markets. 

You're amazed that he has time for anything outside of work. You barely do, and he’s at the office just as much as you are these days. 

It strikes you that this is the first time you've sat down with Namjoon for a one-on-one meal. Every other time has been a client meeting or after-work drinks with the team. The conversation flows easily and you feel like you could keep talking to him forever.

By the end of the meal, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much, and your heart hurts a little because why did you have to meet Namjoon at this stage in your life? You excuse yourself to the restroom, but head to the host stand instead to pay the bill. 

Yoongi waves you off before you can say anything, not even looking up from what he’s writing. “Namjoon’s already paid for it. You’re all good.”

“Oh.” You’re elbow deep in your bag searching for your wallet.

“You know, he’ll never say anything because he’s your boss and all, so you’ll have to make the first move.” 

“Excuse me?”

You freeze before you can extricate yourself from your bag. Is it your imagination, or did he really say what you think he said? You don't know, your heartbeat is so loud in your ears.

“Excuse me?”

He looks up from his notebook, eyebrow raised, looking at you like you’re an idiot. You can feel the tips of your ears turning red. “It’s obvious he likes you. I've seen the way he looks at you whenever you're all in here. And you like him, if I’m not reading you wrong. All of his coworkers are head over heels for him. So you have to make the first move unless you want to be in this—“ he gestures vaguely at you “— forever. He’s a brilliant lawyer, but an idiot when it comes to relationships.” 

“I’m really not sure what you mean.” Your voice comes out in a squeak. You clear your throat and change the subject. “Where’s the restroom?” 

“I think you’ve been here enough times to know where the restroom is.” 

You can't even come up with a retort, you just walk away, cheeks flaming. If Yoongi can tell, everyone probably can.

And yes, you do know exactly where the restroom is.

A/N: Ok my friends! Remember when I said it was slow burn? Fun things should start to happen next chapter 👀 Again, I don't know anything about The Law, so if you do and you see something wrong in this fic, no you didn't, it's my fictional universe and yes this is how the The Law works in my fantasy land thank you. This is the energy I'm bringing to this fic and all my writing, so... yeah, I’d love feedback if you have any, but feel no obligation. Hope you like it ~

©sowoozoo-7 2023

Please do not copy or repost. I do not crosspost anywhere else.

[b0rista]

i don't really know how tumblr reqs works but you write for marco right ?? 🤩 can you write some hcs for him 😟😟 ( sorry if I sound rude or dry 😭😭😭 )

— 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐓.

WARNINGS: language.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: NONFOGNO it wasn't rude or dry at all!! lowkey i got super excited reading this because LAWD i've been wanting to write some marco dating hcs 🥺 i love him way too much like this isn't healthy bye

"you don't get it— you had my heart before i was even given the chance to refuse."

without a doubt, marco's shirt was tailored with the utmost boyfriend material. this may anger some of y’all, but out of the men of the 104th, this man has to be one of the best when it comes to relationships. the epitome of perfection, dare i say. beautiful boy. 

there was probably a lot of pining going on before the two of you decided to get together, if we’re being honest. during your three years of cadet training, marco’s crush on you was absolutely and utterly hopeless. at least, that’s what he thought. the guys didn’t do much to help, either. instead of encouraging him, they teased him. after all, who the hell’s dumb enough to fall in love in a place like this? after all, you’re practically training for your own death. and while marco knew that, that didn’t make his feelings toward you any less intrusive. even while watching you swing from tree to tree during ODM training, he still caught himself gawking at your absolite effortless beauty, earning himself quite the scolding from his own conscious. hell, one time, you caught him staring at you during training, and he face planted into a tree. that time, it was commander shadis that gave him the scolding. which,, is always terrifying. 

before and during your guys’ relationship, marco’s love language is an endless amount of consolation. of course, this goes for everyone, but especially you. seeing you hopless is something that he doesn’t ever want to have to say, so with that being said, he does everything in his power to keep your spirits lifted. and if you’re ever down, he’ll know. you can’t hide your feelings from this man, he’s far too intuitive for his own good. and even if you’re fine, he’ll still go above and beyond with his words of affirmation. it’s who he is. 

during your trainee days, you spent a lot of time with him, jean, sasha, and connie. no matter the circumstances, that was your crowd. really, it was just a huddle of idiot teenagers half-assedly working to become soldiers. even so, they were the ones that got you through it. 

^ honestly, if it weren’t for marco’s constant encouragement, you likely would have quit the training to go work on the farmlands. whenever you tell him that, though, he sheepishly shuts you down, contradicting his own denial through the very thing that made you a shoulder.

“you’re giving me too much credit, y’know. i may have chipped in, but it was you that got you to where you are now. it always was, and it always will be.” 

yeah, this freckled bastard is your go-to therapist. half of the time, you don’t even go to him for help; he comes to you. it’s like he has this sense, or something- no matter how far apart the two of you are, he can feel whenever it is you’re unhappy. perhaps his intuition is just that good, or the two of you are simply soulmates, linked together through delicate intertwinement. quietly, marco believes the latter. back to the main topic of discussion, though. one of his main objectives is to solve whatever problems you may have, even if they have absolutely nothing to do with him. no matter the circumstances, it’s his duty to keep that sweet, soothing smile on your face. without it, his world is dull. 

love letters. yeah, that’s right. for his safety within the boy’s barracks, he’s asked that you keep them a secret,, but marco writes you one to two love letters a month. it isn’t a dramatic amount, and they aren’t all that lengthy, but they never fail to get you to swoon. he’s got a way with words, and when it comes to the likes of you, they’re as passionate as ever. really, he could go on and on about you, page after page, and never find himself getting bored. with every fiber of his being, he’s absolutely smitten over you.

of course, though, the letters don’t start making an appearance until after the two of you establish your relationship. which, as always, i’ll leave that up to you! however, it was probably some time during the end of your time as cadet trainees. after three whole years of helplessly pining for you, i can see him gathering enough courage to actually confess to you. with jean’s encouragement, of course (even though it was more like pRessurinG plspls). 

it can get a little overbearing at times, but marco likes to try and help you with everything and anything. you can’t quite reach that top shelf? don’t worry, he’s got you. struggling with your gear? alright, what’s the problem, he’ll fix it. you’re taking an extra moment to count horses, and he’s already rushing to lend a helping hand. at some point, you’ll have to communicate that although it’s sweet that he’s always trying to make things easier for you, he’ll have to give you the chance to actually learn a thing or do. once you do, he’ll take literally everything into consideration, and try his hardest to stop himself whenever there’s a possible learning exercise in your way. 

cheek kisses! an endless amount, at that. out of everywhere on your body, marco favors your cheeks, if he could, he’d pepper them in kisses all day long. unfortunately, though, he can’t, so he’ll stick to sneaking in little pecks in between every other hour of the day. the two of you live for those moments where he cups either side of your face, plants a sweet kiss onto your cheek, and rushed back to finish whatever it was he was meant to be doing. as expected, they always manage to leave you craving more. 

ah, jean. the third wheel you never fucking asked for. he’s such a pest, and marco refuses to get rid of him, literally ever. with that being said, he’s practically an honorary member of your guys’ relationship. the amount of times you and marco have been cozied up together on the sofa only to be very rudely interrupted by jean sLipping in between the two of you is ridiculous. you and your boyfriend have cancelled dates for this man, simply because he doesn’t want to be alone. typically, it’s jean giving marco the puppy dog eyes, and then in suite, marco giving you the puppy dog eyes, which you simply cannot resist. 

honestly, it’s nearly impossible to get this man jealous. you’ve tried, it should not be as difficult as it is. of course, i said nearly impossible. really, marco’s funny when he gets jelly. he isn’t overly edgy, or agGressive with you- he’s more,, chaotically conflicted. one night, you were feeling a bit more committed to the cause, so you mindlessly sat on reiner’s lap during dinner in the mess hall. marco, who was busy rough-housing with jean, choked. 

"iSTHATCOMFORTABLEORSOMETHING-"

reiner: 🧍‍♂️

during the quiet of the night, you enjoy tenderly kissing each and every one of his freckles you can see. starting with the ones dusted along his face, to his shoulders, to his arms, and so on. usually, marco's far too tired to fully react, but he's always softly smiling, silently admiring you while a hand tangles itself within the locks of your hair.

it's been confirmed that marco's a big brother, so that's definitely a thing. even if you've only been together for a short amount of time at this point, marco would want you to meet his family. after all, he's quite literally in love with you. why not start the formalities earlier than necessary? even if you don't make too good of an impression, he's sure that one day, his family will be one that you're apart of. he wouldn't have it any other way.

he's flustered easily. the smallest thing could happen, and he's red in the face, stumbling over his words, all of it. of course, you only find it endearing. rake your fingers through his hair while he's a blushing mess, you'll never get enough of it. beneath your touch, he crumbles.

one night, after a rougher session of training, you took hold of marco's busted and blistered knuckles, which had been dirtied on the field. while he thought nothing of it, you moved them to your lips, planting a sweet kiss along the bridge as a form of comfort. he absolutely melted, and it was the birth of a beautiful pattern. whenever his fists are battered, your kiss mends them right back together.

during chores, you and him tend to hum together in sync. it's a surprisingly pleasing harmony, and it's become a shared habit to make up silly melodies to hum to whenever you run out. and whenever you're in need of comfort, expect to hear him quietly humming one of the songs the two of you made up while softly rubbing your back. vice versa, as well.

one time, you raspberried his bare stomach. he's never felt so violated in his life. another time, he did the same to you, and the fact that you laughed? yeah, it's an often occurrence. raspberries are real in this relationship, bitch.

[therabine]

In case you were wondering why wordbuilding for Ravka feels so random

After going down the rabbit hole in my search for answers I've stumbled across this conversation on goodreads dated back to the November of 2013, where Leigh Bardugo replied to some reasonable criticism about her 'cultural inspiration"- https://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/1533856-has-bardugo-talked-about-the-russian-inconsistencies This conversation is quite long and miss Leigh gave about three replies to various questions from people that were deeply bothered by the very surface level research she did on the Russian cilture. Here are the major highlights, plus the other things I've found while goodling: 1) As far as I've understood - neither she nor her publishers expected the first book to blow up like this. So even though there was obvoiusy a lack of proper research and some mistakes variying from minor to insulting, now that she's an esteemed author Leigh claims all of it to be deliberate choices adding that "deliberate choices aren't necessarily good ones". She also tries to lift the responsibility off her shoulders, mentioning that her work "was reviewed not just by my editor, but by copy editors, proofreaders, multiple foreign editors, and foreign copy editors". Not a single word about actual Russian-speaking person/expert reviweing the text or helping her out with creating the Ravkan language though. The only person she's ever credited as the one who helped her out with creating Ravkan is Erdene Ukhaasai from Mongolia that she's been friends on Facebook at the time (source on this one - https://ageofsteam.wordpress.com/2012/04/25/genre-friction-what-is-tsarpunk-by-leigh-bardugo/ ). The Facebook page under this name currently doesn't exist and the only results that Google shows on this person are the mentions that Leigh Bardugo gave in her interview, so unfortunately I couldn't reach out for clarification on this topic. Still, it's highly unlikey that someone with zero publications under their name would be a proffesional linguist and therefore qualified for such a task. 2) Within your secondary world, unless you are writing satire, things should make internal sense. That world could not arize independently of its context. The problem with the Bardugo's Ravka is that it's based on Russian Empire alone, yet she claims that "it's only Russian inspired" without acknowledging that most people that are not familiar with the culture will take it in as authentic. She takes the words and objects out of the context, misgenders names and last names and creates new 'russian-sounding" words without understanding how the grammar works. Which is a shame, given how flexible Russian language is - the possibility for the word-building is endless and with the right guidance she truly could make some unique and meaningful terms specifically for the Ravka. Also on the alcoholic kvas issue - Leigh proudly claims this as a solution to be a vodka "substitute", because vodka would be too on the nose and too common (more on the matter here -https://www.leighbardugo.com/grishaverse/the-archives/tongue-twister/). What didn't cross her mind is that instead of turning a non-alcoholic drink into strong booze for "wordbuilding" it would be much better to use less known drinks whic do contain alcohol - braga, samogon, nalivka - just to name a few.

3) To elaborate on some of the specific issues with names and last names: Leigh doesn't seem to understand how gendered surnames work in Russian. That's why we get stuff like Alina Starkov (when it's supposed to be Starkova, because she's a woman) and Alexander Morozova (Morozov would be a correct form) etc. This system is never consistent - Mal Oretsev gets to have a male surname, but so does Genya Safin and Zoya Nazyalensky has a weird non-gendered kind of in between last name (very much in fashion of Natasha Romanoff, who would be called Natalia Romanova in Russian). Also must mention Ana Kuya - poor woman's name literally sounds like "why the f*ck" in Russian, that's about just as bad as naming your Asian character Whata Phuck. Again - none of this nonsense would happen if someone bothered to find a Russian-speaking person to read the text. Other Russian words she tries to throw in seem to be the result of a bad Google Translate, rather than a conscious choice: for example the word otkazats'ya that she uses to describe non-grishas is actually a verb that translates as "to refuse". The noun with the meaning of "the refused one" would be otkaznik or otkazniki for a plural form. Same with sobachka ("small dog") - the context from the book suggests this nickname to be an insulting one, so the word we're really looking for would be shchenok ("puppy") or shavka ("mongrel", "cur"). The list of those examples, honestly, goes on and on.

4) Leigh does mention that she "can acknowledge that the choices I made in building the language and culture of Ravka came from a place of insularity and a type of privilege". However she's more keen to talk about how she has "certainly encountered critics, but I've also had Russian fans"...Which to me sounds about just as bad as stating "I do have *insert a minority racial group* friends and they say that me doing *insert a dubious act* is fine". The problem is that Russian culture has been demonized and overlooked for so long that most people (myself included) tend to praise content creators for including even the most sterytypical "insprations". Just because some people are willing to excuse her voluntary ignorance, doesn't mean that it's okay.

5) No books on Russian culture that she's mentioned as part of the resarch were written by Russian authors. And while reading the SaB it becomes crystal clear that that the major 'cultural inspiration' Leigh got was not from those books, but from the monstrosity that is her tsapunk pinterest board - https://www.pinterest.ru/lbardugo/tsarpunk-inspiration/ . About 80% of the stuff there doesn't even relate to Russian culture and the rest is a mash of modern knockoffs.

To summorize it: Leigh very much knew about the concerns surrounding her "Russian-inspired" Ravka which were respectfully brought to her consideration by her Russian speaking fans back in 2012-2013. She said "I've taken it to heart and it's something that I've tried to be conscious of as I move forward in the series and my other work", apologized and then she did nothing to do better. She marketed Shadow and Bone as "Tsarpunk", fetishisizing Russian culture and using it as a unique setting to uplift a generic "light vs. dark" fantasy plot supported by the bland narrative of the Chosen One. There was an effort and will to make a change for the better, not a single letter has been changed for us. When I think about, I can't really remember anything that would ring as a thoughtful and clever element adapted into the story from Russian culture. If everything is always altered or twisted, if there is nothing true or authentic then should you really call it Russian-inspired? Should you really make profit off it and call this aesthetic tsarpunk?

Leigh Bardugo could have fixed the most jarring problems with the material while doing the adaptation from book to screen, but she chose not to. There was no effort made to include more people of slavic descent as a major part of production team or as background actors. Almost nothing of the production design or clothing was inspired by Russian culture. To elaborate: I'm not even mad. I'm just deeply sad and hurt by the indifference.

Some might argue that this book series was not written for Russians, that it was written for the western audience. But don't they deserve respectfully researched and authentic stories too?

[shini--chan]

OKAY IMAGINE THIS - by some mirracle, s/o get teleported back in time to the pirate era and suddenly just drops from the sky as Antonio and Arthur are battling! Everything comes to a halt because a friggin woman fell from literally nowhere - Arthur is quicker and he captures s/o first, DEMANDING to know where she is from, how did she get here. Poor s/o tries to tell him the truth but it just isn't working. How stupid do you think Arthur is, huh?! He's not buying what you're selling love! (1/?)

Oh blazes, my dear. You’re trying to seduce me into writing a novel for you, correct. Well, not today (sadly) so I’ll be going ahead with my usual mixture of headcanons and snippets. Also, to everybody out there: Requests are still being accepted – I just can’t bring myself to close my ask box.

Also, I wanted to write Arthur’s and Antonio’s lines in an older English, but then I remembered what it was like having to read books from the 19th century for school and decided not to inflict the torture upon you.

Yandere Love Triangle: England vs Spain (Historical Pirate AU!)

As mentioned in the ask, you would be minding your own business, more or less, when you would suddenly be granted two of the wishes many harbour in their hearts: to time travel and have an adventure. Unfortunately for you, that wouldn’t happen with a forewarning and you wouldn’t have any chance to blend in. I wouldn’t say the battle would completely stop – with all the smoke and gunpowder and bangs going on only those close by would have a chance noticing.

Antonio was having a wonderful day. Yes, extremely wonderful. Life on the ship had been very good as of late, supplies running high and spirits even higher. They were reaching their climax now, with Spain showing England the business ends of sword and cutlas and cannon. It was a fitting sort of revenge being able to rob the lilly-livered bastard after he had stolen so much Spanish silver and gold.

The runt in question was baring his teeth and snarling like a cornered dog while their blades were interlocked, when Antonio heard a loud crash from behind England. It was probably just part of the ruckus of a sea battle, yet something – his fantastic intuition most likely – advised him to take a look. Of course, making the other combatant to move just how he wanted proved to be tricky, because Arthur had always been an uncooperative like blight and liked to fight dirty.

Yet he wasn’t a famed duellist for nothing. The sight that caught his attention when he got the opportunity to see it nearly caused him to lose an arm due to inattention. Men of both sides had briefly abandoned the battle to crowd around a failing figure that was desperately trying to free itself from a tangle of nets and torn sails. The onlookers whispered amongst themselves. The chorus of voices only grew louder when a very confused woman.

He found himself remarking: “It seems like you’ve finally started to develop a good taste in bed mates. Say, when did that happen, fishy. I always thought that you’d have luck to get a starved old tramp to warm your bed.”

“Shut up, Anthony!”, came the immediate reply, proving that the island nation wasn’t aware about what he was playing at. “Let’s not get on about you. Or should I tell your precious monarch about what you do in the stables when all the servants are gone?”

Pathetic little weasel. Enraged, Antonio brought the hilt of his sword down on that pale, cruel face and busted a pair of thin lips. “You should guard yourself from spreading lies, English pigdog. Or else the Almighty himself will smite you.”

Naturally, being the cunning demon he was, England used the opening Spain had provided him to barrel into him and send him flying overboard and into the sea.

That action would be quick to turn the tides, especially with so many men coming to aid their captain and help him out of water. This would result in Arthur then discovering you on his ship, probably when his first mate would rush to him and explain that a very strange women in a strange get-up had just suddenly appeared on the ship.

England would go and investigate and discover you surrounded by his crew, each of them having different responses to your presence and hence causing quite a commotion. He too would find you utterly alien – in your attire, in your mannerisms, even in your speech. But Arthur would be ever the pragmatic and reason that there would have to be another explanation to your appearance, one that doesn’t include miracles. But because he wouldn’t have either the time or the head space to deal with you at the moment, he’d have to thrown in the brig with strict orders to leave you alone. That would also be a way for him to torture you and force you to wallow in your worries and terrors.

The brackish water of the brig had long since made your feet wet, cotton soaks completely soaked through and chilling you. The stench it all emitted, and Arthur’s relentless questioning only further enhanced your discomfort.

He was prowling in front of your cage-like cell, like a tiger in the zoo. Only that he didn’t want to break out, rather that he was being continuously tempted to drag you out of your cell and onto the deck to be flogged for your insolence.

“At every turn you say to me that you’re from the future and that you don’t know how you came here”, he rehearsed the main points of your conversation with him. There had been a snarl on his face the whole time throughout the interrogation, his anger only making his voice curl tightly around the vowels and roll the r’s harder until you had to strain to understand him.

Mutely you nodded – you yourself had come to the conclusion that he understood you better when you kept your words simply, underlay them with gestures and expressions and spoke slowly.

In return, England shook his head and spat: “I do not believe you. Going backwards in time is impossible, it only goes forward.”

In any other situation you would have been inclined to agree with him. But you were living proof that there were glaring exceptions to that rule. Having unexpectedly landed in a long-gone era, you had first found yourself desperately grappling with your new reality. You had pinched yourself and read the letters on crates and barrel and closed your eyes and read them again to see if anything had changed – everything to assure yourself that you were dreaming.

You weren’t, nor had you taken any psychedelics, so this was painfully, gruesomely real. A fact that Arthur wasn’t excepting even with evidence right past the tip of his nose.

“Then how do you explain the ripped sails then? How do you explain my strange clothes?”, you questioned him. Then, after a brief pause, you asked: “How do you explain that I know who and what you are?”

You knowing that he was a personification of a budding Empire was a sore spot for him and made him even more suspicious of you. Something that was now backfiring on you.

He waved your words off with evident irritation and countered: “There are more reasonable explanation for all of that. That you’re a spy from a foreign country for example.”

Arthur would never cease with side-eying you and constantly be on the look-out for more logical explanations for your otherness. He would find them as well. Yet there would always be a little voice in the forefront of his mind nagging him that you are telling the truth and that he was wasting the opportunity of the millennia by blowing your words in the wind.

Those doubts would be the main reason he would keep you alive, along with his quest to extract the “truth” from you. However, there would be times when he would be tempted to fetch those thumbscrews from his quarters to see if you’d crack under pressure. Yet he would still restrain himself.

That wouldn’t mean your stay on his ship would be pleasant. You’d constantly be wet and cold, with rats crawling around the brig and your meals being a near inedible gruel that would be set aside for you.

Therefore, it would be an absolute relief when Spain would swoop in to rescue you. It would be an even greater wonder when he would actually listen to you and take into consideration what you would say.

“Tell me if I’ve got this right: In the future, you don’t send letters anymore that take months to reach another country. Instead, you send messages from small machines which the other person can read only after a few seconds, no matter how far away they are”, Antonio summed up what you had just cautiously explained to him.

You had been so shy when he had taken you aboard his vessel, so afraid he would just maltreat you like Arthur had. It had taken its time for him to convey that he was different from that godless brute, that he was civilized and patient. He wouldn’t disregard miracles and let them slip through his fingers. It had taken its own sweet time to coax you into telling the truth, but now you were sitting across him in his quarters, nodding enthusiastically.

“More or less, yes. There is a lot more to that, but that is the start of it”, you affirmed his words. You were relieved that you finally had somebody to talk to in this time were you previously had nobody. The food being served helped you weigh yourself into safety – fresh fruit and other perishable treats, an absolute luxury onboard a ship with a sizable crew. Indeed, you were becoming so comfortable with your host, your lifeline at this point, that you were betraying things about your future that you otherwise wouldn’t have.

And wasn’t yet about detail concretely concerning him, but you would both get there eventually. Spain was sure of that.

Meanwhile you didn’t notice the hungry gleam in his eyes when he purred: “Fascinating, my dear. What else can these things do?”

Being a Catholic, Antonio would be far more inclined to believe you on the time-traveling thing. He would also add two and two together on your strange clothes and their material, not to mention your different attitudes and behaviours and realise that you would be telling the truth. He would treat you kindly as a way of getting you to talk to him, eventually becoming the only person you could trust.

He would guard you jealously and ensure that you would only speak to him – having knowledge of the future would be a right he would reserve for himself alone. It would also cause him to become obsessed with you, keeping you in his quarters or leading you onto the deck at night for short walk. Of course, he would paint the whole isolating thing as he keeping you safe, saying that Arthur was after you.

The argument with Arthur would have far more validity then Antonio would even imagine. The wisdom that you don’t know what you really have until you lose it would be especially true in his case. It would finally dawn upon him that you were telling the truth the whole time and that would lead Arthur to beat himself up over it. A pursuit to recapture you would ensue.

Not to mention that it would make his blood boil to think that Spain would be courting you, persuading you to tell him everything he could ever want to know about the future. Besides  being a threat to his future existence and ongoing success, England would like to have all that knowledge himself and for himself only. Knowledge is power, after all.

Arthur would also miss you for your wit and endurance, fantasizing and dreaming of you to the point of obsession and never quitting his chase for you.

[legoshi-plz]

Captivity (Legoshi x Reader)

Summary: You and Legoshi are kidnapped and forced to breed. That’s it.

Warnings: Smut (NSFW 18+), Dark Themes/ Elements

A/N: @jiffygis requested a Legoshi x Omnivore! Reader so I went with a Dog because it fit the narrative of the story a little better.

///////////

“HELP! ANYONE PLEASE!” You scream as you’re thrown into the cellar. The floor is cold and hard, you scrape your knee on the way down.

“Y/N? Is that you?” You recognize that voice but it’s much too dark to see.

“Oh shit, that right you can’t see. It’s me, Legoshi,” Your heart leaps at the familiar name.

“Legoshi! Where are you, I can’t- I-,” you flail your arms until you come into contact with the soft warmth that is his fur. He takes your hand.

“Where are we?” You whine, a tremble of fear lacing your voice.

“I don’t know, I was with the rest of the art department setting up for the festival and next thing I knew, I woke up here. Do you remember how you got here?” You could hear in his voice he was trying to be rational and keep the panic at bay. For that you were grateful because you were already on the verge of tears.

“N-no,” you choked back a sob.

Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it tog-

“Well well well, what do we have here,” came a loud voice as the lights finally came on. You could finally see that the cellar wasn’t a cellar at all. It was a room with a large glass wall that revealed the source of the voice on the other side.

An older ram with horns so big they could have only been surgically enhanced stood on the other side. He wore an all red suit with gold cuff links and was flanked by two equally luxurious bulls, his protection no doubt.

“I see the boys weren’t lying when they said they’d brought me a prize. Quite the specimens indeed,” he grinned manically, revealing a set of pristine veneers.

“Who are you? What do you want from us?” Legoshi asked, subconsciously pushing you behind him in case things went astray.

“Ah yes, I suppose an explanation is in order. [Redacted]’s my name and I’m what you’d call.... a breeder. Used to breed for the Black Market but there’s no real money in that. Not like in Brawls that is.” Your heart sank at the words.

Brawls were an evolved form of antiquated Dogfights. They were illegal which made the underground circuit that much more profitable. You cringed at the thought of him entering you two into such a life. Legoshi was strong, an Alpha male, a wolf; he’d make it for sure. Yourself on the other hand? You were a Dog, a [Y/D/B] to be exact, one of the most domesticated species out there. You didn’t even eat meat for goodness sake! You wouldn’t last a minute in one of those bloodbaths.

“Seeing how easily my men brought you in, I can tell that neither of you can put up a fight. Looks like you’ll just have to serve a higher purpose.” The Ram guffawed a hideous laugh, his lackeys joining in obnoxiously.

“Please just let us go! We won’t tell anyone!” You yelp, still clinging to Legoshi’s hand.

“Oh I intend to let you go, dearie. After you’ve earned your freedom. You two are gonna breed me pups. Grey Wolf fighters will dominate in the ring and you’re going to give me a whole army of them.”

“But I’m not a Grey Wo-

“That’s clear to everyone in this room, Dog. But you’re young, healthy, and ripe for being bred. With genes as strong as his, they’ll run right through you.” He fished through his jacket pocket, pulling out a cigar and lighting it.

“Now.... how old are you two?” His lust-tinged eyes raked over the two of you.

“We’re highschoolers!” Legoshi spat, baring his fangs.

“That don’t answer my question.”

“Eighteen.” Legoshi said through gritted teeth.

“E-eighteen,” you sighed in defeat.

“Thought so. A little too young for my taste, so unfortunately I won’t be joining you for your first few breeds but maybe in future romps. However, my boys will be staying behind to make sure Wolfie gets the job done right.” The Ram began to make his exit, pausing right before he reached the doorway.

“And if he doesn’t get the job done right, my men will be sure to give you both a hands on demonstration on how to breed. And I assure you, no one breeds quite like bulls.”

The door slammed and you felt your heart drop. You looked up at Legoshi but he was refusing eye contact, his glare focused on the 2 enormous bulls on the other side of the glass who pulled up 2 chairs, waiting for the ‘show’ to start.

“Look we’re gonna give you about 15 minutes to get your shit together. Talk it out, foreplay, whatever you gotta do but if when the times up, we don’t see any fucking, we’re coming in and I’ve got a hard-on you wouldn’t believe, sweetheart,” One of the goons smirked, winking at you. You dropped your head in disgust.

“Legoshi, what are we gonna do?” You whined, tugging at his sleeve.

“I- I don’t know,” he covered up his face with the one hand you weren’t clinging to for dear life.

“I don’t want them to... to...” you couldn’t even say it, which in a way felt worse and somehow darkened the atmosphere even more.

“Legos-

“TEN MORE MINUTES,” The bull called and you felt a chill run down your spine.

“Look Legoshi, we don’t have a choice, your going to have to-

“Don’t! Don’t say it!”

“Legoshi look at me!” He forced himself to finally face you. “You’re going to have to fuck me. We don’t have a choice in this and we can’t wait around anymore. Just... I don’t know, close your eyes and pretend I’m someone else if you have to. We just have to get the job done,” you lamented, your cheeks burning in embarrassment.

“What- what if I hurt you?” Legoshi’s eyes softened and you caught a glimpse of the turmoil behind his eyes. You could see you needed to grant him permission.

“You could never hurt me worse than they will if they come in here. Now please Legoshi, I need you,” you could see the resolve settle in his eyes and he sighed in defeat.

“Should I... or did you...? Your, um, clothes,” he said gesturing to your uniform.

“Oh, um, I guess whatever will get you going,” Legoshi seemed torn so you decided to proceed taking off your own clothes.

“C’mon, we don’t really have time for this. What can I do to get you hard?” You asked throwing off your top and dropping your skirt.

“I-I don’t know okay...” Legoshi said as he started peeling off his own clothes.

“Legoshi.... are you? Are you a-

“FIVE MINUTES RUNTS!”

“Yeah I am,” he cringed kicking his shoes off. He seemed mortified.

“Wow I never would have imagined,”

“It’s pathetic, I know.”

“No! It’s not pathetic at all, I’m one too. I just thought... I mean look at you, you’re the farthest thing from unattractive. And then you’re so.... well... such an ideal partner, especially in the Carnivore community, not to mention your kind of mysterious which is also desirable to most girls on top of being so kind and considerate so I just naturally assumed....” you trailed off when you noticed he was undressed already except for his underwear, taking in everything you said with an unreadable expression.

“Sorry! I’m just rambling because I’m nervous.” You unclasped your bra, revealing your chest to all three of the small audience. You heard a lewd whistle from one of the Ram’s henchmen.

“Let the show begin Sugartits, and you better make it a good one!” The Bulls roared with laughter. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves before you dropped to your knees in front of Legoshi.

“W-what are you doing?” Legoshi gasped, his ears and tail nearly standing on end.

“This won’t work out for either of us if you’re soft,” you said yanking down his underwear. To your surprise, though not at maximum potential, he was far from ‘soft’.

You took his awakened member into you hands and pumped it twice before capturing the head between your lips. He was warm, oh so warm. You couldn’t help but moan at the feeling, the sensation in turn causing him to tremble.

He began to really grow in your mouth, it seemed as if the more you took of him, the more there was. You began to really get into it, using both hands to pump him while taking as much as you could down your throat. You had never been in this position before so you glanced up to see if he was even enjoying this only to find him with both his hands placed firmly behind his back, his teeth gritted.

“Legoshi...” you called in a thick voice that came out lustier than you intended, “relax, you’ve got to enjoy this to some degree of we’re going to get you to cum.”

You released his pulsating member and stood up, so that you could pull his towering frame down to lay on the ground. It was easier said than done but once he laid down, you mounted him.

“Calm down, Legoshi. Forget about them, okay? It’s just us here,” you whispered, nuzzling into his neck, hoping to calm him down. You were met with a strained growl in return. He was still holding back.

Your knowledge of sex education began and ended with sexual relations between Dogs, however, your own curious nature had more often than not tempted your porn searches towards the Wolf genre which was shockingly similar. You desperately tried to rack your brain to think of what to do in this situation but in almost every instance of a domesticated canine and a Wolf, there was very little for the canine to do other than simply.... submit. And that was exactly what you were going to do.

“Legoshi... let it out. You don’t have to hold back. I’m ready for you to take me,” you moaned, nipping along his jawline.

In an instance you were on your back. Legoshi hovered above you and you could tell something in him snapped. He was ready to finally let the Wolf take over.

He practically ripped your underwear off your body, prying your legs open and inhaling a long, pointed whiff of your natural essence. He started salivating immediately, seeming almost intoxicated off your sent alone.

He dove right in, not wasting a second in tasting you. His growls became louder as he lapped at the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs.

“You taste even better than I imagined,” he growled against your sex before diving back in. You moaned as your paws found their way into the fur on his head, tugging lightly. If Legoshi was anywhere near inexperienced, he definitely wasn’t showing it.

His tongue pulled you closer and closer to the edge until you felt yourself go lightheaded. You could feel your orgasm already at its brink.

“Legoshi,” you moaned, your grip on his fur brutal as you came in ecstasy. Legoshi finally rose, his eyes feral with need. He wasted no time aligning himself with your entrance before he began to stretch you out as slowly as he could being this consumed with lust.

His growl was absolutely menacing as he bottomed out inside you, your body feeling full to the brim. He started off with a few weak thrusts before the sensation drove him to increase to a near bruising speed.

You were in heaven at the foreign feeling of being connected with another animal in such a primal way. It was like Legoshi was everywhere, hovering above you, caging you between his massive arms while he harrowed at your womb.

You were still sensitive from the previous orgasm he’d given you so the second one came suddenly, catching you completely by surprise. You cried his name in a strained, desperately horny voice that sounded almost nothing like you.

Legoshi’s thrusts became harder, with more force as his knot began to lock into place. With a few more pumps, he came with a howl, his body locked into yours by the swollen knot. You both caught your breath as the reality of the situation began to dawn on the two of you again.

“Shit, Y/N are you okay? Did I hurt you?” His exhausted eyes filling with a light panic. You brought your hand to the side of his face to stroke his fur in an attempt to calm him. From the way he nuzzled into your hand, you’d say that it worked.

“I’m fine, Legoshi. More than fine. That was.... incredible,” you didn’t miss the way his tail began to wag at the praise.

“Y/N, I-” he was cut off by the sound of the door slamming. You both looked over to see the Ram’s henchmen had taken their exits, their jobs done.

Your eyes began to feel low, and you struggled to keep them open. Legoshi noticed your spent state and wrapped his arms around you, flipping the the two of you so that you were lying on his chest. You buried your face into his soft as you slowly drifted off to sleep.

“Y/N.... I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while now...” was the last thing you heard before slumber claimed you, Legoshi’s confession falling of deaf ears.

[unlikelymilkshakedream]

A/n: Hello! Here is part 3 for the Charlie Weasley fic I promised. Sorry this took so long. I promised angst, so I'm giving it. Hope you enjoy!

Another day, another exam, or so it seemed that way at Hogwarts. As May came to a close, and June starts, your O.W.L.s were giving you more stress than you had ever felt. Your future was on the line if you didn't do well with your exams.

Not only were your exams crushing you, your relationship had been rocky for a couple of months. After the valentines day dance with your date, Charlie Weasley, nothing could have made your life better. You were dating your best friend, all of your friends supported you, and you had no tests coming up. In other words, very different from your life currently.

You were still technically dating your best friend, but from long classes and homework that came with them, to Charlie's quiditch practices lasting forever in hopes of winning the house cup, you hadn't had time to spend a moment alone together in what felt like years.

Your friends would always be there for you and you knew that, you cared about them with your whole heart and knew they felt the same way, but they had their own exams and futures just as you did. You would never ask them for anything because you didn't want to be a burden.

And of course, your exams. Your dreams of becoming a curse breaker were very important to you. You wanted nothing more than to help people, on top of finding your brother and protecting hogwarts. You were a natural curse breaker so it only makes sense that you would pursue your passion. However, if you wanted to do that, you needed to not only pass your exams, but exceed the expectations.

With that responsibility came nights on end in the library, studying, preparing and hoping that it would all work out. Your exams, finding your brother, hell, even your relationship with Charlie. You knew how rocky it was and you were devastated by that, but you knew if you two truly wanted to, it would work out, or so you hoped.

So, another night in the library, was your fate. You wanted to be with Charlie, but you knew he had quiditch practice, and you had a potions exam in the morning that you weren't ready for. As you flipped through your book, trying to soak up as much information as you could, you didn't notice a certain redhead sneak behind you.

"Hey baby," you felt the hot breathe on your neck and jumped more than out of your skin.

"Blimey Charlie, you scared me." He chuckled as he pulled a chair beside you.

"Sorry, I just wanted to see you after practice, and I haven't seen you all weekend." He smiled at you, which you couldn't help but smile back.

"I know, its just tomorrow starts like the most stressful week of the year. If I don't do well on my exams, my future can be forgotten. Speaking of, I am not ready for potions tomorrow, hence why I'm here." You smiled as you looked back towards your book.

"Hey, you're gonna do great on your exam because you are great, and smart, and beautiful," Charlie said as you rolled your eyes and laughed. "Its just we haven't seen each other in a while, thought i could keep you company." You sighed.

"Look, I know we haven't been the most talkative lately, but what exactly do you want me to say, you know how important this is to me." He put his hand on yours.

"I know, I get it baby, I do, and after this week, we're gonna celebrate." He said with the biggest grin on his face. Suddenly, Madame Pince came around the corner with the dirtiest look on her face.

"Shh!" You smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry Madam-"

"Shh!!!" You sighed as she walked away. You turned back to charlie.

"You better go, I have to study and don't wanna get kicked out." You smiled at him.

"Okay, but I meant what I said about celebrating." He smiled hugley. You returned the smile, only a fraction of what he had given you. That made his smile falter and eventually he turned and walked back to his dorm.

Eventually you had to except the time as 11pm rolled around and Madam Pince kicked you out of the library. You took the book along with all your other stuff and headed towards your common room.

Once you were in, you sat down near the fireplace and opened your potions book once again, flipping to the section about dragon livers and how they were hard to get.

Eventually, you heard the clock strike 2am and had to call it a night. As you closed your booka nd sat back, looking into the fire, you thought of your life as a cursebreaker, how great it would be, how much you wanted to do it, and what you were willing to do to achieve that goal.

As you stood up and headed towards the stairwell, your way was blocked by charlie, the last person you expected to see, especially at this hour.

"Hey, what're you doing up?" Charlie asked groggy.

"I could ask you the same thing. I was just going to bed." You said as you pushed past him and climbed the stairs. He followed you up.

"I thought you'd be up, I was just checking on you." You turned around as you got to the last step before your dorm and smiled.

"Thats sweet, but go back to bed. Goodnight." You leaned down and kissed him on the cheek, then headed into your dorm, falling on your bed and instantly falling asleep.

The next morning, you woke at around 8. Shit. You were late. You quickly got up and dressed faster than ever and ran to the dungeons. You mad either to class just in time, not eating or anything.

"Well, well, Ms. Brooks, you have decided to grace us with your presence, how considerate." Snape sneered at you as you walked to your seat beside Rowan, breathing heavily, across the room, you saw Charlie looking worriedly at you, which was the last thing you wanted in that moment.

Once your potion exam was finished, you walked out of the room, feeling exhausted and like you failed. You started walking to your next exam, which was charms, the easiest of your exams. Soon enough a certain redhead caught up with you.

"Hey, y/n, why were you late today?" You turned to him.

"I over slept, which I dont do, so I didn't realize at which point I had to sprint to make it, which I didnt." You sighed tired lying. "Why?"

"Just wondering, I missed you at breakfast. Did you eat anything?" You smiled softly.

"No, I haven't but its fine, look i have to go to charms and I really don't wanna be late again, see you." Without another word from either of you, you walked away to charms.

At charms, you felt most confident of all classes, which honestly wasn't saying a lot. You finished your exam pretty easily and walked to the great hall, intending on studying until your Defense Against the Dark Arts exam in an hour. Once the clock struck the time to take your next exam, you left the great hall.

Once you reached DADA, you walked in with Tulip and took your seat. You should feel bad, but you just were so glad charlie wasn't there, staring at you like a sorry case. He meant well and you knew it but you just wanted space.

As you finished your final exam of the day, you headed to the library, studying for transfigurations next. When you reached the library, unfortunately you fell into the same pattern as the previous night, except this time no charlie.

When the clock struck midnight, you went to the dorm room and headed straight for bed, not bothering to study anymore. Once your head hit the pillow, you were out.

When you woke up the next morning, the sun was shining into your window nicely. It was a good way to wake up honestly. You say up and saw Rowan asleep. You figured you had a few minutes before breakfast so you got up and got dressed.

You and Rowan walked to breakfast while revising your transfiguration knowledge. You didn't feel as bad about it as potions but you also didn't feel as great about it as charms. Walking into the great hall, you found Charlie sitting with his younger brothers. You knew you had to go sit with him.

"Hey y/n, how'd you sleep?" Charlie asked as he saw you sit next to him and his brothers giggled at him, to which he sent a dirty look.

"Um, not the best but ye know. Its whatever." As you sat down you ate the blandest breakfast ever, granola and coffee, it would just have to do for today.

"Are you guys ready for the big game tomorrow night?" Fred asked the table. You looked at him with a confused expression whereas everyone else seemed to understand.

"What game fred?" He turned to you.

"Uh, the house cup game, we are so gonna kick hufflepuffs ass." Ah.

"Right, good luck." Charlie turned to you.

"You'll come right love? What me win?" You smiled as you sipped your coffee.

"Uh yeah, maybe, I might have to study for History of magic but we'll see." Charlie stopped.

"Y/n, you can't miss the game, its only the biggest game of the year. Please come." Ugh when he gave you those puppy dog eyes, you knew you were done for.

"Okay, yes I will go, of course I will." You smiled and kissed his cheek.

As breakfast finished and you and Rowan made your way to transfiguration, you felt confident in the upcoming essay. Going over info with Rowan definitely helped.

Once you were finished with the exam, you went to the great hall, being assigned twenty five inches of parchment for the second half of the exam was not ideal. You were stressed out, but at least you only had care of magical creatures left for the day, something you were sure you'd excel in thanks to charlie.

As you walked down the grounds for your exam, you felt very confident that you'd do well. Your confidence was correctly placed as you walked to the common room to start on you parchment for transfiguration, doing very well on your exam in care of magical creatures.

The real problems didn't start until the following day, charlies big game was today and you hadn't made a dent in your parchment, due to not being able to focus and eventually falling asleep far earlier than you would have liked. Today you had exams in astronomy, history of magic and a regular potions class. You were extremely busy today, it didn't help you woke up 20 minutes before your exam in astronomy so you had to sprint once again to be on time.

Once you were seated in astronomy, your exam begun and you didnt feel very confident. You gave it your all and after about 75 minutes, you were done. You walked out and saw your boyfriend charlie who lit up when he saw you. You walked over to him with a small smile on your face.

"Hey babe, whats up?" You asked him.

"Not much now that your hear, just nervous for later." You looked at his smiling face confused.

"Later?" His smile dropped. You had forgotten about the quitditch match.

"The match that determines who wins the house cup? I thought you were coming, its really important to me." Shit. Right, yeah of course you would go.

"Right, of course I will be there, sorry I'm just tired you know how it is. I will be there, but right now I have to go to potions, ill see you later." Damn, how had you forgotten?

Potions seemed to last forever as Snape lectured on Beatle brains, you swore you were going to die of boredom, all you wanted to do was study for history of magic.

When class was finally dismissed, you headed straight for the library, not having your final exam for an hour and a half. When you sat down in the library, you immediately fell into studying, the time slipping by quickly until it was time to go to your exam.

Arriving to your exam, you set your things down and got ready for it, feeling confident as you had spent a lot of time studying for this. You finished your exam in 65 minutes and headed to the great hall, feeling hungry.

When you got to the great hall and saw what was happening inside, all hunger left your body.

Shit.

Inside, Gryffindor students were celebrating the win of the house cup, you had forgotten the game. You walked in to the great hall and saw Charlie, held up by his teammates above everyone like a king. You smiled at how happy he looked, but when he saw you, its like every drop of happiness was taken from him and you felt your heart break.

Charlie told his team mates to let him down which they did as he made his way over to you, looking hurt and disappointed. You couldn't do much besides stand there and look at him sheepishly.

"Y/n, why didn't you come to the game, you knew how important it was to me and how much I could have used your support." He said loudly, causing those near you to look on at the conversation.

"Charlie, can we go in the hallway?" He looked pissed but didn't object. Once you were away from everyone, you turned to him.

"Charlie, I am so sorry I didn't go to your game, I was in the library studying and the time just got away from me and before I knew it I had to go to my exam and I completely forgot l. I'm so sorry. But you won anyway so you didn't need me at all, cause your just that good." You said with a smile, trying to defuse his anger. It didn't work.

"Y/n, that's not the point, you said you would be there and I wanted you there. You didn't need to study for your exam, you've been studying all week, this is all I asked of you and you couldn't even give me this." As he finished, you felt sorrow drain and anger rise.

"What exactly do you mean I didnt need to study for my exam? I have been studying all week, unlike you, because I care about getting good grades. You know how badly I need to do on my exams to have a future! I didnt go to your match, because I wanted to make sure I did well. I apologized but now your being irrational." He scoffed.

"Irrational? I asked one thing of you, I asked you to attend a quiditch match to support your boyfriend, but apparently if it doesn't benefit you, it doesn't matter, huh is that it?" You were now fully screaming at each other, thank god the hallway was deserted.

"Are you serious? You know maybe if you cared more about your future and grades like I do, you would see where I'm coming from, but all you care about is a God damn match and dragons! No wonder we've been like this for months. You say im selfish, I've done everything for you. I miss one thing and the worlds over to you." Charlie turned away and scoffed.

"You're right, we have been like this for a long time, because we just don't work anymore." You froze. "Y/n, you can't even support your own boyfriend, you care more about tests than anything, this clearly isn't working." You looked at him while a tear rolled down your cheek, which you quickly wiped away. You didn't want to break up with Charlie, God no. But he didn't seem to want to stay together.

"Charlie, it's not like that, you know how stressed I've been, I'm sorry I didn't come to your game, I truly meant to go. I care a lot about my future, but you don't and thats not on me. You can't put this on me, its not just the match, you've been like this ever since the dance, its not only me." More tears rolled down your cheeks as one slid out from his eye.

"Y/n, this just isn't working, I'm sorry." No, God no please.

"Charlie, no, please, don't do this. I swear I-" he cut you off.

"I'm sorry, its already done." He turned and walked away, leaving you standing alone in an empty corridor, feeling your heart leaving your soul. You don't know how it happened, you don't know where it went wrong. Was it truly the match? Or was it ever since the day of the dance? Did he even ever like you?

As you stood in that corridor, you felt cold, you felt like you soul left you. You watched him walk away and eventually out of eyesight, thinking about how you would never feel his kiss again, never feel the comfort of his embrace, never feel his love again.

You didn't want this, God no, but your gut told you it had to happen, you just wish it didn't hurt this much. As you wrapped your arms around yourself and sank to the floor with tears on your face, you felt nothing but hollow, wishing the presence of charlie was still there. Wishing he could hold you and tell you he loved you again, as you loved him still.

You didn't know how you were going to go on without him, but you knew one thing for sure, the last thing you cared about was your fucking grades, because you just lost the best thing in your life.

A/n: okay, sorry this took so long, I suck i know! Im sorry this was shitty, I will try to finish the series relatively soon, there will be 2 more parts. I hope you like it, thanks for reading!

[palmett-hoes]

how do you think this fandom deals with "measuring" trauma? i've seen a couple posts detailing aaron's reaction to trauma/nicky's reaction//seth's/etc and it seems like some people have a tier list of trauma responses in regards to the foxes? like what's "acceptable" versus what isn't, and who's trauma was "enough" to make their actions excusable versus others. this doesn't make much sense but i hope you get where i'm coming from?

no no i get you don't worry

i think it’s something i used to see more said explicitly than i see it now. like i definitely remember a point in the fandom when ppl were very openly mad at aaron for the way he acted in the books and especially him not being “grateful” enough for all that andrew had “done for him.” additionally seth used to be used as a minor villain or an abusive ex in fics a lot more than i see now. then of course there was a period of calling out these trends and reminding ppl that these are books about trauma, not books about ethics, and that you really really can’t read them without attempting compassion for every character. they’re not books about who’s right and who’s wrong, they can’t really be read in terms of theory or ideology. they’re about survival and recovery.

i haven’t really seen those sentiments in the past few years tho, at least not as openly as they once were, nor have i seen the old posts recirculating. at the same time, i think that there’s less meta and character analysis being written in general so there’s also less debate in general. i don’t see the whole fandom tho, just who i follow and the stuff from the tags that shows up on my tl. if this stuff is actively still going on idk about it, though i’d like to think we as a collective have moved on from seeing trauma as a zero-sum game

additionally, because of the discourse period over them it seems like aaron and seth in particular are treated with extra care not to invalidate that they came from abusive situations and were shaped by that. i’d say it’s now seen as bad taste to openly denounce what a character has been through as “not enough”

however

measuring trauma isn’t always angry, it isn’t always saying to a character “you didn’t go through enough” or “he went through more so shut up.” measuring trauma can also be dismissive. it can take the form of simply choosing not to include it. of removing character traits or actions or topics that make us uncomfortable or are maybe complicated to approach. by removing them or replacing them or avoiding them and simply writing like they’re not there, you essentially get to the same place as saying “get over it” but instead you write them as having, well, gotten over it

so i do still see people measuring trauma it’s just not as outright anymore. instead it’s paring certain characters down for ease and digestibility, and simply not engaging with their trauma and circumstances

i would say i see this most often with the upperclassmen, dan, matt, and allison especially (and nicky even though he’s not an upperclassmen) (ik i mentioned him but seth content is still pretty few and far between) (renee’s trauma has the “rule of cool” so it still gets in there). i’ve mentioned before how sidelined the upperclassmen are in fan works and some of the unfortunate implications of that, but another dimension is not acknowledging or considering their individual backgrounds. they all come from some pretty fucked up circumstances and more than that they’re all SHAPED by those circumstances

in the books, they are all wary isolationists with attitude issues.  they can be mean, they can be nasty, and they can be violent. they come from poverty, abuse, neglect, drug addicition, gang violence, and sex trafficking. they are treated with extreme suspicion by their school, the media, their classmates, and their fellow athletes, and they respond with suspicion right back. their relationships with each other are often on thin ice. they treat neil the way they do - tolerate his puzzle pieces that don’t fit together right without questioning - because they can all recognize themselves in him. and on the flip side, neil is able to relate to them for the same reasons, because they are also wary dogs used to being hit

but then i so often see the upperclassmen used in ways that mostly imply they’re like,, mostly normal, chill, often quite woke. goofy and cool. they all grew up watching disney movies and going to carnivals. they get used as a contrast for neil and andrew to highlight their traumatized behavior and the extremity of their circumstances, and if their trauma gets mentionted at all it’s in passing and it doesn’t inform the way they act. their trauma isn’t sufficient to inform their actions so it just,, doesn’t factor in or get mentioned really and they’re all nice, friendly, happy-go-lucky neurotypicals who are trying to teach poor traumatized neil how to be normal. tell me that isn’t measuring trauma

it’s annoying, in all honesty, especially since it now seems to come in a form that’s hard to call out because it’s no longer content that actually states a bad opinion so much as it is a lack of content or consideration for certain characters, pushing them further and further into the background and giving them increasingly more vague, palatable, and relatable characterizations.

in fact, it often comes off as praise, by ascribing them positive traits like nicky being a good guardian for the twins or allison being super knowledgeable about lgbt stuff or dan being a “queen” or matt being a “himbo” and because this is all good stuff it’s fine, right? it’s better than canon actually, right? except actually what it is is dismissive of their trauma and individual experiences. it’s a series of easily digestible filler words used to make the messy, ugly, complicated characters of canon softer and easier to swallow

also this is by no means restricted to the upperclassmen it’s just the one that slips most through the cracks. i definitely see this happening to andrew, too, but it works in slightly different ways and is a whole other discussion

[rheawritessometimes]

hey I really liked the photographer au!! would it be possible to make a part 2 with the liyue men (zhongli, xiao, childe)? only if you're really feeling up to it of course!

{ Model!Childe/Xiao/Zhongli x Photographer!GN!Reader }

{ Summary } Taking pictures of the Liyue gang. Model AU Part 1

{ Warnings } Flash Photography, Zero Research Done, Suggestive

{ Notes } I felt up to it. Is there favoritism? No, only who I felt most inspired by. Some of these people would just make terrible models. Masterlist

{ Word Count } 1,464

Childe

Unfortunately, Childe is aware of the fact that he is handsome. A lot of his natural attractiveness is cancelled out by how insufferable he can be.

If he catches you looking at him, or even if he’s just in your field of view, Childe will strike a dramatic pose. About half the time he will insist that you take a photo of him and will not move until you do so.

Childe also likes to suggest ideas for the shoots. You’re not sure if he’s serious about them or not, but they’re all awful.

“I think it would be better if I did this shoot shirtless,” the redhead says before cleverly adding, “You’d like it better that way too, right?”

It’s hard to tell if he’s being serious between the grin and wink he shows you and the fact he immediately goes to take off the jacket and shirt he’s wearing. Sometimes you wondered why he even accepted modelling contracts, he acted like he just wanted to be photographed according to his own ideas.

“Childe, keep that on. This is a fashion shoot, you’re supposed to be modelling these clothes,” you say, sounding like a tired, scolding parent. "If you want to just have pictures taken of you then you can hire me some other time."

"Oh. Would you be open to a nude shoot, then?"

At least he always brings you treats when you’re photographing him. Something to eat or drink, and sometimes even trinkets that reminded him of you. Very occasionally even expensive jewelry.

Actually, Childe is very obviously rich and it’s not from modelling. You have no idea where he gets the money and question why he’s even a model, the man is loaded enough to do nothing for the rest of his life.

“I’m a model because it would be a crime not to show the world this beauty.”

It’s a struggle to keep your eyes from rolling at his words, but somehow you manage. You were getting used to the Snezhnayan’s theatrics, though you were beginning to notice a good deal of it was used to dodge any questions you had about him. It wasn’t really any of your business, but the man had a lot of mystery surrounding him.

Speaking of mystery, sometimes Childe comes in with random cuts and bruises. He gives no explanation for them. “Oh, are you that concerned for me?”

Once he even came in with a black eye. The makeup artists were good, but there’s no working around that kind of swelling.

“Childe! What happened to you?” you ask, unable to contain your surprise. The man had come in with a black eye as though it was nothing. The eye was even swollen shut, certainly not something that could be covered up with a bit of makeup.

“Oh, is it that bad?” he responded, laughing it off like it was nothing.

“There’s no way we can do the shoot with you looking like this. Come on, let’s get some ice on that.”

“What, you don’t think I’m still handsome?” he asked, but the teasing died off when you grabbed his hand. The action shocked him into silence, allowing you to easily drag him off to ice his eye.

Xiao

Honestly, you’re not sure why Xiao is a model. He’s gorgeous, yeah, but he seems to hate the job. This man does not like sitting still and seems to hate being perceived at all.

It’s hard not to feel bad for the makeup artists when Xiao comes in. It’s no secret that he hates sitting in that chair and having his face pokes at. You’re pretty sure you’ve heard him growl at the makeup artists on more than one occasion.

He’s never growled at you, but Xiao can't even look you in the eye when you get close. He turns his head away from you whenever you need to adjust his clothing or position.

Xiao isn't the greatest at controlling his facial expressions. Oftentimes he just looks angry.

“Xiao, can you please not scowl so hard?” you ask, though it sounds more like a plea at this point. He didn’t need to smile for this shoot, but he was supposed to look neutral. Not like he was plotting a murder.

Xiao grumbled at your request, something about how he’s ‘not scowling’, but did try to adjust. Unfortunately, his expression only shifted from murderous to constipated. At least it was progress in the right direction. Sort of.

Xiao takes naps during breaks but refuses to admit to it. You don’t know why, but he always denies having been asleep. He was just ‘resting his eyes’. You have a few pictures that say otherwise, but you won’t tell him that.

Skateboards to shoots sometimes. The first time he walked in with a skateboard in hand you were so surprised you asked who’s it was. “... It’s mine.”

“Will you teach me how to skateboard, please?” you ask, flashing Xiao you best puppy dog eyes. His expression as he looks at you tells him they’re effective in weakening his resolve.

“Fine, but only the basics,” he agrees after a long moment of consideration.

On the next break you find yourself outside the studio, balancing on a skateboard with Xiao holding your hand. He refused to let go of you, too worried for your safety. With the grip he had, you didn’t think you were at risk of falling.

“Relax a little, you can’t balance if you’re too stiff,” he says, brows furrowed as he concentrates on keeping you steady and correcting your posture. But, as soon as you shift to relax, you wobble a bit on the skateboard. With strength you didn’t know he had, Xiao is lifting you up off the skateboard and onto the ground.

“That’s enough, this is too dangerous.”

Zhongli

There’s no way Zhongli can be human, out of all the people you’ve photographed he is by far the most beautiful. The man even moves with a certain grace you’re certain no human could replicate. But, he laughs it off every time you mention something about it.

To put it bluntly, Zhongli is a pleasure to have on set. He’s polite and a good conversationalist, not to mention very photogenic.

Of course, nobody's perfect. There’s a few downsides to working with Zhongli, primarily his long monologues that make shoots run late and the strange way you always find yourself spending Mora on Zhongli.

Somehow, you frequently find yourself going out to lunch with Zhongli and footing the bill. Sometimes you stop inside a bookstore on your way back and find yourself purchasing a novel for him. You’re not entirely sure how it works out that way, but a day spent with Zhongli always ends with your wallet feeling lighter.

“Thank you again for lunch,” Zhongli says as you two are walking down the street from the cafe.

“No problem, it’s my pleasure,” you tell him with an earnest smile on your face. It’s a few more steps before you realize you have once again paid for this outing. You wouldn’t have minded so much if it weren’t for the fact that last time you went out, you swore it was the last time you were paying for Zhongli.

It always turned out like this, though. You’d never seen Zhongli pay for anything, and from the way Childe spoke of his time with Zhongli, he had noticed the same trend. It wasn’t like the man was hurting for money, he had a very successful job as a model. Just how did this keep happening?

It’s strange, you ended up meeting Zhongli on a shoot that was made last minute due to scheduling errors, but now you’re the only photographer he works with. For a long time you didn’t know this, but Zhongli really only does high end modelling, and you’re definitely not the best of the best, but he only does shoots with you. He refuses to be photographed by anyone else. (You don’t know this, but he made it one of the terms of his contract.)

Zhongli may talk a lot, but most of what he has to say is interesting. He has extensive historical knowledge and often offers unique insights. Sometimes you even find yourself going to him for advice.

Has a dog named Azhdaha.

The screen of your phone illuminates and the ding of a notification resonates through your room just as you’re about to settle into bed. You’re surprised to see the message is from Zhongli, even more so when it contains only an image with no accompanying text.

The image is of a large brown dog splayed out on a tan carpet. You’re about to reply when another message comes through.

Apologies, that was meant for Childe. It is my dog, Azhdaha.

[snowspryte15]

Thoughts on Cruella

Let me ask you a question:Have you noticed the increase in stories about making villains more relatable to us, and even giving them something that seemed to be lacking in all the fairytales we all know so well?

Something like humanity?

Here’s the thing: no one is truly born evil, and to quote a line from Once Upon A Time, “Evil isn’t born; it’s made.” Perhaps the baddies were actually good people who were capable of being happy, finding love, and living their best lives. But unfortunately, a chain of events or even people who wronged them would lead them down a dark path that is often very hard to come back from.  In other words, the stories and characters we know isn’t always black and white. (See what I did there?) You can say whatever you want about making villains relatable or even showing sympathy to them, but I stand by my humble opinion that the updated version of the fairytales and stories we grew up not only gives us a glimpse into the heroes and making them more like us, but also the villains because their more than just the 2D stock characters we grew up with over the years. In other words, it gives everyone more DEPTH.  The same is true for Cruella. I realize many of you are starting to (if you aren’t already) get tired of films making the villains more relatable or even giving us a villain to show sympathy for. And I get that. But let me ask you this: is the world we see today always black and white to you? Should it always has to be good vs. evil when there are layers underneath the goodness and the evil that’s in this world? Should we automatically assume that all of the bad things that happen on the news are caused by bad people? I think you know the answer to this: no. We’re all capable of being good people, no matter what society tells us.  But the fact that we’re all born to be originals and not copies of another individual but being told that we have to be “perfect” or “thin” or “beautiful” or “handsome” or any of those labels is what draws people to the dark side, and that includes giving into power, greed, malice, and hatred. And here’s something else to think about - we’re always told by those around us, whether that’s our loved ones or complete strangers, to hide what makes us unique or even brilliant because it may not sit well with everyone. That’s another reason why some people go towards the dark side. And on another level, they use what makes them unique to stand out in not-so pleasant ways, instilling fear into others by what they say and do.  Both cases aren’t right, not by a long shot. Now do you see why not everything is black and white? It’s hard to take the animated films we grew up and breathe new life into them while keeping these thoughts in mind. Especially if we were taught at an early age who’s good and who’s evil, and that the baddies aren’t deserving of our sympathy or even redemption. I don’t know who exactly started this tradition of taking the fairytales, animated classics, and other stories we all grew up with and add more dimension and humanity to each of the characters, including the villains. But I’m glad they did. It gives us something to think about and makes us see that we have a little bit of evil inside of us. I may be in the minority when I say this, but movies and shows like Once Upon A Time, Maleficent, Ever After High, Descendants, and Cruella fascinate me because it allows me the chance to see how capable the villains are to being good people and their external and internal struggles to keep the goodness in their lives while navigating through all of the bad things and people that come into their lives which sets a course towards their villainous nature.

At least take into consideration the hard work the authors, screenwriters, and creators put into formulating the question “what if...” and how much fun they have breathing new life into these characters we grew up with and how much of ourselves we can see in the villains, no matter how much we try to deny it. There, I said it. I may once again be in the minority when I say this (it seems to be a theme lately on Tumbr, which is quite sad), but I enjoyed Cruella immensely. The acting, the costume designs, the hair and makeup, the songs... It was just bloody brilliant. Both Emmas - Emma Stone and Emma Thompson - played their parts extremely well. Ms. Stone navigating through her internal battle to be a good person while facing a conflict with the bad side was a wonderful site to see. And Ms. Thompson, I mean, come on. She’s just fantastic all the way around. To play a narcissist isn’t easy, but she makes it look so simple and enjoyable. I commend both of their performances in this film. And let’s not forget the rest of the cast - Joel Fry, Paul Walter Hauser, Emily Beechan, Kirby Howell-Baptiste, Mark Strong, Kayvan Novak, Jamie Demetriou, Andrew Leung, and John McCrea - such an outstanding ensemble! In the theatre, you know a show is fantastic because of its ensemble. The same applies in the movies as well. They may not get recognized as much as Emma Stone or Emma Thompson, but it was such a joy seeing these talented performers play their parts well, and the depth they played at was a joy to watch. Let’s talk about the costumes, hair, and makeup. This film better get awards for all of those areas (or at least nominations) because the designs and styles were truly epic. It’s hard to get the fashion of the times right without extensive research and a little bit of creativity and imagination thrown in for good measure. But Jenny Beavan and Nadia Stacey deserve all of the praise and accolades for rocking out the 1970s with boldness and some pretty wicked designs. I’ve noticed skimming on here the discontent many of you have for portraying Cruella as being a villain we should have sympathy for, especially since she wanted to skin Dalmatians for a coat. That alone should be cause for her to not be worth an ounce of sympathy, and I understand that. As an animal lover myself, I’m inclined to agree with you. But I’m going to let you in on one spoiler that I ask you take into consideration: no Dalmatian dogs were killed or skinned in this movie. I repeat: no Dalmatian dogs were killed or skinned in this movie. And here’s something else I want you to be on the lookout for should you decide to watch this film. During the end credits, there is a special message out there for those of you who are thinking about owning a dog: “Every dog deserves a loving home. If you’re ready for the commitment of pet ownership, please consider visiting your local animal rescue to find the right pet for you.” That message alone speaks as to how far we’ve come in society, and here’s why. Whenever we see movies or TV shows that feature dogs and cats, particularly puppies and kittens, we tend to rush out right away and getting them because they’re so adorable. But when they grow up, we tend to let them go and leave them in some unpleasant places. And organizations like PETA beseeched the film and the company to take a stand and use their voice to encourage adoption of pets in shelters and rescue centers and not pet stores. Apparently, the film and the company listened because they put this message during the end credits. Well done. I may not be able to convince you to go see this movie or give it another chance if you already saw it, nor should I try. But I do want you to take into consideration the amount of updated versions of the stories we all know and love, and how much the authors, screenwriters, and other creative types are bringing in humanity and depth to these characters. We’re not 2D characters like the heroes, heroines, and villains are often seen as in the original stories, so why should they be treated and seen as such for generations to come? We’re more complex and layered than seen in fairytales and animated movies. Also, I don’t think these stories where the authors give villains a chance to experience goodness before they became bad or even blurring the lines between good and evil are going away. It allows us as human beings to see and try understand that we’re all capable of being good, but it’s the events and people who come into our lives that shake things up and even brings questions of whether we’re truly good or evil that sets us down a path we alone can walk. And more importantly, it gives us as the audience a chance to see a little bit of ourselves in these characters, even if you don’t relate to the villains at all.  I suggest you stop griping about the rise in updated versions of the films, TV series, and book series of the original classics and accept that they are here to stay. I’m not saying you should read or watch them if they’re not your cup of tea, but at least try to understand that things were NEVER always black and white, especially where fairytales, animated films, and even more stories are concerned. At least try to understand that part, okay? Is that too much to ask? I’m not here to change your mind. I realize I can’t do that. So many of you are so set in your ways and opinions, and all I can do is pray for you. But I am here to share with you my thoughts on Cruella and how the updated versions of these stories are here to stay, whether you like it or not. And I’m also here to try to help you see that these stories allow us to see a little bit of ourselves in these characters we grew up with, even if it’s through a new set of eyes. You are welcome to disagree with me, or even not say anything at all. But all I ask is that you be respectful of my opinions and what I have to say. I will not tolerate any hate speech or disrespectful language. You do that, and I will block you. If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything. It’s that simple, and yet it’s so hard, especially on Tumblr. I hope I didn’t take up too much of your time.

[dhwty-writes]

Chapter 19 - Golden Gowns and Eventful Evenings

I have no excuse, so I will just post this and run 

Jaskier and Geralt attend the banquet in Goldfurt together. 

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Being the biggest city between Yspaden and Mirt, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Goldfurt exceeded any and all expectations Jaskier might have had before returning after his twenty-year absence. Being governed by his brother-in-law, Janina’s husband no less, it shouldn’t come as a surprise either that they exceeded them in the wrong direction.

Truth be told, he did not remember a lot about the city from his pre-Oxenfurt days. Of course, they had been obligated to visit the banquet every year, both as neighbours as well as the family of the future Countess, but Jaskier had been barely thirteen the last time he had attended the festivities. The only thing he remembered from that visit was his short-lived infatuation with one of Goldfurt’s squires. It had promptly ended when said squire had basically wiped the floor with him in the training yard during their one and only interaction.

After that unpleasantness he had gladly given a rather wide berth to the city and the castle at its centre. Jaskier had even managed to forestall the unhappy reunion for another year due to a cough at the most convenient of times.

This year, however, there was no excuse in the world that would have made it appropriate for him to stay away. Not with his title, not with his renewed betrothal to Lady Alina. Not with the two newest additions to his household, he was supposed to parade around like a pair of exotic animals.

Jaskier ground his teeth as he tugged at the sleeves of his shirt. ‘Melitele’s tits, I’d gladly attend the dinner if I could leave Ciri and Geralt in Lettenhove,’ he thought bitterly. But that would not only be a grievous insult, it would also rouse more suspicion and rumours than they already did. ‘Best hide them in plain sight.’ And if something unforeseeable were to happen, they could also make a quick escape.

Due to these unforeseen developments, the lack of information had posed quite an obstacle. If there was one particular lesson the twenty years with Geralt had taught him, then it was that ignorance in the face of danger could be fatal. And while one might assume, that a witcher’s lifestyle was much more deadly than a Viscounts, Jaskier would gladly go and fight a dozen ghouls with nothing but his lute, instead of entering the vipers’ nest that was Goldfurt.

Extensive reconnaissance—consisting of squeezing as much information as possible out of his three sisters—had revealed that he might actually have better chance with the ghouls. The silk doublet his servant buttoned up would do little against daggers in the dark or libations laced with poison. Not that he expected his kin and kinfolk-to-be to try and murder him at a dinner party, of course. He expected them to have some decorum at least.

Still, he had entered the city knowing fully well that he was anathema to at least half a dozen invited guests, not least of all their host. On the other hand, which relative of his wife was not anathema to Filip Firkalt?  None of them, that was which. It had been one of the primary sources of their entertainment in the past days.

It was no secret that while he and his sisters nursed a precarious love-hate-relationship, the loving aspect was completely lost on the in-laws. The source of that animosity, of course, lay in the title he now bore. The moment his disappearance after his graduation from Oxenfurt had become public knowledge, both of his brothers-in-law had begun vying for what was rightfully his, Kerton with his heir even more so than childless Goldfurt. The fact that he had returned to rob them of what they had already considered theirs, was just another strain on their relationship.

Another of the lessons Geralt had imparted to him, was the importance of a plan. So, not only had the four Pankratz siblings spent their evenings mocking the stupidities they had been forced to endure by the hands of the men in their lives the past two decades, they had also conspired how best to pay them back within the confines of propriety. Two of them, at least. Janina and her blood-tear mourning garb had only been the appetiser for the main course that was to be served at the banquet tonight.

Or rather, it should have been. For the first vital life lesson he had learned on the Path was that every plan, no matter how good or bad, immediately went to shit upon the first contact with the opponents. Theirs had been no exception to the rule. The memory still made him clench his fist in anger. The disrespect shown to him and his sisters by not riding out to greet them was one thing. But he should have punched Goldfurt in the face when he first had called Geralt a dog. ‘Right then and there, castle peace be damned.’

“M’lord?” the attendant fussing over his cuffs called his attention with a meek voice. “Begging your pardon, but you have to let go of that fist, m’lord.”

“Oh,” he replied dumbfounded as his eyes travelled down to the rings he was holding in his hands. “Of course.” Slowly, he uncurled his tightly clenched fingers, while she slipped the signet ring as well as the embellished buttercup ring in place.

Jaskier stared blankly at his mirror image, fighting the urge to smile at the sight of him clad in Lettenhove ochre and muted autumnal colours. It would be the last time to dress for such an occasion before winter undoubtedly would settle in but a few days. He would be in need of a level head as much as a stoic façade for this evening. No matter how much he wanted to shout out his delight over his delivery from the straightjacket that had been his mourning garb. He wouldn’t have a lute to do so anyways, so there was no point in it.

In any way, there was no bard required this evening. He needed to be the Viscount de Lettenhove instead, protecting all those who had sought shelter at his home and hearth for the winter. ‘Geralt chief among them all.’ The witcher had protected him for nigh twenty years of his life, after all. After all these years of watching helplessly as villagers, nobles, and innkeepers had made Geralt’s life miserable, he was finally in a position to repay him. And it was high time that he did so.

“Will that be everything, m’lord?” the servant asked with a coy smile.

“Yes.”

He bowed obediently, still lingering. “Shall I be waiting for your return?”

Jaskier spared him a short considerate glance. He was quite an attractive fellow, although far too young. “Best not,” he answered, doing his best to keep the contempt from dripping into his voice. It wasn’t directed at the servant anyways. “It will be rather late, I’ll wager.” He certainly wasn’t desperate enough to take a man to ben who might not be offering his companionship for his own volition but because of ill-directed instructions he’d received.

Besides, he had a witcher to get to. The servant bolted from the room and Jaskier quickly followed, but not before grabbing the bundle on his bed.

His witcher had been billeted at a ridiculous distance to Jaskier’s own rooms in quarters which found themselves in a distressingly poor state. Well, nothing in Goldfurt Castle classified as ‘poor’ exactly, but in comparison to the usually upheld standard, it was scarcely better than the rug on the floor he’d been offered at first. The unfairness of it all made his blood boil.

Geralt, on the other hand, remained as unfazed as Jaskier was accustomed to. He had even kept him from running back to make good on his first impulse to bestow their host with a bloody nose. Instead, he had praised the quarters and assured him that he would be just fine, before ushering him out.

‘Maybe,’ a treacherous voice in the back of his head hissed, ‘he’s even glad to get away from you.’

Jaskier gnawed on his lower lip. He couldn’t even fault Geralt for that. His own welcome for his oldest friend had been anything but warm and he was well aware of the coldness freezing the air between them. ‘He still hasn’t apologised,’ he reminded himself. ‘Stubborn mule.’ Instead, Geralt had hurt him even more, albeit unknowingly so. Not that that made it hurt any less.

The same door that had slammed shut behind his back a few days prior blocked the path before him now. Jaskier didn’t allow himself a second thought and swung it open. “Ger—” He was with one foot over the threshold already, when he suddenly remembered and the fear of finding Geralt in bed with Marin stole his voice.

“My lord?”

He appeared to be in luck. Geralt was alone in the chamber. And nearly naked. The only strip of fabric on his person was a towel slung low around his hips and the shirt in his hands, his hair still damp from a bath.

“Uhm,” he said eloquently, while he desperately tried to get his thoughts into order. Unfortunately, he did not manage before his mouth started talking without any cerebral input: “You’re not wearing that,” he blurted of all things.

No ‘Good evening, Geralt’, or ‘How are you enjoying your stay, Geralt?’, or even ‘Fuck, why can’t we go back to how it was before, I’m slowly losing my mind, Geralt.’

No, it was 'You're not wearing that.'

If ever there was a moment for the skies to part and the gods to strike him down with a well-placed bolt of lightning, this was certainly is, right before 'You don't want to keep a man with bread in his pants waiting.' What was it about the witcher that made him so exceptionally stupid? Whatever it was, if the gods could hurry up and erase his existence from this earth, Jaskier would be much obliged, thank you very much.

Unfortunately, nothing happened.

Nothing of that sort, at least, because something happened and that was Geralt slowly glancing down at the towel and up at Jaskier again to deadpan: "I wasn't going to."

"Good," Jaskier's mouth ambled on.

He had to hand it to Geralt, the fact that he didn't so much as raise his eyebrows before moving to put on the shirt was undoubtedly one of his greatest displays of discipline so far.

"You're not going to wear that, either," Jaskier continued, slowly regaining control of his words again.

“Why not?” he asked, his voice impossibly honest. As if there was nothing wrong with the black shirt and breeches, he had worn on the day they’d arrived.

“Because,” he quipped and tossed him the bag he was carrying, “you’re not going as a witcher tonight. This is my brother-in-law’s banquet; we have a reputation to uphold. You're my friend and anyone who knows me, which is everyone here, is well aware that the only way my friend is dressed in anything but the finest clothing would be over my dead body. I'd never allow you to stand out for your tastelessness and considering that you don't appear to have a fashion sense for yourself, I'll gladly provide you with assistance."

"Hmm." Geralt cleared his throat and said: "I need to change if you want me to wear that." He flourished the expensive clothes in his hand.

"Right." Jaskier took a breath to steady himself. But somehow, his feet didn't move.

He raised his gaze with an amused expression on his face. "You need to leave the room, my lord, unle-" The expression on his face changed rapidly as if he was just realising what he was saying.

The barbed retort was already on the tip of his tongue: 'Why, Geralt, are you offering I stay to watch?' But the image of him and Marin kissing was much too present in his mind as it was, so Jaskier bit his lip to keep it from escaping. 'He's not mine to keep,' he reminded himself. 'Never has been, never will be.' "Right," he forced out and turned around, "I'll wait for you in the hallway." He wasn't sure either of them would survive the dinner otherwise.

Jaskier did his best to keep from fidgeting and pacing while he waited outside, which was no easy feat considering the nervousness and hum of energy building within him. Normally, he wasn’t prone to fits of anxiousness. Tonight, however, there was so much that could go wrong, so much that would ruin everything, so much—

Mercifully, the spiral of dread was interrupted by the quiet lock of a door behind him, accompanied by Geralt politely clearing his throat.

“Finally!” Jaskier meant to say as he turned on his heel. What got out was more of a garble: "Hngh." Geralt looked... dashing. There was no other word for it, truly. Well other than 'otherworldly beautiful and I can't decide whether the outfit choice was the best or worst idea I had in a long time and shit, I really should have taken that into consideration; he's not yours to keep, Jaskier, get it together, gods damnit!'

Yeah, dashing was much easier than that. Blue suited him, but Jaskier had already known that. He had chosen the outfit for their last ball together as well, after all. But in contrast to that disastrous outfit, the witcher wore clothes that actually fit him, instead of too small things Jaskier had pulled out of his bag. And on top of that, the witcher had the audacity to smirk. "You approve, my lord?"

"I do," Jaskier managed without embarrassing himself further. "We should go," he decreed. "The Count and Countess will make their appearance soon; it is considered terribly impolite to arrive after them."

"And you're only aiming for impolite?" Geralt teased.

Jaskier frowned and quickly looked down to hide a smile. It was true, most of the meticulous planning by him and his sisters prior to this visit had been to be as impolite as possible while still operating within the socially acceptable norms. Janina and her blood-tear mourning garb had been only the beginning of what would undoubtedly come to a head this evening.

Judging by the quiet snort beside him, he wasn’t quick enough. “Geralt,” he spoke up a few moments later.

“My lord?”

He grimaced slightly. “You probably shouldn’t call me that tonight. It would only… raise suspicion.”

The witcher frowned deeply. “And what should I call you then?”

“Julian,” he said simply. “That’s my name, you know.”

“I thought you resented that name.”

‘I do,’ he thought. “I mustn’t,” he answered and continued on into the dining hall. A large part of the nigh two hundred guests had already arrived and heated the room up nicely, in spite of the freezing temperatures outside. A plethora of voices filled his ears, the kind of pleasant buzz that usually promised an eager crowd Jaskier could sail upon. But he couldn't, so now the mix was irritating, fraying his nerves. And it smelt. Not quite enough to actually stink, but that would come soon enough with the fragrances mixing with sweat and food.

All of the sudden, Jaskier pitied Geralt. He knew the witcher had much finer senses than he did and if he was nearly overwhelmed-

A nigh unnoticeable touch at his elbow made him whip around. He stared directly at Geralt's face. "Are you alright?" the witcher asked quietly, concern etched onto every fibre of his body.

"Quite," Jaskier answered stiffly, letting his eyes sweep over the crowd until he spotted Ciri and Józefa at a table directly beneath the dais. “Let us join my lovely sister and cousin, shall we?” the Viscount announced with a bright smile frozen on his face as he crossed the threshold, a gentle hand on Geralt’s elbow to ensure he would follow.

There was no announcement, no herald making their arrival known, yet at least half a dozen heads turned their direction immediately. A hushed whisper spread through the ballroom with each of their footfalls, like ripples on a still lake during a rain shower that turned into a thunderstorm. A few moments passed, none of the attendants quite sure how to react—Julian Pankratz’ return had been surprising to all, disconcerting to most, and relieving to none.

Then: “Julian Pankratz!” a booming voice cut through the backdrop of murmurs, the crowd parting to let the speaker through. “I didn’t think you’d have the guts to show your face here.”

Jaskier’s lips curled into a true smile for but a moment when he recognised him. “Dawid,” he greeted his former friend, wincing slightly when he pounded on his shoulder, “I wouldn’t have if I had known you’d be here.”

The knight laughed at that, slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him along. After that it was as if a wall had broken down. The journey to their places was torturously slow, continuously interrupted by former friends and lovers, now married and introducing their heirs, enemies and strangers, who sought to curry favours, or just regular attendants who just wanted an excuse to gawk at him.

They had almost made it, the end of their table already in touching distance, when another petitioner approached. It was a young boy, a squire, Jaskier guessed, dressed in Goldfurt’s livery, who bowed deeply. “My lord, my lord Goldfurt sends his regrets for the unfortunate seating situation,” the boy said with a wavering voice. “I am to let you know that there unfortunately is not enough space to accommodate all of your family as well as your witcher.”

Jaskier did not have to look up at the half-empty dais to know it was a blatant lie. “Unfortunate indeed,” he replied curtly.

“However, his lordship asked me to inform you that you yourself are welcome to join him at the high table, as are the two maidens who share his blood. And that you may rest assured, my lord, the witcher will enjoy himself just fine where he is.”

"I thank you kindly," Jaskier answered primly. "If you would do me the favour of relaying a message to her ladyship, now? Tell my sister, what is good enough for my witcher is good enough for me. I do not wish to add any additional strain to our familial relationship than there already is with our presence, which is why I am sure I will enjoy the festivities just as well down here as up there."

The boy stared up at him with wide eyes. "Lady Goldfurt," impressed upon him again. "If possible, in the presence of Lady Kerton." He nodded hastily and disappeared.

When Jaskier turned around with a sigh he was met with Geralt's dark expression. "What?"

"Do you think it advisable-"

He waved his hand around tiredly, continuing his path to Józefa and Ciri. Fuck, he was exhausted already and the banquet hadn't even started yet. "Do not worry about my wisdom, Geralt, I know more about these affairs than you do."

"It's not your wisdom or intelligence I question, I know you have both aplenty. It's your foresight. I do not know you to be a patient man."

"And I am not, but luckily it is not of the essence in this case. I am aware we tread on unfamiliar territory for you, but I grew up here. I am well aware of how far I, Julian of Lettenhove, can go before truly insulting someone. Lucky for us both, it is much farther that either you, Geralt of Rivia, or I, Jaskier the bard, could hope to. If anything, it will reflect poorly on our host to deny me my designated place over such a petty squabble. It will earn us sympathies!"

"What will earn us sympathies?" Ciri's eager voice asked.

"The fact that you will have to make do with this entirely new place for you, cublet, that is not at the side of the host of such a lavish gathering,” Jaskier replied and bowed with a flourish, taking her hand to kiss her knuckles. She giggled. “Madam, what a joy it is to see you. Truly, you are the jewel that crowns this evening; your beauty outshines the rising sun after a moonless night.”

“Thank you, Lord Lettenhove,” she answered with a perfect curtsy, during which the skirts of her dress flared out. Lettenhove ochre, just like his doublet, he noticed, and her dark hair plaited in an updo that must have taken hours to complete. It left no doubts as to where she belonged. She glanced up at him with a malicious glint in her eyes. "Do you know the best part?" she whispered.

He leaned down to her. "Tell me."

"The skirts are so wide, I could still gut a man in it."

Jaskier blinked in surprise; it was the quiet chuckle form Geralt that got him to finally break into laughter. "And what a good thing that is," he assured her.

"Fiona," Józefa chided softly. "I told you not to say that in nice company."

“Of course, cousin,” Ciri replied with a mischievous grin, “I would never.”

"Thank you," he said, rolling his eyes and winked at Ciri. He couldn't stop the feeling of pride welling up within him, but at least he could stop himself from hugging her by approaching his sister and kissing her hand as well. "You, madam, are just as dazzling as our young cousin. I fear I shall be blinded after this night, surrounded by so much beauty."

Behind him he heard Geralt whisper to Ciri: "What answer?"

"I just insulted him politely," Ciri answered just as hushed, evidently very proud himself. 

Józefa huffed and crossed her arms under her chest. She was wearing an expensive red robe with orange embroidery and primroses etched on the edge. "You are a woeful waffler, brother. But you look good, too. Nice and proper."

"Nice and proper indeed," Jaskier replied and straightened his impeccable doublet. "You think I can fool them into thinking I am just as much of a stuck-up prick as my father was and as they are?"

"Hmm," she hummed and cast a quick glance around. "I think you already have. Maybe yell at a few servants or refuse to speak to any of the ladies if the topic is not their beauty if you really want to drive the point home."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Working on it, sister dearest. I'm working on it." He clapped his hands and smiled brightly. "Well, let's get comfortable, shall we?" he chirped and pulled the chair back for his sister and Ciri in turn.

When he turned to Geralt and quirked a curious eyebrow when he still found him standing. The witcher looked back and forth between Jaskier and his two wards before shrugging. Geralt pulled back his seat with the mockery of a bow. 

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Thank you, my friend," Jaskier said with a subtle touch to Geralt's shoulder as he sat down.

"You're welcome. Julian," he said, as if he was probing out the taste of the unfamiliar name in his lips. A moment later he grimaced, as if it was particularly disgusting.

Jaskier was almost about to tease him about him when the great doors opened and Lord Goldfurt walked in with Janina on his arm. His sister looked magnificent, if he dared say so himself. While she usually didn't indulge in the luxuries that her advantageous marriage granted her, Jaskier was sure that she was wearing the most luxurious dress she had donned since her wedding. It was in dark and subdued tones, almost dark enough to count as mourning, that screamed "Lettenhove" at the same time.

Jaskier smirked. It had been a brilliant idea on Justyna's part.

The unhappy pair stopped before the dais, Janina stone-faced and Filip with a smile that fooled no-one. "My dear friends," he greeted them, "I am overjoyed that I am able to greet all of you once again at the beginning of this new year. May it bring prosperity and health for all of us. Especially my estranged brother-in-law, Julian Pankratz who has finally ascended to his rightful place as Lord Lettenhove. It's an honour and a pleasure to finally host the famous Pankratz siblings again. A shame that you are missing one of your matching set. What do you say, Julian? A toast of the famous poet!"

Jaskier rose from his seat to the thundering applause and bowed exaggeratedly. Somehow, this was the most calming thing he had done in months. "Thank you, thank you," he placated. " I fear neither honour nor pleasure are the words our hosts usually describe us with." It roused a laugh from the crowd. "But, for the sake of this tradition, we will behave.

"I am thrilled, though I am entirely undeserving of the praise. Here's to my sisters, who are more beautiful than a bouquet of larkspurs. To the Count of Goldfurt, our gracious host. It is my utmost joy to finally be reunited with my family and my home. To Redania! And to his beautiful lady wife, my sister, Janina of Lettenhove."

He could practically feel the temperature drop in the hall as soon as he had uttered the last words, all eyes trained on Goldfurt to see how he might react. He practically didn't react at all, besides begrudgingly raising his goblet to his mouth and taking the tiniest of sips. "To home," he agreed reluctantly, "and my lady wife."

Janina, on the other hand, barely contained her grin and drank a big gulp. "To home," she said as well and the toast echoed through the hall, slowly reciprocated by all of the guests. The toasts were mixed with murmurs of confusion that died as soon as the food started to appear.

The banquet itself was a dreary affair as noble banquets often were, especially if the people at your table were of the quiet sort. And what was Geralt if not the quietest of them all?

Still, Jaskier delighted in pointing out the Counts, Barons and knights to Ciri. Between Józefa and himself they managed not only to call up old history lessons of their neighbours and their connections to Lettenhove, but also a fair share of gossip as the first course was served: fish. Oh, and what fish it was. Platters upon platters of smoked cod was passed in front of them, along with roast pike and fat carps in beer sauce, accompanied with little pastries of perch, trout, and salmon.

It was good. No, divine even. Not as good as Ana's cooking at home, but that was hard to beat. Apart from that it might be the best food he'd eaten in years.

"Did you know," Józefa stage-whispered and leaned over to him, "that three years ago Goldfurt's aunt was found in flagrante with Dergetten's elder sister?"

Jaskier gasped, pretending to be scandalised. "You're kidding. That old bag?"

"What's in flagrante?" Ciri wanted to know and Geralt choked on his food. "Jaskier, what's it mean?"

"Umm," he felt his cheeks grow hot. "You know what? Geralt will gladly explain that to you." The witcher shot him a mean glare that betrayed that, no, he absolutely would not. At this point he decided that it was best to change the topic. "Do you see that old knight over there?" he asked and discreetly pointed at the table across the dance floor from them. "He's supposed to be a dragon slayer."

Geralt snorted disbelievingly, and Jaskier shrugged. "Oh, we all know he's a liar. He's got the dragon's wings hanging in his hall, I've seen them. If you ask me, it's a bat he killed. And not even an especially large one."

Ciri giggled at that and Jaskier happily continued to dish out child-appropriate rumours as the next round of dishes for them to choose from was paraded around. It was poultry next, roast chickens, chicken pastries, scalloped chickens. But also, a dozen herons, little carrot-nests with fieldfares, and truffled capon. And all along the wine flowed freely. Est-Est was brought out by the barrel, as well as dry reds, sweet whites and even the odd sparkling wine in between. Normally, Jaskier would have indulged happily, but he had the feeling that he should keep a clear head for the evening. Besides, he had monitor Ciri's alcohol intake, who readily charmed the servants into slipping another sip into her watered-down wine.

They had just advanced to the main courses—fourteen suckling pigs, two dozen roast veal, eight whole boars, a handful of oxen, with thick gravy, cooked and fried and braised roots and an overabundance of cabbages. White cabbages, red cabbages, pickled cabbage, cabbage salad—oh, how he missed Toussaint in the winter—when some puffed-up peacock playing at being a poet swaggered onto the dance floor. Jaskier huffed and crossed his arms, pointedly ignoring Geralt's bemused stares. 'The bardlet isn't even good,' Jaskier noted and forced himself to stop listening, else he might work himself into a rage over the blatant display of negative talent, that's what it was—

Geralt relieved a servant of her pitcher to refill both their goblets. Upon seeing Jaskier's questioning expression he shrugged. "Might make it more bearable for both of us," he explained and nudged the cup towards him. "This night I won't suffer sober."

He laughed hoarsely and clinked their cups together before taking a large gulp. "To sobriety, then."

"To banquets," Geralt added and glanced over to Ciri, "and no more surprises."

"What are you two talking about?" she wanted to know.

"The last banquet we attended together," Jaskier answered, steadfastly trying to ignore how his heart hurt at the thought. "It's where... we met your mother."

"Oh." She perked up at that, although her eyes seemed to grow sadder. "Was it... was it similar?"

"No," Jaskier said, just as Geralt replied: "Yes."

They blinked at each other for a moment before looking away. Jaskier tried to ignore the curious look Ciri gave him before she was distracted by Józefa again, the gods bless her soul. He was sure the little princess wasn't listening anymore and he was even more sure that Geralt was well aware of it, when the witcher growled: "The music was better."

"Excuse me?" he squeaked. Quickly, he cleared his throat. "Excuse me?" he asked again

He leaned over to him and Jaskier eyed him warily. "The bard's shit," he hissed. "Can't even carry a simple tune."

Well. That wasn't untrue. But hearing it from Geralt made him nearly spit out his wine. "You think all bards are shit," he responded as soon as he had recovered from his coughing fit.

"Bull-fucking-shit," Geralt growled. "I like your singing well enough."

He raised an incredulous eyebrow. "You called my singing a fillingless pie."

He shrugged. "And I still think that's true. Tasty crust," he impaled a piece of pie on his fork, "no filling." He pointed his fork at Jaskier. "Pretty voice, empty lyrics."

"Oh, so you think I have a pretty voice?" the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "Anything else about me that appeals to your artistic eye?"

"Hmm," Geralt answered and raked his eyes over Jaskier's body before quickly hiding his smile behind his goblet. Not quickly enough, though. His cheeks grew hot with the blush and he frowned darkly.

'Stop it,' he commanded himself. 'No use reading meanings into something where nothing's there.' He drained his water glass. He was is desperate need of a clear head, for he was quite aware that the heat coursing through his body was not merely caused by the many people getting drunk in the room.

At least he could distract himself with dessert being served: sweet pumpkin pies and baked, stuffed apples, red berry groats and oat biscuits with honey and cinnamon. Jaskier was quick enough to snatch the cup of mulled wine out of Ciri's hands, but could hardly protest the platter laden with all different kinds of sweets—not when his plate didn't look any different.

He passed the goblet he had just salvaged over to Geralt, who just scoffed. "Oh, now he's ripping off your songs," the witcher grumbled. "Ridiculous."

Jaskier sighed. "Let him." He knew there were enough impostors; he had stopped caring years ago.

"He's not even getting the lyrics right."

"I thought they were empty anyways," he remarked and popped a biscuit into his mouth.

"Not the point."

"Jaskier," Ciri interrupted them, "they're starting to dance."

He frowned as he saw Goldfurt leading Janina onto the dance floor to signify the end of the dinner. He sighed as he caught Lady Alina's eye on the other side of the hall. No doubt he would be expected to share at least one dance with his betrothed, for propriety's sake.

"I suppose you should join them, Julian," Geralt quipped and crossed his arms as they watched Justyna and Damian join them on the dance floor.

"I suppose I should."

"Well?"

He rolled his eyes. "Maybe later. For the moment, allow me to abuse your presence to hide from my duties." He watched his two sisters dance when another thought hit him: "Wait, how do you know that the lyrics are wrong?"

Jaskier could've sworn he saw a blush creep up Geralt's cheeks as the witcher grumbled something unintelligible and hid behind his tankard again.

"Geralt of Rivia," Jaskier gasped indignantly, "are you trying to tell me, you memorised my songs?"

"Don't flatter yourself."

“I—” Jaskier began, only to be interrupted by Józefa: “Julian,” she called his attention. “I believe you should honour the Lady Alina with a dance.”

“Fine,” he ground out and rose to his feet.  “I believe I have to surrender you to my sister’s care for a while, so I fear our conversation will have to come to a close for the moment.”

“Pity,” the witcher grumbled and leaned back in his seat, obviously not finding it a pity at all.

Jaskier laughed as if he had just told a joke. “Do try to enjoy yourself, my friend.” He winked, though his heart sank. “I’ll be back.”

He wasn’t quite sure if he should be relieved or not to leave the witcher and his sour mood behind, though he was sure that his own mood grew worse with every step. Eyes and whispers clung to him all along the way, although he pretended not to hear.

He couldn’t deny them their right to gossip; they were landed gentry after all, what else were they supposed to do with their pitiable lives? He’d just prefer that gossip to be limited to him and not the newest two additions to his household.

He had been hesitant, at first, to bring both of them to Goldfurt. Truly the last thing on earth they needed was more attention on Lettenhove. But after some long talks with Józefa they had come to the conclusion that there were rumours anyways. Not bringing the two of them along would look even more conspicuous.

In the end, he wasn’t the one who found his betrothed, for she beat him to the chase. “Lord Lettenhove,” she called for his attention.

“Lady Alina,” he did little to mask his surprise. “You’re just the one I was looking for.”

“Were you now?” She raised her eyebrows. “No doubt for the same reasons as I do.”

“And which might those be?”

“To satisfy my brother’s demands that we socialise, of course,” she replied and raised her fan to hide her exaggerated yawn. “Is there not a question you should ask me?”

Jaskier bowed gracefully. "May I have this dance, my lady?"

“You may.” She barely even bothered with a curtsy before she let herself be led to the centre of the dance floor. The spent about half of the dance in icy silence, before Lady Alina finally spoke up: “So, are the rumours true then?”

“Rumours?” he feigned ignorance.

She snorted. “Do not insult me, Lettenhove. We both know that you are well aware what I am talking about.”

Of course, he knew. The whole society talked about nothing else but Fiona Nowak’s parents. There was a myriad of different stories where she came from and why she was in Lettenhove now, many of which he and Józefa had planted themselves. The most wide-spread, however, was the only one that he had actually tried to extinguish: “If you want to pretend, you’re more stupid than you actually are, fine. Let me be frank, my lord. Is young Miss Nowak your bastard daughter?”

He locked his jaw. “Those rumours are none that I encouraged,” he answered curtly.

“That does not answer my question.”

“And yet it is the only answer I will give on that matter,” he insisted. He had no wish to discuss the matter any further, so he was not quite sure what made him continue talking: “Though it is true that she is very dear to me, as is her safety. I would do anything to keep her safe.”

“How admirable,” she responded drily. “Though again, I would have thought the cleverness of your sisters runs in the family. I am disappointed to see that it doesn’t.”

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Ouch.’ Were he a man easily slighted, he would have taken offence. In reality, though, he was only impressed. “Are you well acquainted with them, my lady?”

“With some better than others. Did you know that I spent a few years in Nowigrad?”

He tensed up and she laughed.

“Of course, you did. You avoided the city like the plague back then.” Lady Alina smiled politely. “Well, Jolanta sends her regards.”

He frowned. She had never told him that she knew his former fiancée.

“She also lets you know that another friend of yours is growing restless with… this.” She made a vague gesture at the gossiping nobles around them.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I could not say, my lord, I am but the messenger.” The music stopped and she stepped back from him immediately. “I believe we have satisfied our duties. Good night, my lord.”

Even after leaving his fiancée in the arms of another, the dancing did not stop. Instead of his feet tracing patterns over the floor, his words took over as he found himself getting sucked deeper and deeper into the deadly dance of deception that was so popular with all nobles. Whenever he spun, trying to step off the dance floor of politics he found himself in the slippery grasp of yet another opponent. Chief among them, of course, were his sisters.

"Despicable old bag," Janina hissed, still eyeing the dowager Baroness he had rescued her from. "She's rotten to the bone."

"A Dergetten through and through," he agreed. "Józefa told me she’s the reason Lady Zibold came down with that horrible stomach sickness two years ago."

"Really, Julek?" She rolled her eyes. "You, churning the rumour mill?"

He shrugged. He had never claimed to be above these petty squabbles; he was landed gentry, after all, what else was he supposed to do with his pitiable life?

He spun away from her, soon to be embraced by another lady. All the while he danced, he could hear the rumours continue to spread like wildfire.

“Did you hear Lettenhove had the witcher bring his bastard to his keep?” he heard one nobleman whisper.

“She’s supposed to be the daughter of some whore,” another quipped.

“Don’t be a fool, Alma, she’s the Countess de Stael’s daughter; remember how she retreated to a temple for a few months a decade ago?”

“No, she has elf blood in her veins, it’s why he hid her.”

On and on the whispers went and Jaskier couldn’t help but roll his eyes at them. Not a single one of them got even close to the truth. He supposed he had to be grateful for that and he couldn’t resist the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when he saw her. She was hand in hand with Daria, sweeping over the dance floor and disturbing this dancing couples in the process.

He spun a web of lies to evade a landed knight’s curious questions and found himself on the dancefloor again within the blink of an eye, Justyna in his arms.

"I am glad to see her so joyous," he said with a fond smile as Ciri and Daria swept past them again, nearly knocking Janina and Goldfurt over in the process. "Both of them." His smile widened even more when he saw her keeping her husband from reprimanding them. 'You can't hide from me, Janka,' he thought triumphantly, 'she's gotten to you just as much as to the rest of us.'

Justyna hummed her approval. "She's a sullen child, is she not? I feared she might faint during our first meeting."

Jaskier sighed. "She's been through a lot, Konwalia. She's seen so many bad things, worse than anything you or me can imagine, and she's just a child."

He stepped away to bow to her as she spun away from him. When he pulled her close again, she averted her gaze. "Maybe I didn't give you enough credit. Maybe you might be able to understand."

“Maybe I might be,” he agreed cautiously. “Where’s Julek, by the way? I don’t think I’ve seen him in hours.”

"He's— Miss Nina put him to bed. He was... not feeling well."

"He's a quiet boy."

"He is. Easily overwhelmed, too. He doesn't smile a lot either. He's a good boy, though," she assured him quickly.

"That I do not doubt," he said and smiled. She didn't return it. "Justyna?" Her gaze flickered away nervously as she tugged on her sleeve. It was a bad habit their father had beaten out of her even before he'd left. It worried him. “You—I am aware that you think me unable to comprehend your worries, and maybe you are right and I am. However, I hope that you would still confide in me after all these years. If there is anything short of murder and treason within my power to help you and yours, I will do it, without hesitation.”

She kept silent for a few more moments, looking uneasy. "It's Damian," she told him quietly. "He believes him a changeling."

He huffed disbelievingly. “A changeling?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “That’s what he settled for after accusing me of adultery first. He does not believe that a son of his could be this—”

“Inadequate?” Jaskier offered, well-acquainted with that particular paternal sentiment.

“He is not what he wants his son to be. Not courageous, not knightly enough, while Daria is—not enough of a boy to be precisely that.”

“And isn’t that a familiar tune?” Jaskier sighed quietly. “I am sorry your son takes this much after his namesake.”

“I am not.” She raised her chin defiantly. “For I love his namesake, just as I love my son.”

“I am glad to hear that.” The song ended and they both took a step backwards. Jaskier reached down and gently lifted her knuckles to his lips. “Worry not, my lady. For the time being, you are guests in Lettenhove, protected by my castle peace. And I happen to be quite fond of cowards, monsters, and inadequate children.”

Her expression softened. “I know you are. Thank you, Jaskier.”

He squeezed her hand briefly, before excusing himself, in desperate need of a drink—and a conversation with a certain witcher, he believed. The ballroom floor was as dangerous a terrain as it had been the whole evening, but Jaskier deftly dodged those who threatened to converse with him before collapsing in the chair next to Geralt. "Finally," he sighed and gladly took the goblet his witcher handed him.

“Did you have fun, Julian?” Geralt asked him and Jaskier raised an incredulous eyebrow.

“Did I look like I was having fun?” he countered.

“I am sure there was quite a number of attendants you managed to fool.” The unspoken ‘but not me’ hang heavy in the air between them and for a moment he allowed himself to bask in the familiarity of that. Jaskier closed his eyes, the noise and smell and lights draining away with every heartbeat until he could pretend it was just the two of them in a lonely clearing, sharing a skin of sour wine. Just them, just friends, just a witcher and his bard.

The illusion was sundered all too soon by a voice they had suffered all too long for one evening already. "Good sirs, might I persuade you to make a request?” Jaskier opened his eyes again and found himself staring into the young and bright-eyed face of a bard whose hopes and dreams were surely about to be crushed. The boy smiled widely and bowed. “Along with a bit of constructive criticism, mayhaps?"

Jaskier exchanged a quick glance with Geralt and, slowly and deliberately, set down his goblet as he waited for the answer he knew would come: "You changed the lyrics," Geralt stated, "not for the better."

"And how would you know?" the bardling asked with too much enthusiasm and tilted his head to the side. He gave them both a thorough look before gasping with excitement. "Oh, I know who you are! You're the witcher, Geralt of Rivia. And you-" He turned to Jaskier and his eyes grew wide. "Master Jaskier!" He bowed deeply. "It's an honour to meet you, truly it is. I have studied all of your work, sir, I am one of your greatest admirers."

He did his best to hide his pained expression with a smile. "I fear I do not go by that name anymore. I am old and weary; it is time for the new generation to get a chance. Viscount Lettenhove, if you please."

“Of course, my lord. And, if I may be so bold: wise words, wise words indeed,” the bard preened, too caught up in his speech to notice Geralt’s elbow landing in Jaskier’s ribcage or the wheeze that escaped him at that. "Might I humbly request a piece of advice of you? It would honour me greatly, no matter—”

"You may," he interrupted him and shot a glance at Geralt. "Stop singing other people's songs."

"But-"

"Don't interrupt him," Geralt growled.

“Thank you, my witcher,” Jaskier said and twirled his goblet in his hand. “See, young man, here’s the issue: you may be a bard, might even call yourself a strolling minstrel, and yet you are living off another’s hard work. I do not begrudge you for it; repeating songs you have heard certainly is a way to make your living. Mind you, however, that a poet, a troubadour, a veritable minstrel is, first and foremost, an artist.”

“But—” the bardling laughed nervously. “But I do not paint pictures.”

“Evidently,” Geralt grumbled just as Jaskier asked: “Don’t you?” He sighed and took a sip. “I certainly did. My experiences were my canvas, my emotions my paints, my aching heart my brush. Which is why I cannot sing the songs of another. How can you aspire to give a true performance, pour your heart and soul into it, if you don't even know what you're singing? You're still young, so go out into the world while you still have the chance. See if you don't find something that's worth singing about."

"How will I know that I have found such a thing?"

"Oh,” he stared into his goblet, “you will."

"But what is it? Will my heart stop when I spot it? Will—Will I lay my life on the line for it? Is it something worth dying for?"

"No," Jaskier said softly, "your life will stop, that much is true; but it isn't something that ends so much as something that begins. You will know when you have found something worth singing about, when you find something worth living for."

Next to him, his witcher choked on his wine.

[tsvestidiabolus]

It’s that time again, fellas.  A new chapter of memento vitae, my Yamato/Robin multichap fic is out!

summary: Robin joins the Beast Pirates. This wasn't by choice.  AU, Yamato/Robin endgame.

if you would like to read it on tumblr, the whole chapter is under the cut!  Please considering reblogging and supporting my Romato agenda.

At one point Robin would have given up everything to be out in the ocean, and now all she wanted to do was to return home.  Of course, this was no longer an option, so the only alternative she could consider was to drown herself, and that didn’t sound pleasant either.  In the end she was forced to live, and that was the greatest punishment the world could give her.

Having travelled almost four weeks with King - a name she couldn’t tell if he deserved or not - Robin was beginning to grow bored with each passing day.  Not that she particularly minded that, for it was a far better alternative to whatever King had in store for her.  But still, the anticipation was almost killing her, and the jeers and sneers from his crew didn’t help.  It was like they knew that something was to happen to her, and the fact that she didn’t know frustrated her to no end. 

Sometimes, on rare occasions, King would visit her.  He would never speak a word, merely stare, and she would never speak a word, looking straight back at him.  She didn’t know what he was thinking or doing in those little stare-contests of theirs.  She wondered if he thought of a hundred ways to kill her, as she did him.  Whatever the case may be, she was winning.  Two wins to her, one win to King.  Spending hours and sometimes days awake did wonders to help for her to stop blinking.

Most humiliating was when, during the times where she was allowed to eat, the pirates would taunt her.  It always came down to them either placing the plate of food just out of reach, or not bothering to unlock her arms from her cuffs.  They could easily have done so; the cuffs were clamped tightly around her ankles too, but apparently it was more enjoyable for them to watch her struggle to eat with just her mouth, like a dog.  The pirates had laughed and mocked her, throwing as many obscene words her way as possible.  Robin ignored them, for the most part.  She’d rather live in humiliation than die for their satisfaction.  

Still, that didn’t mean she could forget any of their faces.

Robin spent her time counting her teeth, when she wasn’t trying to catch a glimpse of outside her cell.  Not that the view really told her much about where she was, but the smell of sea salt and fresh air was certainly more favourable than the stench of burning leather that lingered in her cell after King’s visits.  If she were adept at navigation, she could probably tell where she was from smell alone.  She wasn’t, though, and being able to tell where you were from scent alone seemed like a pretty useless ability outside of mere curiosity.

On what could have been the eve of the fourth week, Robin was greeted by King once more.  Though, this time he seemed impatient.  Irritated.  The flame on the back of his neck was crackling violently, to the point where Robin was afraid it might set the room on fire.  It didn’t, though.  Unfortunately.

“Change of plans,” he said. “We’re taking a detour.”

Robin looked up to him, knitting her brows together. “A detour from where?” she asked.  Just as a casual reminder that he still hadn’t told her where they were going.

King ignored the question, of course. “You will be removed from this confinement shortly.  I thought you’d be happy about that.”

“Ecstatic.” 

“Don’t talk back to me,” King snapped.

The inferno flared up for a moment before dying down to a gentle blaze.  She found her eyes drawn to it once more, taking in the wintry wrath of a man who lived by fire.  This was not someone to trifle with - she couldn’t take the same chances with him as she could with the other, hot-headed pirates.  He would not kill her, but a sense of dread followed him, like the calm before a disaster.  Robin told herself she wasn’t scared of pain anymore.  Robin was a very good liar.

She swallowed.  Perhaps it was best to do as he said for now.

“I trust you know what will happen if you try to escape,” King continued. “We may need you alive, but that doesn’t mean we need all of you.”  

His gaze travelled over to her wrists hanging loosely above her head with an almost ravenous stare.  Suddenly Robin felt the need to hide her arms from him.  The implication didn’t sit very well with her, and her arms were her most useful asset besides her mind.  To take them away would be to take away her very will to fight.  But she couldn’t hide them, as they lay bare for King to see, and she had the chilling sensation that he was slicing them up in his mind.

Although much of his face was hidden behind that abhorrent leather mask, Robin had the feeling he was smiling at that moment with what could only be called sadism. 

“I trust I have your full cooperation?” King asked - the first question he had ever uttered in the four weeks.  

What choice did she even have?

“Yes,” she answered, head hung low.  

“Good.” King left the prison, letting her linger in the stench of ash and burnt leather.  

It took less than a day for Robin to find out what exactly King meant by a ‘detour’.  Detours, as it turned out, meant battle.  She was taken, still cuffed in seastone, to a room far below the deck, only able to catch a glimpse of the sun and a faint outline of an island they were approaching.  The pirate escorting her said something about how she should be grateful they were offering her so much protection.  Robin imagined shoving her fist down his throat.

The pirate shoved her roughly into the new prison - not so much a cell as before, but actual sleeping quarters now.  A single king bed laid in the corner of the room, the walls covered in ornaments and spoils of war.  The walls were painted black half-hazardly - but on closer inspection, they were not painted, they were burned.   She was in the berth of the ship, and whoever this room belonged to - she had a pretty good idea - was someone of importance here.

Just as the pirate began to say, “Now listen here,” the whole room - no, the ship itself - rocked, and the two were thrown against a wall violently.  

Cursing profanities, the pirate was the first to recover, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s started already?”

“What’s started?” Robin asked from the floor, unable to stand up. “What’s going on?”

“Shit.  Shit, shit, shit.” The pirate stomped his foot with every word.  His skin was pale, and his eyes were wide, and sweat dripped down the back of his neck.  For someone who was reacting like a petulant child, he was keeping his balance quiet well despite the tremors and shaking the ship was experiencing.  Unlike Robin, who was already weakened by the seastone cuffs. 

The pirate locked the door, her only exit out of the room, and shoved the keys in his pocket.  Robin briefly wondered if the keys to her cuffs were in the ring - a thought that was swiftly replaced by a blinding white pain.  Her head was turned to the side, and she tasted iron in her mouth.

“Don’t you even think about it,” the pirate snarled from above her.  He patted his pocket.  If he didn’t look so frightened by whatever was outside, Robin would be intimidated. “We’re just making sure you’re not seen by anyone.”

Robin struggled to sit up, leaning against the wall.  The pirate seemed to enjoy watching her suffer and humiliated, the one thing giving him satisfaction during this clearly troubling time.  Finally, she could sit up somewhat properly, her hands tied behind her back and blood dripping from her nose - broken. 

She glared up at him.

“Whatever’s outside is enough to warrant King moving me from my prison,” she said. “If it’s a Marine or Government ship - which I doubt, as King knew beforehand that I would have to be moved, and the only way I can see them being an issue is if they caught you by surprise - then I wouldn’t have to be worried, and you wouldn’t have to be worried.  If it were an enemy pirate ship, the only reason you would be scared this much is if they were considerably more dangerous than you are -”

“SHUT UP!”

“- so I can only assume it’s a pirate ship out there, and, if they know who I am, then they must know of my abilities,” she continued. “The reason I’m here is because you can’t risk losing me.”

From the moment the pirate’s hand twitched and she felt the impact against her temple, she knew she was right.  Such a visceral reaction wouldn’t have happened otherwise.  

Feeling a sort of satisfaction along with the throbbing pain in her head, Robin’s eyes travelled from the pirate to the door.  The trembling and rumbling continued, along with screams, yells, gunshots and cannonfire.  It was pure and utter chaos outside, that much she could tell.  But still, if there was the slightest chance she could be removed from King’s prison, and run away freely…

“HELP!” Robin howled. “PLEASE, ANYONE!”

Her voice hurt from not being used, but that didn’t stop her from screaming her lungs out.  A little humiliating, true, but anything, anything was better than staying with these pirates for any longer.  

The pirate swore and lunged forward - Robin ducked underneath his reach.  He banged his head against the wall, groaning in pain while Robin lifted herself, struggling heavily, to her feet.  Without another word, she ran for the door and slammed against it with her shoulder.

“I’M IN HERE!” 

The door didn’t budge. In fact, she barely made a dent on it.  What was worse, the pirate was now recovered and glowering at her.  With a raging cry, he ran forward again like a bull, and tackled her to the ground. 

Snap.

Robin did not make a sound, but the Beast did.  A small gasp escaped his lips and he jumped back off her, the weight gone from her arm.  That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt though.  Internally she screamed, oh how she screamed, but externally she merely tried to get up onto her feet once more, determined to throw her body against the door again.  

The pirate snatched her arm before she could begin running again.  She winced at the sudden pain jolting up her body, grinding her teeth to stop herself from screaming.  

“King’s gonna fucking kill me,” the pirate groaned as he pulled her back from the door. “We’re not supposed to hurt you -”

Robin bit him.

He kicked her shins.

It was a mutual relationship they had.

She didn’t know how long they scuffled for, her only weapon being her teeth while he retaliated and made her bruise in return.  All the while the ship trembled and rocked dangerously, causing the pair of them to stumble and fall every-so-often.  Their fight was only halted when the door suddenly slammed open - not opened by unlocking it, but by sheer force.

The relief on Robin’s face was bright, and her smile lit up for the first time in months.  This was it, her saviour had come.  She could finally rest easy and escape this place.

“ZEHAHAHA!”

For some reason, the laugh sent chills down her spine, and she didn’t know why.  In her vision stood a hulking mass of a man, the stench of alcohol and smoke and blood wafting from his direction.  She would have gagged, had she not been so desperate to leave at that moment.  The new pirate grinned down at her with hunger, half of his teeth missing.  Robin looked up to him with pleading eyes.

“Didn’t know King was into that!” the stranger said, amusement clear in his voice.  Whipping out a pistol in his hand, he shot the Beast dead and leaned towards her, leering. “Little girls ain’t my thing, but who am I to judge him?”

His grubby hands grasped her throat, lifting her up off the ground.  She choked and struggled against his hold to no avail - he was simply too strong for her, especially in her weakened state.  

“Now, now, why do ya look so familiar?” He tilted his head, bringing Robin closer to him.  The pong of his breath was overwhelming now.  It took all of her energy not to throw up. “Ah!  I know!”  

He leered at her, and Robin felt her heart sink.

“Nice ta finally meetcha, Devil’s Child!  ZEHAHAHA!”

---

Marco prided himself on being one of Pop’s commanders.  It was the greatest honour one could have onboard the Moby Dick - no, in the seas.  Not only was he trusted enough to be a commander in one of the Emperor’s ships, but he was deemed important enough by the Government to have almost a billion berries on his head.  He was flattered, honestly.  But in his mind, he - and everyone else onboard the Moby Dick - were priceless.

Unfortunately, it was not the Government who were so desperately fighting for their lives against him in that moment, nor were it the Marines.  No, it was a rival pirate crew.  How incredibly dull.  At least, that was Marco’s first reaction.

Then he spied the flag that the enemy ship sailed, and heard Whitebeard’s distinct “GURARARA!” from behind him, and excitement ran up his blood like a shot of electricity.  

Kaido’s crew.

Marco grinned from ear to ear, his brows narrowed down to a look of pure hunger for battle.  He squatted on the railing of the Moby Dick, blue flaming wings flickering behind him.  The rest of the crew readied themselves, armed with whatever weapons or powers they could use.  And Whitebeard sat proudly behind them all, grasping Murakumogiri in his hand.  They were all ready for a challenge.

More importantly, they were ready for revenge.  They’d heard what happened to Oden, and while they weren’t willing to attack Wano in the case that one of their own would be hurt or worse, Kaido was not enough of a fool to declare war on Whitebeard for attacking one of his ships in neutral territory.

“You’d better have some grog on you, brats!” Pops declared. “My kids are hungry!”

The Whitebeard Pirates cheered and cried out a war cry.  

On the other ship, there was silence.  Not a single word uttered, despite them seeing a crowd of Beast Pirates on the deck.  Then, Marco felt a thumping in his chest, a vibration in his very bones.  A distant BOOM, BOOM, BOOM  that reverberated throughout the ocean, but not a sound that was cannonfire - no, this was… bizarre.  This was something that he couldn’t explain.  This was…

Funk.

The rhythm pounded against their skin, making even the ocean ripple and waves crash against both their ships.  An island nearby was hearing the full burst of funk, seagulls soaring from the tops of trees with a unified screech - a sound that could not be heard over the blaring music.  Marco did not feel scared, certainly, but there was an air of confusion around the Whitebeard Pirates.  He glanced back to look at Pops.  Whitebeard looked unimpressed.

Shrugging, Marco turned his attention back to the Beasts’ ship.  This certainly wasn’t Kaido onboard, by any means - he wouldn’t be so theatrical.  So vain.  Whoever was onboard the ship, whichever poor soul had encountered an Emperor, was relishing in this moment.

The enemy ship rocked from side to side, not enough to tip the whole thing over, but enough to cause the pirates to almost lose their balance.  Marco stood up from his perch.  He was curious about what sort of pirate was making such a noise.

“I’ve got a plague, and that plague is funkin’!”

Some of the Beasts dispersed, creating a path along the deck.

“It excites me to my core, I’mma chunking!”

Finally, the pirate came into view - a man Marco had never seen before.  He was a massive, round-figured man, one that danced to the beat of the music.  His body jiggled with every move he made in an almost hypnotizing fashion, the blond braid at the back of his head bouncing up and down.  He entered the scene with flair, with vanity, and with so much theatricality that Marco thought he was overcompensating for something.

“LET ME HEAR YOU SAY IT! ONE, TWO…!”

Not a word was spoken amongst the Beasts, nor the Whitebeard Pirates.  Marco could practically sense Pops growing impatient with every second that passed.  It seemed he wasn’t the only impatient one.

The round man whipped his whole body around to face his crew and roared, “YOU USELESS MAGGOTS!  CAN’T YOU GET THIS SIMPLE SHIT RIGHT?”, before throwing a nearby barrel at them.  Most of the crew ran away before it could hit them, save for a large boy with pigtails, who felt the full force of the impact.  The poor boy was holding a transponder snail in his hand, and didn’t see it coming.

Marco just decided that he didn’t like this man very much.

Evidently, Whitebeard didn’t either.  The old man slammed his naginata down, shockwaves reverberating around them as he unleashed his haki. “Who the hell are you, brat?” He didn’t have to raise his voice to a shout to be heard over the thumping music.

The said music stopped, and the round man turned to stare at Whitebeard.  A moment of silence passed between the two ships.

“HOLY SHIT?  WHITEBEARD?” the man screeched, his jaw dropping.  He began to sweat bullets. “YOU DIDN’T SAY HE WAS HERE!”

One of the Beasts said something incoherent in the man’s ear.  That seemed to calm him down somewhat, as he turned back to the Whitebeard Pirates.

“UNFORTUNATELY FOR YOU, I DON’T HAVE ANY GROG ON ME!” he declared. “BUT I GOT SOMETHING THAT’LL SEND CHILLS UP YOUR SPINE!  LISTEN UP, I’M QUEEN!  AND I GOT SOMETHING THAT’LL BLOW YOUR MIND!”

He raised his arm and lowered it quickly.  Then, everything happened at once.  All the cannons on their ship exploded with a BOOM, the cannonfire approaching their ship at a rapid pace.  Marco and the others were able to knock most of the balls into the ocean, but some hit the Moby Dick - barely scratching it, of course.  But it seemed that didn’t help the Whitebeard Pirates at all.

After a moment passed, smoke began erupting from the balls.  Purple smoke.

Marco swore.  Poison gas.

He screamed at as many as he could to cover their mouths and to get inside - he would be alright, with his powers, but what about the rest of them?  Jumping up from the railing, he covered the old man and his brothers in his flames in an effort to protect them from the gas.  

In a manner of moments, the worst of the fog lifted, but by then it was too late.  Half the crew was choking and writhing around the floor.  But that wasn’t the worst of it.  The Beasts had, in that time, sailed to them, and grappled at the Moby Dick with their own galleon.  Pirates were climbing up ropes, weapons in hands, and prepared to battle.

The fight had begun.

[melacka]

A Blacklist Secret Santa

Sending out the very best wishes for a wonderful festive season to @reddingtonsplace. I am your Blacklist Secret Santa and I offer you a brand new Lizzington fic which I sincerely hope you enjoy. It’s chock full of flirting, Christmas-related fluff and an eventful undercover operation.

Thanks, as always, to the organisers of this event. I look forward to it every year and really appreciate the effort you put in to facilitate so much great new content.

Now, on with the story!

Title: Precious Time by Melacka

Rating: T (for suggestive comments only)

Word Count: 2210

Summary: Red had been so wired after their little undercover jaunt that when he returned to the safe house he couldn’t think of anything but Lizzy. He knew that if he left her to her own devices at this critical juncture, the most likely outcome was that she would turn herself inside out trying to rationalise her actions and then seek to distance herself. He couldn’t allow that to happen, not this time.

Or, after an untimely interruption halts an intimate moment undercover, Red seeks Liz out to talk it over.

You can read it on AO3 here or keep reading below.

Liz took a careful sip of her champagne and tried to focus on what the man sitting next to her was saying. Unfortunately, she was having some trouble concentrating. She couldn’t remember his name, or why he was sitting next to her, or what information she was trying to extract from him. Unfortunately, she was also having trouble remembering what name she was supposed to be using or what her cover was. When she’d agreed to go undercover with Red at this event, she hadn’t anticipated that he would introduce her as his wife or that he would spend most of the night touching her. When they were dancing, he pulled her close into him and encouraged her to lean against his shoulder, claiming that it would help her not to think too much about the steps and just enjoy the dance. He was right, of course, which Liz chose to keep to herself. When he introduced her to various people, he managed to keep in touch with some part of her body at all times. And now, he had one arm draped over the back of her chair and his fingers were tracing gentle patterns on her back. It had been like that all evening. It was nothing inappropriate, of course, but it was so deliberate, so casually intimate, that even she was starting to believe that they were lovers.

If only, she thought and then shook her head slightly. Get a grip, Liz.

“You disagree, Clarice?” her mystery man said, sounding surprised.

Liz snapped her attention back to her conversation partner and favoured him with a wide smile. She had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

“Oh, not at all!” Liz said breezily, trying to cover her confusion with charm. “I don’t know how anyone could disagree!”

“Quite right,” Red murmured from her other side. “Clarice, my dear, may I borrow you for a moment?”

“Of course, Raymond,” Liz said demurely. “Would you excuse us?”

Red stood and offered her his arm. She placed her hand on his elbow and remained close by his side as they exited the room.

“You seem distracted this evening,” Red murmured, when they were far enough away from the other guests to speak in relative privacy. “Anything I can help with?”

“Yes,” Liz sighed, “remind me who I’m talking to again.”

“That gentleman is Jackson Nicholls, useful for his connections but otherwise uninteresting. He’s a small fish in a rather large pond, Lizzy, you don’t need to worry if you find his conversation less than scintillating.”

“Oh, thank God.” Liz threw a glance over her shoulder and then steered Red further away from the crowd. “By the way,” she said, turning to look at him with an eyebrow raised. “Clarice?”

“You don’t like it?” he asked innocently. “I thought that it was curiously appropriate.”

“Appropriate?” Liz scoffed. “Do me a favour and never ever tell me your reasoning for that.”

“Are you feeling alright, Lizzy?” Red asked, caught somewhere between amusement and concern. “You’ve been distracted all night and now you’re telling me not to explain myself.”

Liz laughed softly and reached a hand up to adjust his bowtie. It was perfectly straight, of course, she was just wound so tight that she felt the need for some kind of contact.

“I’m fine, Raymond.”

“You’ve been calling me Raymond an awful lot this evening.”

“Is there something else you’d like me to call you, Raymond?” she said playfully.

“Not at all,” he replied quickly, pulling her in a fraction closer. “I like to hear you say it.”

“What a coincidence.”

“Coincidence?”

“Oh yes,” Liz said, slipping her hands around his waist and smiling when his eyes widened. “I’ve found that I quite like saying it, as well. It has a certain ring to it, wouldn’t you agree? And there’s just something so pleasurable about the way it feels in my mouth.”

Red gaped and Liz felt a little flutter in her stomach at her daring.

“Lizzy—”

“Raymond,” she purred as she hugged him tightly. “Raymond.” She lifted her face to his. “Raymond.”

“Raymond!” a voice called out jovially and Liz froze. “There you two are! Sneaking off at a party like a couple of teenagers, I don’t know what’s gotten into you!”

Red sent an irritated glare towards the intruder but otherwise didn’t move. Liz recognised him as one of the men who worked for their host and had a sudden thrill of fear that they had been found out.

“Although, with a beautiful woman like that on offer, I can’t say I blame you. Clarice, isn’t it? A pleasure to meet you.”

“Isaac,” Red said gruffly. “Was there something you needed?”

“I’m sorry, have I interrupted something important?”

Liz only just managed to stop herself from shouting out that yes, he had very much interrupted something important.

“You don’t sound especially worried by your interruption, Isaac,” Red said smoothly. “And you still haven’t given the reason for it.”

“Dinner is almost ready to be served,” Isaac continued, still staring avidly at Liz. “Your absence was a point of some concern for our host.”

“Naturally.” Red sounded annoyed but when he turned his attention back to Liz, his tone was considerably softer. “Sweetheart, are you ready to re-join the party?”

“Of course, darling,” Liz murmured, pressing a teasing kiss to his neck, chuckling at the shiver that passed through him at the contact. “Anything you want.”

Red closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers briefly before he pulled away and gestured for her to precede him out of the room.

“You lucky dog!” Isaac cried, slapping Red on the back as he passed.

Red looked murderous, Liz just smiled and walked away.

Early the next morning, Raymond Reddington held his breath as he watched Liz enter the small café. She scanned the room quickly as she unwound the scarf from her neck and unbuttoned her coat. She froze when she noticed him, and it would have been comical if Red didn’t have so much riding on this meeting. He relaxed somewhat when he saw the slight softening around her lips, barely the hint of a smile, but Red was prepared to take what he could get.

He’d barely slept at all the night before and he'd already had two cups of coffee this morning to compensate. He’d been so wired after their little undercover jaunt that when he returned to the safe house he couldn’t think of anything but Lizzy. They hadn’t uncovered any useful intel about the Blacklister they were chasing, but their evening left Red with so much to consider. So many possibilities seemed to open up before him, but he felt like he needed to move fast before Lizzy slammed the door in his face. He knew that if he left her to her own devices at this critical juncture, the most likely outcome was that she would turn herself inside out trying to rationalise her actions and then seek to distance herself. He couldn’t allow that to happen, not this time.

He tried to regulate his breathing as Liz wove her way through the tables and chairs towards where he sat alone. He summoned his best carefree smile as she came to a stop directly in front of him.

“Lizzy, fancy meeting you here!”

Liz raised an eyebrow at him but otherwise remained impassive as she spoke.

“Considering the fact that I live just around the corner from this place, I’d say that it’s far more likely that I’ll be here than you, Red.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that! This is fast becoming one of my favourite haunts.”

“Really?” Liz said dryly, her eyes flicking quickly to his lips before she raised them to glance carelessly around the room. “I guess it’s time for me to find a new local, then.”

“You wound me, Lizzy,” Red sighed dramatically, and Liz grinned. “Care to join me? They have some rather delicious looking items on their menu.”

“Well—” Liz began, looking hesitant. “It’s just that I wasn’t expecting to see you today. It’s supposed to be my day off.”

“I’m not here to work,” Red said calmly. “This is purely a social visit, I assure you.”

She hesitated for a moment more before she shrugged and pulled out the chair across from him, draping her coat carefully over the back.

“Well, now that we’re both here, we may as well make the most of it.”

“Exactly! Let us make the most of our opportunities before they completely pass us by.”

Liz shot him a suspicious look but merely said, “Are you sure I’m not going to be disturbing your plans by joining you?”

“I am, as you know, a very busy man, Lizzy.” Liz snorted at this but Red continued speaking unperturbed, “But your company is always welcome.”

“What a relief,” she said dryly as she reached over to steal the menu from under his hand.

“Looking to try something new, Lizzy?”

“Hmm,” she said, sounding non-committal. “I’ve been thinking that it’s about time for some pretty drastic change in my life. May as well start with my breakfast order.”

“That’s awfully philosophical of you for so early in the day.”

“I can manage it occasionally. What are you getting?”

“I was thinking of getting a range of options,” Red said, watching her face carefully to gauge her reaction. “Perhaps we could share.”

“Sounds great,” Liz said immediately. “Just make sure none of the options are pancakes.”

“Your drastic change doesn’t reach to pancakes?”

“Ugh, no!” Liz said, laughing a little even as she sounded indignant. “The change that needs to come is for the things I can actually stomach. I’m not looking to punish myself by introducing pancakes to my diet.”

“Well, I’m relieved to hear that you’re not seeking to punish yourself,” Red said quietly as he gestured to the waitress.

Liz watched him in silence as he seemed to order at least three quarters of the menu. His enthusiasm made her smile, and she hadn’t quite managed to subdue it before he looked up at her again.

“Something amusing?” he asked lightly.

“Many things,” she said vaguely. “I was just admiring your enthusiasm, though we may need to move to a bigger table to fit all that food. Just how long are you planning to sit here? It’ll take a few hours to work your way through it all, won’t it?”

“I am always in favour of a leisurely breakfast. When the food is good, the day is fine and the company delightful, what more could I need?”

“Speaking of need,” Liz began slowly.

“Oh, you do intrigue me, Lizzy,” Red interrupted her smoothly. “Do tell.”

“I’ve been trying to decide what to get you for Christmas, actually,” Liz said in a rush. “And I was trying to think if there was anything you needed.”

“Lizzy!” Red cried, delighted. “How kind of you to think of me, but you must know that it is completely unnecessary.”

“It may not be necessary, but I’d still like to get you something,” Liz said quietly, fingering the tablecloth in front of her and avoiding his eyes. “But what could I possibly give you that you haven’t already got?”

“Are you looking for suggestions, Lizzy?” A wicked grin spread across his face as he continued, “I can think of a few things.”

“Oh?” she prompted, looking wary. “Such as?”

“Well, I’ve always preferred the personal touch when it comes to gifts. I can, of course, obtain any material object I desire with very little difficulty, but something a little more personal, Lizzy?” He leaned back in his chair and sighed wistfully. “Priceless.”

“The personal touch, huh?” Liz said, eyeing him speculatively. “And just what kind of personal touch would you appreciate?”

Red dearly wanted to tell her that any personal touch from her would be like water to a dying man but thought that she may not appreciate such a sentiment so early in the day. At least, not until she’d had some coffee and something to eat.

“There is nothing more precious than time,” he said instead.

“Time?” Liz echoed, sounding unconvinced. “You just want—”

“Quality time, Elizabeth. No subterfuge, no Blacklisters, no distractions.”

Liz bit her lip as she searched his face eagerly. After a tense moment of silence, a broad smile spread across her face.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Liz said again. “Let’s spend some time together, for Christmas.”

The waitress chose that moment to bring the first of their many dishes to the table, so Red was able to take a moment to compose himself.

“Well, Lizzy, that sounds wonderful,” he said eventually, managing to keep his voice almost entirely steady. “I hope you will allow me to get you a Christmas gift as well.”

“The gift of time not enough for you?” Liz teased.

“Lizzy, it’s very tiresome when you use my words against me like that.”

“Is it? Well, I’m sure we’ll think of something you can give me, Red.”

“Lizzy—”

“Raymond,” Liz said. “Just eat your breakfast. We’re going to be here for hours as it is.”

Red smiled and raised his coffee cup to her in a toast.

“Precious time, Lizzy, it’s all the better for being spent with you.”

[damnusillygoose]

Somebody is jealous( jellal’s edition)

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13786166/2/somebody-is-jealous

for erza’s edition:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13786166/1/somebody-is-jealous

Thank you sapphireblue2007 for suggesting me to write jellal's version.

Disclaimer: these characters are rightfully owned by hiro sensei.

Somebody is Jealous (Jellal's edition)

Well, Jellal perceives himself as a very liberal and progressive person.

He wasn't a possessive person. No, not at all- Even in his relationship with Erza, he believed in giving ample space for growth and self-introspection to each other. He certainly didn't believe in getting jealous when one's partner gets some excessive attention from the opposite gender. Nope, not at all, he was a progressive person, wasn't he? He didn't want to smother her with suffocation. Jellal was aware of the fact that his woman was a strong person who didn't need anyone to save her. She was her own person and stood up for what she believed in. That's how he viewed relationships- a sweet added bonus to one's life, separate from a person's purpose in life.

Yet,

He felt horrified, as he realised, he was shamelessly contradicting his very own beliefs. His eyes twitched in mild irritation, well not exactly mild- only slight, that's how he soothed his not so jealous soul, as he watched the scene before him unfold.

His beloved was sitting comfortably on one of the chairs kept near the bar, eating her sweet dessert in contentment, oblivious to the lusty stares that eyed her glorious exposed thighs and cleavage. There were men hovering around her, drooling repugnantly.

Erza was a beautiful woman. It was an established fact. Not only did she win various beauty pageants, but she also attracted scores of men who simped after her and bolstered her as their 'waifu'!

Jellal was fucking replete with fury when he came to learn about this obnoxious verbiage. What a derogatory term! He opined. How dare they lust after Erza and claim her as their 'waifu'?! well, typically he was doing the same. But he was her partner and it's pretty healthy in a relationship to be intimately attracted to your partner! Yep, he reasoned with his conscience.

It was no secret that men secretly/openly lusted after females who were fairly popular. Given fairy tail's reputation, they were inglorious for being rambunctious all over the continent. This shouldn't come as a surprise to Jellal that Erza was kind of a national crush of Fiore. She even got disgusting offer letters from rich officials asking her to be their mistress. Every single person, be it a man or a woman, acknowledged her regal presence. Wherever they went, people were in awe of her. She was a beautiful woman, confident and sassy, along with a splendid personality. Who wouldn't be attracted to such an amazing person?

Analysing her fan following, he was sure of the fact that Erza must have dated some men in the past. However, He gasped in utter disbelief when he got to know that despite of the attention she received; she never laid her eyes on another man. They were reserved for him. Always.

He was her first man, the first man who held her hand, the first man who witnessed her vulnerable side, her first kiss, the one who took her virginity, the one she would like to start a family with and the only one who she would devote her heart to.

Forever.

That gave him a superior complex over all those degenerates who hated him for stealing their waifu.

Her devotion made him feel extremely fortunate, to get a woman who would choose him over everything else.

But that didn't mean that he couldn't get jealous.

'Oi chad, snap out from your murderous intent, will ya?'

'Laxus.'

'What happened? Why are you in such a bad mood?', Laxus raised his eyebrows in amusement. It was fun teasing Jellal especially when he was in a foul mood.

'Jelly-chan is jealous because other men in the party are eyeing Erza ravenously!', Meredy chimed in the scene, humming a tune under her breath almost nonchalantly.

Laxus let out a nasty cackle as he smashed his beer pint against the wooden table they currently occupied. Meredy joined in with her sniggers; annoying Jellal in his misery.

'Cheer up Jelly chan, if you brood so much, you will end up getting wrinkles quickly and look almost 20 years elder to Erza!'

'Stop calling me Jelly chan, Meredy!'

'Why? I think that name suits you a lot Jellal.'

Oh no.

The trio turned around to acknowledge the owner of this sardonic comment.

Erik approached the group with a wide smirk plastered on his face, much to Jellal's discontentment.

What a great timing. Now they will gang up to bully me.

'Say Jellal, want to murder those assholes? I could feel your malignity from the far end of the hall, reverberating louder than Gajeel's singing shit'

'I wouldn't go that far, they are just harmless flies'

Actually, he could.

'Then why are you getting so hot-headed over those harmless flies?', Meredy smiled knowingly.

'I am not.'

'oh boss! Stop lying with your pathetic ass!'

'I am not lying Erik!'

Erik scoffed at his reply. He didn't even try to hide it.

'Then what do you plan on doing chad boy? Just sit in a corner like a lost puppy and watch as those men eye your woman?', laxus joined in the conversation, adding oil to the fuming spark.

'I can't pause to throw a stone at every dog that barks. Plus, Erza is a strong woman. I shouldn't stick my nose where it isn't needed. I think she is capable of handling this herself.'

But actually, he was trying his best not to jump in the scene and take her away from those bastards but he didn't want to appear as a jealous freak who had no control over his irrational aspect.

'of course, she is Jellal', Meredy reasoned,' but a woman, no matter how strong she is, would love to be spoiled by her man and feel protected. That doesn't mean you are undermining her strength. It's called chivalry.'

'…'

'What about ramming some hot iron rods up in their assholes?', laxus had no chill at all.

'Laxus your speech is so vulgar', Jellal cringed.

'Not as vulgar as your mind, boss'

'Erik, listen up- '

'it's okay Jellal', Meredy patted his back sympathetically, 'You are always harsh on yourself. You don't have to berate yourself so much. Being jealous is a sign of affection after all.'

'Really?', he raised his eyebrows in suspicion.

'Well, when exercised in moderation. Don't become Juvia though.', Laxus grimaced in exasperation.

'I just-I can't handle those people who eye her like she is their personal property!'

'Oohoohoo, finally the lover boy is being honest!', laxus slapped his hand against jellal's back harshly.

Jellal ignored his remark and chose to focus upon what Erza was doing.

Erza, unfortunately, was already surrounded by random men drooling over her assets while he was busy merry making with his guild mates.

He was pissed. He was fucking pissed.

He clenched his fist in impuissance until his knuckles turned white. He let out a shaky breath, biting his lips, trying his best not to eradicate their existence by casting sema right at this moment

'Erza-sama, I know this beautiful villa by the country side that I can rent for you. Would you like to witness that scenic beauty? I can make the arrangement just for the two of us.'

'uh, no thank you. I am not interested, I am busy at the moment with my ongoing missions but I would certainly take-out time to visit this said place with my friends and my boyfriend', Erza exaggerated the last part to make this pathetic pervert clear of the fact that she wasn't interested in his offer.

'He doesn't need to know'

'When I said I won't go, I won't go. Please learn to respect a woman.'

She was already seething at this moment, ready to requip in her armour to beat the shit out of these perverts but she held herself back. This was an important party for her guild as many magic council officials appeared to discuss some important matters with master Makarov.

'Erza-sama!', another pervert chimed in, 'what about-!

'My honeyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!'

Erza felt a shiver travelling down her spine even before she could react from the horror of hearing his voice. She didn't need to see who this abhorrent creature was. She didn't even acknowledge him as a person. Ichiya had already latched himself around her leg giving it a wild sniff, trespassing all boundaries of her private space.

This is it. This was her limit.

She was shaking wild. Her fingers were itching from wrath as she tried to remove him from her. These men latched themselves upon her despite being firmly rejected by her. She was being polite and considerate of her guild. That's the only reason she somehow tolerated their creepy remarks. She desperately searched for familiar eyes through the crowd that was bustling from the onset of vibrant ebullience. She grew impatient by every single moment when she failed in her search to find them. That's when she felt a presence behind her. The eyes she was searching for were already looking down from their vantage but not at her. She followed his eyes to find them glued on Ichiya.

Jellal got hold of Ichiya's hand and ruthlessly broke him apart from Erza's legs, not caring for a single second where his poor ass landed.

'Ichiya-san, that's a unique way of greeting someone. It could very well qualify as harassment you know', Jellal hissed menacingly, walking in front of Erza to make a defensive guard around her.

Jellal was a master at hiding his emotions and maintaining a stoic demeanour but Erza could still look beyond that very well.

He appeared perfectly placid but he wasn't.

His eyes bellowed bloodlust. He was growling with belligerence.

He was not going to let these repulsive hands touch the body that he revered so much.

The rest of the crowd started to disperse, succumbing to the impingement Jellal displayed, while laxus, Meredy and Erik watched the scene in awe. That's the impact Jellal's presence wielded.

There was a limit to which this man could tolerate bullshit after all. This was Jellal, who was fiercely protective of the woman he loved.

Erza snickered to herself smugly seeing the crowd become frail upon his arrival. These were some spineless cowards who weren't even half the man her Jellal was.

Jellal blissfully ignored the crowd that was whispering his name with resentment, something along the lines of 'their waifu'

He looked at Erza, taking in a deep breath of relief as he put his hands over her shoulders securely.

'Well gentlemen, I just remembered that my boyfriend and I have some work to do, if you will excuse us.' Erza stood up from her chair and bowed her head signalling her departure as she grabbed hold of jellal's hands, leading them across the hall through the exit door. Jellal looked at his guild mates who were giving him smug smiles and thumbs ups.

After exiting the guild, Jellal let out a sigh as they strode further away from that crowd. He still was shaking, his hysteria urging him to go back and beat the shit out of those bastards. He tore his thoughts away from the former events and looked sideways at the enchanting woman walking by his side.

'This dress really looks nice on you.'

'Thank you, sweetheart', Erza smiled and turned her face to give him a chaste peck on his cheeks. 'But I think I will opt for a less revealing outfit next time for a formal party like this'

'Why?'

'tch, didn't you see for yourself what happened today?'

'Don't fret about those assholes, just wear what you want', he snaked his arm around her waist protectively to pull her closer to him.

Jellal rarely cursed, that meant he was infuriated right now.

'Jellal', she whispered lovingly, taking his face in her hands, 'look at me'

He locked his gaze with her, facing her completely. His arms gently fondled her waist, pulling her entirely towards himself.

She leaned into him, melting like butter.

'I love you Jellal.' She brought his face towards hers until their foreheads were touching each other, 'Thank you for helping me back then. I was really helpless'.

They closed their eyes and sighed in synchronisation. She felt his arms locking her into a tight embrace, clutching the fabric of her dress.

'I just…..couldn't help myself when I saw them degrading you like that.' He felt the weight of her hands shifting down towards his neck, near his sensitive spot which only she knew about, caressing it to calm him down.

'Thank you love, but don't over-exert yourself over this issue, this isn't worth your time and effort', she looked at him tenderly. Jellal was such a worrywart but she loved him the same.

'yeah…you are right', he leaned into her, nuzzling his nose with hers, her sweet scent taming his raging heartbeat down, 'I love you too'

It's almost been a year since they started dating and obviously they never hesitated to show their love to each other- verbally, physically or emotionally, but Erza would never get tired of Jellal saying 'I love you' to her. She had dreamed about it so long, she yearned about it ever since she realised her feelings for him, she would never take his confessions for granted. It still had the same impact on her as the first time he poured his heart out to her.

Such was their affection for each other-always raging against the odds.

The hooting of the owls could be heard in the depth of the night. A sudden breeze struck her form as she shivered from the lack of her clothing, she had worn a simple flowy dress, not deemed to be fit in a chilly weather.

'it's getting cold Erza', Jellal pointed out as he draped his coated over her shoulders, 'let's go home'.

She hummed lightly in solace as she felt his lips softly touch her forehead. She entwined her hand with his as they started treading towards the path that led to their small cottage, their personal heaven.

'Can you make me a strawberry smoothie with vanilla ice cream?', she asked him tentatively, testing her waters.

'I thought you wanted to curb your midnight snacking'

'But jelllaaaaaaaaaaaal!', she wailed in desperation, 'dealing with those perverts drained my energy!'

'I can always make a bowl of fruits oats for you.'

'Noooooooo! That's way too heathy!'

'Okay how about this?', he tried to reason with her, 'I'll make milk oats for you with honey and loads of freshly cut strawberries. Sounds like a good deal to me, what do you think?'

She thought about the offer for a moment. It did actually sound like a good deal. She knew she kind of gave in to her midnight sugar cravings. Milk oats were a heathier option.

She pouted and tried to act a little spoiled, 'only if you bribe me.'

'What a scandal! The great titania is asking for a bribe!', he nudged her shoulder playfully and she huffed in response to his actions, 'what are your demands?'

'You need to pepper me with as many kisses as I ask you for!'

' My, My, I was already planning on giving you a thousand kisses when we reach home, don't worry about that', he replied as he gave her a wink making her blush profusely.

If anyone heard them conversing in this manner, their eyeballs would pop out from their eye sockets. They were incredible mages, well versed with the ethics of professionalism. They completed their tasks seriously but when they were alone, it becomes a different story.

A/N: if you liked my story please leave a review and do check out my works as well.

Constructive criticism is appreciated.

Keep loving Jerza!

[retrievablememories]

date night | mark

title: date night pairing: mark x black!reader genre: fluff, non!idol au request: “I was wondering if you could do something about a first date with mark (and black reader). I don’t really care what the date is, you can choose” word count: 2.9k warnings: none that i can think of except some cursing a/n: iu’s “friday” is a very cute song and i think it could fit with this. on another note, tumblr & my computer hate me and erased the changes i made to this twice, so if there are errors bare with me...i’ll fix them later

“Do you think this outfit is okay?” you ask your friend over FaceTime, scanning the camera across your form so she can see what you’re wearing. “I don’t know. It’s just the fair, right? So it shouldn’t be anything too fancy...but…”

“Girl, it’s more than okay. Knowing Mark, he’ll like literally anything you wear. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

You hold the phone back up to your face again, giving your friend a skeptical look. “You better be telling the truth. You’re the one who arranged all this!”

“I didn’t arrange shit, I just gave Mark a little nudge in the right direction! You should thank me, he might've never asked you out on his own, the poor boy.” Your friend lies back on her bed and reminisces on her matchmaking skills, clearly pleased with her work this time—even though neither of you have any idea if the date will go well. Well, she already has her mind made up, but you can be a little harder to convince.

You hope it goes well, anyway. You really do like Mark, and you want things to work out with him tonight. You’ve never hung out with him alone before; it’s always been with a group of your friends, and your conversations with him were usually carried by the help of your friend’s interjections or Haechan’s jokes. 

For a while, you just figured that Mark was shy around new people, but he soon warmed up to your other friends who he hadn’t known before. But he still struggled to have a decent conversation with you. 

You didn’t understand any of it at first. You even thought that maybe he didn’t like you and was just terrible at hiding it. But after your friend got tired of seeing you angst over him, she let you in on what was really happening—he had a crush on you, too.

Now, you’re here—about to have your first date with Mark Lee and completely nervous about it, to say the least. You sigh at your friend’s smug expression.

“I’d hardly call what you did a nudge, but alright. Whatever you say, best friend.”

You know Mark and Haechan’s apartment complex is not far from yours, and yet it still catches you by surprise when you hear the knock on your front door. “Oh Lord, that’s probably him, I have to go!!” Your friend barely gets to say goodbye before you’ve ended the call. You scramble to grab your things and give yourself another once-over in your mirror before hurrying down the hall to open the door.

You stop at the door for a few moments and try to relax, attempting to make it seem like you weren’t rushing. Then you open the door to Mark standing on the other side.

“Hi Mark,” you say as naturally as possible, even though you’re practically jumping on the inside. He’s so handsome and cute that it’s unbelievable, even just standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking bashful and equally eager.

“Hi Y/N. You look really pretty today...I mean, you look pretty everyday, but today you’re especially, uh—a-adorable.”

“Thank you.” Your face is hot from his compliments, and you’re glad that he can’t tell past your brown skin. You step outside and lock the apartment door after you, turning to him with your heart beating wildly in your chest. “Are you ready?”

“Born ready,” he replies.

The place where the fair is being held is only a couple of streets over from where you live, so you both had already decided to walk there while planning the details of the date. You’re thankful it’s a nice summer night, not too hot or cold, though you’re both wearing jackets; it’s at the point of the season where the night starts getting chilly.

You and Mark make small talk on the way there, talking about casual stuff like what you did this week and what TV shows you watched the other night. He seems less nervous about talking to you than he is when you’re in a group with the others, but you can tell there is still some anxious energy around him.

Which doesn't really bother you, because you feel the same way and would rather be nervous together than anxious alone.

You can tell you’ve reached the fairgrounds when you start seeing more people gathered around and hear the loud festival music and screams of excitement; there’s already a considerable line to get in.

“Looks like we’ll be here for a minute,” you say, turning to Mark, though you aren’t really upset about it.

“That’s okay, I can be your entertainment until we get in.”

“Oh really? What are you gonna do, The Amazing Mark?”

“Whoa! That actually has a nice ring to it.”

“I know, right? Maybe you could use it as your performer name...so, Mr. Lee, how are you gonna impress me tonight?”

Mark decides to come up with a little freestyle rap on the spot, and you giggle at his enthusiasm. When he’s done, you give him a round of applause.

“Maybe you should be a rapper, you’re actually really good, you know.”

Mark feigns shock, pretending to be offended, and you laugh more. “Did you think I wouldn’t be?”

“Well, you—” You’re interrupted when someone behind you clears their throat loudly—the line has already moved up and you didn’t notice it. You grab Mark’s arm and pull him along with you. You decide to keep your hand there, looping your arms together. Mark blushes at that, a bashful smile on his face though he tries to hide it, not wanting to seem inexperienced.

When you finally get your tickets and go in, you and Mark debate over which rides to try first. You convince him to ride the huge looping rollercoaster, though he’s more than a little apprehensive about it. You can practically see the sweatdrops gathering on his forehead.

“Are you sure? If we get on the most exciting ride right away, the rest will seem boring…” He chuckles, scratching the back of his neck.

“I’m sure! But, you don’t have to get on if you’re too scared.” You tease him, letting go of his arm and walking towards the ride by yourself. “You can stay here!”

“No way—I-I’m not scared! You’re not leaving me behind,” Mark catches up with you as you go over to the ride and you smirk to yourself, glad that your reverse psychology worked.

You and Mark end up going on most of the rides the fair has to offer. You laugh at him once you both get off the rollercoaster, his hair windswept and sticking up in different directions. The ferris wheel makes you a bit dizzy, especially when you reach the very top, but Mark distracts you from the height by pointing out how pink the sky looks from this angle. The sun is close to setting, and its shining rays make Mark’s hair and eyes look like they’ve been set ablaze with warm, brown light. He looks back at you, and you abruptly bring your gaze up to the pink sky, pretending as if you weren’t staring at him the whole time.

Even the merry-go-round is fun with Mark pretending like he’s in the middle of a classic Western, riding his noble steed and playing the part of a brave, handsome cowboy.

You eventually take a food break when you get hungry, and you’re secretly thankful for the pause; your head’s spinning with how many rides you’ve been on. You don’t know the last time you’ve had this much fun at a fair, though, and you’re grateful for the change in your usual routine.

While you’re walking around the fairgrounds, you spot one of those ring toss games where you have to hit a certain number of bottles to win a prize. Mark notices your interest.

“Do you wanna play?” he asks.

“Hmm, maybe…” you say, your eyes drifting along the wall of prizes they have. One of them is an adorable stuffed dog with its little red tongue hanging out, and you immediately fall for it. You turn to Mark with your eyes shining. “Hey, Mark…”

He laughs, already one step ahead of you. “I’ll try it, then.”

In the end, Mark only gets the ring around 2 bottles. You giggle all the while, watching him give his best throws and still miss. 

“Hmm, that was just a warm-up round,” Mark insists once the game ends and he still hasn’t made any more wins. He cracks his knuckles and does an exaggerated stretch. “Check this out.”

“Oh, if you say so…” You smile as you watch him go for another round. The employee manning the game gives him a half skeptical, half amused look but lets him have another try. Unfortunately, the results are the same—he manages to get rings around two of the bottles while the rest remain untouched.

You walk up to Mark and pat him on the back once the game is over, and he gives you a sheepish smile in return. “Sorry, Y/N...I tried.” He turns back to the employee. “What kind of prize can I get with that?”

They pick a small keychain off the wall and hold it up. It’s a tiny replica of your city, with the name of it written in blocky, fun letters. “Pretty much this.”

“I’ll take it.” You hold your hand out for it and the employee passes it over. You give them a smile in return and look back at Mark, holding the keychain safely in your palm. “Let’s go! I don’t think we’ve tried the Tilt-a-Whirl yet...”

You and Mark don’t leave the festival until well after dark, and it’s a half hour to 10 when you check your phone. Even though it’s so late already, you’re still buzzing with energy and ready to hop to the next best thing. Mark seems to feel the same way, talking excitedly about all the things you saw and did at the fair.

His eyes sparkle with excitement, and it’s like his sheer elation transfers to you. Sometimes you wonder how he can manage to still be so childlike, but it’s endearing. The keychain sits safely in your purse, attached to your key ring where you clipped it immediately after getting it.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself today...even though I couldn’t get the stuffed dog you wanted.” Mark bites his lip.

You shake your head. “No, I had so much fun, that doesn’t matter! Really. Anyway, it’s not everyday you can go on a million rides in a night.”

“Forreal. Actually, I think might have permanent vertigo after this...”

You pause as a few drops of water hit your skin. They seemingly come out of nowhere, and it’s hard to tell if the sky is cloudy or not from the cover of night. But as more start hitting your skin, there’s no doubt about it—it’s rain. 

“It’s raining,” you gasp, and you barely have time to say anything else before the droplets start coming down harder. “Shit, my hair!”

To your surprise, Mark sheds his jacket and holds it over your head, pulling you closer. “We should make a run for it before it gets worse.”

“Where are we gonna go? Everything’s closed at this time of night,” you ask, but Mark is already pulling you along with him, and you can only speed up your pace to catch up.

“Whatever shelter we can find!”

Just like he predicted, the rain turns into a downpour and the water quickly permeates into your clothes, making you sticky and a little cold. You scream but keep running, not wanting the alternative of standing there and getting even more drenched.

You and Mark find a nearby coffee shop that’s still open and duck into it, shaking off as much rain as you can. You’re a little too soaked for it to be effective, but you’ll dry off eventually. One of the workers gives you both a weary look from behind the counter, and you know they’ll probably have a time cleaning the water up later.

You and Mark stand at the front counter and order your drinks, then take turns laughing at each other’s reflections in the counter’s metal surface. Your hair managed to avoid the worst of the water thanks to Mark’s noble move, but his own strands are plastered to his head. You nervously brush a few of them away from his forehead, saving him from the slow drips of water that keep falling in his eyes.

“You good?” you ask. You want to feel sorry for him, but you can’t stop yourself from cracking a grin at how cute and disheveled he looks. Like a soggy puppy.

“I’m fine,” he says, taking your hand that was just in his hair. “It’s just a little water...we can stay here until it stops raining, anyway. Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m alright.” You nod in agreement, not knowing quite what to say—you’re a little distracted by his hand holding yours. When you get your drinks, he lets go of you to take both cups, and you’re momentarily disappointed by the lack of contact.

You go to sit down at a small table near the window. It offers a clear view of the rain still pattering on the roads, and you watch cars kick up puddles of water as they drive past.

“That was kinda fun,” you say after taking a sip of your drink. You give a pleasant sigh at the feeling of the drink warming you up on the inside. “I mean, not so much the ‘getting soaked’ part...but the whole thing sorta reminds me of those romcoms.”

Mark cringes and laughs. “Are you into those kinda movies?

“It’s not a crime! They’re cute sometimes.”

“Is that a roundabout way of saying you want to be kissed in the rain? ‘Cause like, I-I’m up for it if you are,” Mark’s attempt at flirting is made unintentionally hilarious by him stammering midway, and you hide your face in your hands.

“Oh my God,” you groan. “You are really something else.”

Thankfully, the rain lets up just as the coffee shop starts closing up. You and Mark dispose of your cups and walk back outside, heading towards your apartment complex. You’re surprised at how much rain came down in such a small amount of time—the sidewalks and streets are completely waterlogged, and some of the water soaks into your shoes as you walk through the puddles. It’s still sprinkling a bit, but that’s better than being drenched.

The walk back is pleasantly quiet, the both of you finally having burned off the last of your remaining energy. You’re soon back at your apartment—maybe more quickly than you wanted to be—and standing in front of your door. You step away to look at Mark, pressing your back against the apartment door.

“So, I guess this is it?” You’re suddenly nervous again, unsure how the date is going to end—or how it should end. Will there be a kiss? Will he want to see you again? You’re sure he had a good time with you, but self-doubt can be a cruel mistress.

“I guess so,” Mark echoes. “Um, I—well, uh…” He seems like he wants to say something, but he gets a little stuck on the words.

“Maybe we should stop being so nervous around each other,” you blurt out, feeling your skin warm with embarrassment. Mark nods, scuffing his shoes along the floor.

“It’d probably be less awkward,” he admits, throwing you a nervous glance. 

You shrug, trying to seem more nonchalant than you feel. “I enjoyed myself, though. And, y-you know, I definitely wouldn’t mind going on another one…if you’re up for it?” You look at Mark from below your eyelashes, and he meets your eyes too, a cute grin spreading across his lips.

“Of course! Y-yeah, absolutely, we can text each other about it.”

“Great!” You clasp your hands together, racking your brain for something else to say. Lucky for you, Mark helps you out by asking,

“Can I....kiss you?”

Your breath hitches and you look at him with wide eyes. “Y-yes.”

Mark steps closer to you and his hand goes to your waist. You’re almost afraid you’re going to melt from all the different emotions you’re feeling, but you try to keep a steady expression as his face moves closer to yours. When he kisses you, his lips are gentle and sweet, like him.

You both smile shyly when you pull away, until you finally remember you’re standing outside your apartment door and need to unlock it. “Ah, right…” You unlock the door and step inside, looking back at Mark once you do. “I’ll see you later, okay?” You give him a small wave, and he returns it.

“See you.”

You allow yourself to let out the breath you were holding once you get to your bedroom. You want to throw yourself on the bed, but your clothes are still wet, so you opt for screaming into a nearby pillow. After dancing around the room for a moment or two, you dig into your purse so you can text your friend, and your hand bumps into your key ring.

You pull it out and look at the little keychain again, holding it carefully between your fingers and studying its design. It’s tiny, but it’s cute and wonderful and it reminds you of Mark, making little butterflies rise up in your stomach. It’s perfect.

[tarredion]

2020 fic roundup

hiii! i was going to do this earlier but,, um,, i posted three fics in the final two hours of 2020 year (for me) so :D here is finally my fic roundup - in order from newest to oldest

i’ll be using the original summaries, wordcounts n ratings etc, some of the tags, link to the tumblr post and the ao3 link, and maybe add a note or two if i feel that’s not enough

this’ll be a long post so read below the cut 

(or go directly to my ao3 here especially in case you don’t want spoilers)

Fireworks up above

g, 341

NYE, established relationship, husbands, tooth-rotting fluff, kissing

Husbands Dan and Phil and their placeholder-apartment share a final NYE moment (aka 2020 NYE)

ao3 // tumblr

Quiet morning

g, 304

tooth-rotting fluff, lazy mornings, sleepy cuddles, established relationship, husbands, forever home

Dan wakes up in the forever home, Phil breathing softly next to him…

ao3 // tumblr

Shadows / nocturne / parting clouds

g, 2.7k

hurt/comfort, migraine, arguing, angst with a fluffy ending, established relationship, ii tour fic, alternating and outsider pov

Phil wakes up with a migraine, causing him to snap at Dan. Throughout the day, while visiting a city for the ii tour, Cornelia observes the tension, and eventually, the two of them console

ao3 // tumblr

A tub fit for two

t, 853

dnp, forever home, established relationship, husbands, fluff, bathing/washing, and more

there are certain perks that come with building your own (forever) house

ao3 // tumblr

Signals

m, 1.6k

texting, established relationship, food, domestic fluff, very light angst, sexual content

excerpts of dan and phil’s texts throughout the years

ao3 // tumblr

At the turn of a page

g, 1.2k

liveshow, 2020-ish, fluff, established relationship, forever home

Phil’s had his reasons for not continuing liveshows during lockdown, but they’re ready for a comeback—a domestic one, at that

ao3 // tumblr

Prickle on the skin, ache in the heart

t, 1.4k

2014, closeted relationship, bbc party, alcohol, vomiting, self confidence issues, jealousy, angst then fluff, happy ending

phil smiles wider, brighter. every day. every day, dan falls in love again. he can’t help but be a little jealous, not being able to say

ao3 // tumblr

It’s home

t, 2.2k

au ice-cream parlor, established relationship, pure fluff, slice of life

A day in the life of Dan and his smitten ice-cream vendor boyfriend Phil, living on the coast of Connemara, Ireland

ao3 // tumblr

Whisper of the heart

g, 976

established relationship, headaches & migraines, hurt/comfort, fluff, piano

Phil has a headache. Dan plays the piano and comforts him.

ao3 // tumblr

Slice of cake

e, 2.7k

established relationship, bday sex, 2016, face-sitting, rimming

Dan’s promised to celebrate Phil with nothing but the best this year.

Naturally, he buys himself a new skirt - but it’s not just to wear.

ao3 // tumblr

Supple thirty-two

this is a chaptered wip !! it’ll continue in 2021 (the update note is currently inaccurate)

-

3/32

t, 4k so far

slow burn, friends to lovers, love letters, secret admirer, fluff and angst, internalized homophobia, outing, coming out, queer themes, happy ending

A secret admirer sends flowers and letters to Dan over the years

ao3 // tumblr

Tenderhearted

g, 1k

2009, comfort/angst, sad but sweet, sleepy cuddles, separation anxiety

Phil doesn’t want Dan to go home. Dan agrees. Quite strongly, actually.

Feeling properly loved for the first time causes serious separation anxiety.

ao3 // tumblr

I’d marry you (with paper rings)

m, 4k

established relationship, fluff, domestic, proposal, sexual content

Maybe learning calligraphy was of greater importance to Phil, and them, than Dan first thought

ao3 // tumblr

Blue can be kind, too

this is my favourite fic of the ones i’ve written !! so far. it’s from the pov of kid dan so very tender and mostly very childish / undeveloped in the language, as if actually told from his brain (even though it’s third person)

-

g, 4k

kid!fic, dan and phil are kids, kindergarten, developing friendship, past violence and bullying, referenced homophobia, fluff and angst, sad and happy, happy ending

A tale of being scared, starting fresh, and making your first ever friends after experiencing violent bullying.

Or rather, four-year-old Dan’s first day at his new kindergarten.

ao3 // tumblr

Ablaze

e, 4k

established relationship, spanking, daddy kink, oral, aftercare

Phil’s trying to work; Dan’s being a brat. Things get heated, but not in a bad way.

ao3 // tumblr

The brightest shade of sun (I had ever seen)

g, 3.9k

friends to lovers, getting together, only one bed

one dawn on the isle of man can be enough to unite two craving hearts, even if a lot of heartbreaking thoughts are revealed along the way

ao3 // tumblr

Tracing constellations

t, 1.3k

established relationship, sleepy cuddles, fluff, banter, kissing

Two 6-foot men cuddling in a single armchair doesn’t sound like a good idea.

It isn’t, but dan and phil do almost anything for intimacy…

ao3 // tumblr

Between the seams

g, 999

established relationship, cuddling, fluff, fear, hurt/comfort

Bone-tired lovers meet thundering downpour, rediscovering the best way to confront fear in the meantime

ao3 // tumblr

Fjäll med stjärnor

this one is also a chaptered wip !! it’ll also be continuing in 2021, and probably beyond bcs it might be even longer than that

-

2/?

g, 9k so far

fantasy, magic, kinda historical fantasy, dan’s a dragon, and Phil’s human (at first), strangers to friends to lovers (eventually), fluff and angst, lots of descriptions

a human’s and a dragon’s paths crossing is unusual, but in this case it was in alignment with the stars and a decision as old as time itself  

ao3 // tumblr

It’s not a date?

chaptered wip to continue into 2021 too

-

2/4

t, 4.6k so far

there’s only one bed, bodyswap, didn’t know they were dating, friends to lovers, getting together, idiots in love, tatinof

On one hand, it should all go flawlessly. When Phil goes on tour with his boyfriend of six years, Dan, he books them rooms with only one bed. He’s not deterred by their quiet and nonsexual (monogamous) lovelife. They do things ‘normal’ couples do, just maybe not as often or intimately. He supposes Dan’s just taking it slow, trying to come to terms with his sexuality and so on. It’s okay.

On the other… Dan doesn’t know they are dating. He has a longtime crush on Phil that he thinks is unrequited, despite their mutual rather romantic and domestic behavior.

ao3 // tumblr

Fur-ever

g, 3.5k

tooth-rotting fluff, dog owners/dads, dog wedding, established relationship, alternate universe - different first meeting, howells and lesters

Dog dads Dan and Phil marry their dogs, in preparation for their own big day

ao3 // tumblr

The maestro and his muse

chaptered but completed!

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4/4

e, 5.5k

friends to lovers, mutual pining, body painting, teasing, sexual content

Phil is a professional artist. He’s always wanted to try body painting, and now he gets to, for a naked photoshoot. Unfortunately, his good friend, muse, and crush Dan Howell is his model of choice. What could go wrong?

ao3 // tumblr

Lightyear groovin’

t, 4.6k

star wars setting,  dj Phil, waiter Dan, mutual pining, friends to lovers

In a galaxy far, far away, there’s an abundance of 70s clubs. On Krithoo, local party freak Dan Howell works as a waiter at an often overcrowded cantina, Virgo Volans. And maybe, just maybe, he has an infatuation with the extraterrestrial dj frequenting their stage…

ao3 // tumblr

A theism in evolution

g, 5.9k

gods au, enemies to friends to lovers, getting together, fluff and angst, emotional h/c, written entirely in letters, 1st person pov

The sungod, Phil, sends letters to Mother Gaia. He puts all his worries into words… even when he himself can’t see right through them

ao3 // tumblr

Little comfort card

g, 932

separation anxiety, established relationship, business trip, vidcon, fluff and angst, homesickness, comfort, post-coming out videos

Phil goes to VidCon alone. Cue separation anxiety, something Dan seems to have accounted for..

"The whole room felt too airy, and lacked that simple, aesthetic Dan-touch. It wasn’t quite home, so to speak."

ao3

Your hoodies (come wrapped around me)

g, 869

york hoodie, clothes sharing, fluff, moving, house cleaning

Unpacking for their move into bigger quarters, Dan finds an ancient treasure in the back of their conjoined closet.

ao3 // tumblr

Awestruck

g, 996

barista dan, youtuber phil, fanboy dan, crushes, getting together, strangers to lovers

Dan might meet his best customer at the end of his worst day, and get a little more

ao3 // tumblr

Rainbow, proud

g, 513

post-coming out videos, established relationship, domestic boyfriends, fluff, shopping

Phil really wants the corgi shirt, but Dan thinks he has enough already

ao3 // tumblr

A prickly considerate gift

it’s the piranha plant bouquet !!

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g, 1k

2014, established relationship, Valentines day fluff, gift giving, flowers and language of flowers, brief depression mention, domestic fluff, nerdiness

Phil finds a substitute for real Valentine’s day flowers

ao3 // tumblr

Cherish the smile

g, 783

husbands, honeymoon, established relationship, fluff

Phil wakes on the first morning of their honeymoon; a new day to cherish Dan’s gorgeous, excited, smile

ao3 // tumblr

“Seriously?”

t, 3k

strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers sort of, getting together, angst with a happy ending, co-workers, non-youtuber au, and lots of other tags lmao

Prompt: Dan and Phil meet while candle shopping and one of them can't help but comment on how obnoxious/boring/etc the scents the other one is picking out are the time Phil met a totally-not-handsome stranger and only sort-of wished they'd never meet again. Tough luck?

ao3

The lovers (VI)

chaptered, completed !

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14/14

m, 31k

friends to lovers, magical realism au, lots of angst but also fluff, happy ending (more important tags on ao3)

Dan, guardian of the forest, feels inadequate to love and of love. His best friend Phil loves him despite that.. but doesn’t know quite what to do when Dan becomes a hypocrite- playing with both their feelings

ao3 // tumblr

Colour me rosé

another chaptered wip !! though this one may not be finished in 2021, because i have so much on my plate then - enjoy what’s here though !

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9/?

m, 13k so far

sugar daddy Phil, sugar baby Dan, phil is rich, eventually domestic, strangers to lovers, developing relationship and friendship, sexual content, fluff, a little angst, and like a lot lot more tags

nineteen-year-old Dan Howell is looking for a sugar daddy to help him achieve the dream of luxury and romantic affirmations. Phil Lester, newly 24 and very rich, is searching for a romantic and sexual relationship. When stumbling upon the other on the internet, similar interests and all, have they found their match?

ao3 // tumblr

Archaic Allure (sonnet)

so as it turns out, writing a fic idea can really help you out with your grade (and yes, this is actually a sonnet)

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g, 104

poetry, reminiscing, fluff, Dan’s pov

Dan reminisces his love for Phil - sonnet version

ao3 // tumblr

Something in your name

t, 3.2k

implied sexual content, fanfic about fanfic, emotional hurt/comfort, separation anxiety, established relationship; and more

phil reads a y/n fic ; guess who wrote it

ao3 // tumblr

Ellie enchanted

g, 986

fluff and angst, happy ending, parent!phan, new child, adoption, established relationship, self-doubt, implied homophobia 

Dan and Phil pick up their adopted child

ao3 // tumblr

Chocolate swirls

g, 3.3k

parent!phan, snapshots, bday surprises, baking, fluff and angst, cake

Dan tries to surprise Phil for his 33rd. He fails, as humans do, but ten years later he has luckily got two adorable little helpers at his side. And maybe that makes everything just a little better.

ao3 // tumblr

Dan or Da?

on ao3 this fic is just called Da, so beware of that

-

t, 9k

parent!phan, friends to lovers, pretend relationship (not what you think), misunderstanding, getting together, implied sexual content, marriage, canon divergence, pov alternating

One day can change your life forever. For Phil, his daughter Mel, and Dan, who’d have guessed that day would be one when all they’ve planned is doing ordinary shopping together.

ao3 // tumblr

and that’s it!! thank you for reading this sweetums, and be sure to check out any of the fics