#i block people because they have mid music taste... like

[neverendingford]

.

[currentlyfckingurmom]

Ecstasy

Summary: Percy Jackson’s lotus flowers meet sex pollen (Natasha Romanoff x female reader)

Warnings: shameless smut (18+)

Her eyes are a starry sky.

Her smile is the death of me.

Her laughter is a lullaby.

But her kiss is unmatched ecstasy.

It was supposed to be a simple mission. In and out. Home before bedtime.

But then the waiters passed out little flower shaped cookies, and you begged your best friend to try one with you. She finally caved, and they were so good that you just had to have another. And maybe a few more after that.

By the time you realized the cookies might have had something in them, your mind was too hazy to care. Because Natasha’s body was but a few inches from yours, swaying to the thundering music with a glint in her eyes that made your stomach tighten.

Since the first cookie, a simmering heat had been building in your abdomen, amplified tenfold by the woman in front of you. Judging by the pink of her cheeks and the tilt of her lips, you thought that just maybe she was feeling it too.

By the time she pulled you closer mid-song and you both moaned at the simple touch, you knew where the night was going. A fog clouded your mind, blocking out every inhibition and logical thought that told you to not sleep with the woman you had fallen for so long ago.

Natasha giggled like a schoolgirl as she ran her hands through your hair, and you soon followed suit, both of you laughing in the middle of the dance floor like nobody else was around.

You were both far too gone to care.

“You’re so beautiful, Natasha,” you whispered.

“Can I kiss you?” She asked.

You nodded and then her lips were on yours, her arms around your neck and your hands on her waist.

Your senses were dulled, but her essence sparked them back to life. There was nothing but the smell of her sweet vanilla perfume, the taste of her red lipstick, the feel of her hands, and the sound of her sighs.

She slipped her tongue into your mouth, and a sharp wave of arousal ignited in your stomach. It was excruciatingly painful, how much you wanted her. You would’ve taken her right there in the middle of the casino, had it not been for her hand dragging you away.

Your heartbeat fluttered against your chest and your clothes felt uncomfortable against your skin, but the way Natasha’s hips swayed in front of you as she walked had you quickly forgetting everything else.

The world around you blurred, tunnel vision focused on her and only her. She led you through the club, running into people and bumping the door on the way out.

Outside, the only thing to be heard was heavy breathing and wild heartbeats. Eventually you found the car. Natasha unlocked it and shoved you in the backseat, quickly scrambling after you and straddling your lap.

“It hurts,” you whined.

“I know,” she said, and you knew then that she was feeling the same hot pain of overwhelming arousal.

“Something’s not right,” you added.

“I know,” she said again. “But I don’t care. I want you. Do you want this?”

You nodded dumbly. “Yes. Please, Nat. I need you.”

Her lips were on yours, hot and heavy. With a fleeting thought, you broke the kiss and leaned forward to finally close the car door and seal yourselves in your own little world.

The windows quickly fogged up as she kissed you roughly, grinding mercilessly down into your lap. You assisted her movements with your hands on her hips.

Your heartbeat felt way too fast as you trailed sloppy kisses down her sweaty neck, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. If you were to die right then and there, well, you thought that would be just fine.

“Fuck, detka, I’m gonna—”

It didn’t take long for Natasha to reach her first orgasm, the climax built by nothing but the movements on your lap.

To your own surprise, your orgasm fluttered and exploded inside you right after hers, the sound of her pretty moans too much to bear.

The relief didn’t last long, however. Another painful wave of arousal crashed into you almost immediately. “Oh fuck,” she whined.

“What was in those cookies?”

“I don’t know but right now I don’t care,” she muttered, her hips resuming their movements.

Your hands gripped the bottom of her dress, looking to her for permission. When she gave it, you hiked up the short black number to reveal a lace thong underneath. “Fingers,” she breathed.

You looked up at her with awe, studying the sweat on her brow and the pants leaving her mouth. Your fingers ran along her ruined underwear, causing her breath to stutter. “Don’t be a fucking tease.”

“Yes ma’am.” You pushed her underwear aside and slipped a finger inside. “God, you’re so wet, Nat.”

“More,” she panted.

You ran your thumb over her clit, slipping a second finger inside. Her hips jerked. She began rocking in time with your movements, forming a rhythm of lewd noises and breathy moans.

You did your best to ignore the fiery ache between your legs, focusing desperately on your fingers curling inside Natasha.

She came once more with a silent scream. She kissed you sloppily before sinking down to her knees as best as she could in the cramped backseat.

She hastily unbuttoned your pants, tugging them and your underwear down your legs at once. The cool air hit your center and you realized just how wet you were.

“Fuck,” she said once before leaning in. She licked a strip up your pussy and you let out a choppy groan.

“Shit, Nat,” you breathed as she flicked her tongue over your clit. “Just like that, please.”

You fell apart within moments, screaming Natasha’s name like a prayer, over and over.

She kissed up your still-clothed torso, finally landing on your lips and letting you taste yourself on her tongue.

“We need to get out of here. I need room to fuck you properly,” she said against your lips.

“Nat, we can’t drive like this.”

“Would you rather get arrested for having sex in this car?”

She handed you the keys and let you drive. You did your best to focus on the road, but the way she was shifting in her seat and clenching her thighs was far too distracting.

“Fuck, Nat, you’re killing me.”

You readjusted in your seat, fighting desperately to ignore the painful arousal.

“Give me your hand.”

“What?”

“Fuck, I need you. Now.”

She took your right hand and guided it between her legs. Your left tightened on the steering wheel.

“Holy shit. I’m gonna fucking come from this alone,” you mumbled desperately. The arousal grew rapidly and you shifted once more as your fingers worked tirelessly between Nat’s legs.

You felt her clench around you as she threw her head back in ecstasy. When you pulled your fingers out, she grabbed your wrist and sucked your fingers into her mouth, holding eye contact relentlessly.

You swallowed a moan, fighting to turn your eyes back to the road.

The ten minute drive to your apartment felt like ten hours. You parked like shit and all but ran into the building.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, Natasha pushed you into the wall, kissing you with fervor. Her lips trailed over your jaw and down your neck, pulling moans from your throat as she left bruises in her wake.

“All mine,” she murmured against the column of your throat.

“All yours,” you panted.

The metal doors slid open with a ding and you stumbled out towards your apartment. You tried to find the right key, but Natasha was kissing your neck and your hands were shaking violently.

The key finally turned in the lock and the two of you practically fell into the apartment.

“Bedroom.”

You picked her up and brought her to it, laying her down on the bed. You crawled over her, laying your hands on her stomach. “Can I take this off?”

She nodded yes and helped you remove the dress from her body.

You ducked your head and began leaving marks on her chest. She squirmed impatiently underneath you. “What did I say about teasing,” she warned.

“Another time, then,” you obliged. Neither of you were coherent enough to acknowledge your mention of doing this again.

You took a stiff nipple into your mouth, swirling your mouth around it to draw out a soft sigh. You pinched and rolled the other between your fingers. You switched to give them equal attention.

As content as you would have been to stay there all night, she eventually pushed your head lower. You trailed kisses down her stomach and over her thighs before pausing where she wanted you most.

Your breath ghosted over those ruined lace panties as you looked up at her. You held the eye contact as you placed a kiss over her clothed clit. She groaned and tangled a hand in your hair.

“Detka, fuck me. Now. Please.”

You smirked before tearing her thong off and diving into her wetness. She twitched and clenched around your tongue as your hands held her steady against you.

A river of Russian came spewing from her mouth, doing nothing to stop the arousal soaking through your pants.

When she came this time, it was anything but silent. Your name fell from her mouth like it was the last thing she would ever get to say, and the moans that bounced off the walls ensured a noise complaint the next day.

You crawled up her body and when she opened her eyes, you knew you were far from done. With stupid, drug-induced grins on both of your faces, she asked if you had a strap. You nodded in a trance.

And then she was riding you. Gripping your headboard with white knuckles and leaving nasty red scratches on your back. The way the strap hit your clit with every thrust had you panting and moaning alongside her.

“Cum with me, dorogoy.”

And you did. You did your best to keep your rhythm as you both rode out your orgasms.

Your foreheads fell against one another. Heavy breathing filled the hot room.

“Does it still hurt?” She asked.

“Not as much,” you answered.

“‘S still foggy,” she slurred. You nodded in agreement.

Your eyes caught sight of the alarm clock beside your bed. You squinted to try and read it.

05:42

“Holy shit. Nat, how long were we in the casino?”

“Um, an hour maybe?”

“Nat, it’s almost six in the morning. I know we haven’t been fucking that long.”

“Oh my god. What the fuck were those cookies? Oh god. Fury probably thinks we’re dead.”

You moved to stand up, but the moan that tumbled from Natasha’s lips reminded you of the strap still inside her.

When your eyes met hers and you saw those lust blown pupils, every logical thought went out the window once more.

“Fury can wait,” you muttered as you slowly began rocking your hips again.

“Fury can wait,” Natasha repeated before her hand wrapped around your throat and brought your lips to hers.

When Fury and a team of agents broke down the door three hours later and found Natasha kneeling before you in the shower, you realized your mistake.

At least until Natasha looked him square in the eye and said “Lotus flowers produce sex pollen. Get out.”

It took all day for the effects to wear off, and Fury left the two of you alone to sort it out.

Natasha kissed you at the end of the day and said “We should do this again sometime.”

You kissed her back and said “We should do this again all the time. But maybe without the drugs.”

[velvetvexations]

This is a protective ask. It encourages you to check whether you really want to answer the asks beneath yet. Be good to yourself, you do good work for all of us <3

Thank you, anon. <3

sick of feeling like queer spaces seem to expect masculine people to be protectors and supporters without ever expecting to have to give us protection and support too. it's always how trans mascs can be allies to trans femmes and never the other way around. it's what about the scary trans man in the women's bathroom and little discussion of the threat we are under in these scenarios. it's always use your masculinity to protect me, but nobody can give without receiving. support and protection are features of community and community needs to be at least somewhat mutual. I refuse to constantly put myself in danger to protect someone who sees my suffering simply as an inherent duty of my presentation. let me be butch and slow and gentle for a change. let me be scared and held please.

I'll hold you. It's okay. You don't have to put yourself in danger to be a man, I promise.

people love love love to be blatantly misogynistic towards trans men/mascs and be like "well actually its subversive because he's a man! teehee!" was it subversive when i got told to shut up because i was the only women present (post coming-out) was it subversive when i got told i had to wear a dress to show off my feminine figure (post coming-out) was it subversive when i got called shrill mid-argument (post-coming out) was it subversive when nobody except me would clean the communal areas in the flat because i "did it so well" (post coming-out) was it subversive when i had my music taste made fun of when i was a 13 year old girl? is it subversive now that im a 20 year old trans guy? am i not the same person? is it subversive when people talk about trans men the same way people talk about teenage girls. is talking about teenage girls like that subversive if they come out as trans men later. or is it maybe a little different?

I'm sorry anon, you deserve so much better.

This discourse is always so fucking bizarre because IRL I'll be hanging out with trans women, getting fun updates from my friend on how her E dosage is going and her first foray into wired bras, spending time with the only other transmasc I know IRL at a 'women + nonbinary people' event because that's literally the only queer space near us intended for transmascs, and it's just incredibly obvious people perpetuating this discourse don't go outside

touching grass is vital

The shortest line joke reminds me of the fact that when I was more femme presenting & the women's toilets were blocked off, I went into the men's bathroom and a man went 'Ah! You scared me' and I was like at last, I am the threat <3 I haven't tested to see what will happen if I go to the men's bathroom now that I've started getting weird looks from women from being in theirs. Probably more of the same. It's hard out here being a bathroom liberation free the nipple communist

so true

i spent an hour arguing with a TRF and i'm exhausted. there's a reason i have a boundary with myself about getting into discourse. i don't know how you do it, but thank you for doing it from those that can't <3

I do what I must because I can <3

oh and then the same person said she think its funny to call trans men ‘birthday boys’… i neeeeed to mock and infantilise all trans men because a couple of them disagreed with me!

context

if someone treats you that way call them a slur back until they stop

(do not do that)

Yo it hit me over the head just now- i think there's a large portion of transfems who never did any gender work beyond their own. Like the running joke of 'of course every guy secretly wants to be a girl'; I'm not sure they can conceptualize us wanting to be masculine for any reason so there has to be some sort of 'ulterior motive'

Correct, though stupid selfish assholes with the same lack of comprehension or desire to comprehend the experiences of others come in all kinds.

[andmaybegayer]

Last Monday of the Week 2024-09-02

Do you rember. Wen day is dark, sember.

Listening: @cyelatm released a new album Habit Prism that I've been listening to in bits and pieces. Even, rhythmic folk, good music to have on when you have people around.

In that vein, Bandcamp Friday this coming Friday! Make your lists!

Watching: Watched The Raid which I've had kicking around for a bit. Do you want to watch guys punch each other all over for like 15 minutes at a time for an hour? No? Get better taste in movies and then watch guys punch each other all over for like 15 minutes at a time for an hour.

The Raid is so obviously made for like two dollars, there's one building, every single gun and piece of armour is airsoft gear, the camera is visibly some mid-tier hardware that suffers from severe rolling shutter, and it kicks so much ass.

There's some really interesting things happening with camera movement in this movie. Really really complicated multi-axis camera moves, the same shot will take like six different dutch angles in a single move, or will lock on to different objects and follow them, it's great for martial arts but it's also used to pretty good effect in some interstitial scenes.

The culminating fight with Mad Dog is so wild, literally just three guys in an empty concrete cube fighting for a solid ten or twelve minutes and it works! Does not seem possible. They actively remove almost every prop from the room so it's just guys hitting each other but they keep doing incredible stunts.

It's funny looking at the gifsets on here because they're unreadable, everything happens so fast and requires so much context that is only delivered in the full flow of the movie. My favourite part is when he said "It's Raiding Time" and raided all over those guys.

Reading: Finally sat down and got through the Phalanx's Twilight, Legion's Triumph series on acoup.

Sections IVa-c mostly slid off my brain because it's a bunch of wars I don't know enough about to contextualize but it's mostly justification for what's explained in parts I-III which were great, and it's an interesting look at how the political and military structures of Rome interwove to improve the effectiveness of the Legion.

Also reading Skin Horse, which I started ages ago but never got very far, I think because I started a job around that time and lost track of it. Sticking webcomic tabs on my little ARM tablet is really convenient, I've jammed Out Of Placers and Laika's Comet in there as well, it's been a while since I did a big archive dive on a comic.

Skin Horse is very much of its time, not really in sensibility but just in content. The nerds are characterized by liking Harry Potter.

Making: Resolved the power delivery issues that were causing me to have mysterious failures with the LED driver. That was annoying. Anyway remember to split your power supply when you could potentially pull like 10A@5V to drive LED's.

Playing: Tactical Breach Wizards campaign is ongoing, as you get deeper into the campaign your team expands which dramatically complicates operations, your possible actions explode, and I'm not even halfway through.

Dall was my newest operator at time of writing and she's probably the hardest to use, she can deal a lot of damage but relies more so than anyone else on good positioning, it's really easy to end up way out of place and waste her moves, and she's too heavy to shunt around with Jen's storm attacks the way you can with the others.

Speaking of those, I really like how the short turns and deterministic actions mean you can get really into the weeds. The first time I used a gale grenade to shunt Zan over one extra block to line him up I assumed this would be a sometimes food but you really find yourself doing stuff like that all the time.

I'm heading back and picking through some of the challenge missions concurrently with playing partially to stretch out overall gameplay and partially because I think having fewer abilities unlocked will make those more interesting.

Tools and Equipment: You know, I think we know each other pretty well, I can put this here. The Doxy USB-C Wand is a safe and legal thrill.

[biotic-boshtet]

heres my 2 cents as someone who works in a kitchen

most people think to put a fire extinguisher in their kitchen but almost nobody thinks to check if its the correct kind. you need a k class extinguisher to be sure that any cooking fire you may unfortunately have to put out wont reignite after you've used up your extinguisher.

a digital instant read thermometer is worth its weight in gold if you don't know or arent confident about when your meat is done, chicken is done at 165*f (usually we take it out at 160 because it keeps cooking the rest of the way) pork isn't as unsafe as it used to be anymore so people are more willing to pull it as low as 140*f, but others leave it to go up to 160*f like chicken. steaks have a range of temps depending on your desired doneness, rare: 120-125, mid-rare: 130-135, medium: 135-145, mid-well: 145-155, well done: 155 to 165. i recommend poking the meat when its done and cool enough to touch, the more often you cook it, the more reliable you will be at knowing by touch when its done.

if your oven is wonky and consistently above or below your set temperature, put an oven thermometer in there and figure out how high/low so you can adjust accordingly

dont sear anything using extra virgin olive oil. just dont. extra virgin oil has a low smoke point and you risk catching your pan on fire trying to get it hot enough to sear. use some canola oil instead.

take care of your knives!! if you have one of those fancy knife sets in a block and it comes with a metal rod on a handle, thats called a steel and that helps maintain the blade on your knives if you use it correctly! to use it correctly, hold the steel in your dominant hand and run the blade of the knife perpendicularly along the steel. if it sounds like nails on a chalkboard you're using too much pressure. if you do it right it should sound almost musical. you should do this every time you use your knife and it will stay sharper longer.

on the topic of knives, clean your knives by setting them in the sink or against a flat surface and scrubbing it while flat, that way its harder to cut yourself.

a vegetable peeler that doesnt swivel is loads easier to clean than one that does

the secret to making food taste as good as it does in a restaurant is usually to add more salt and some butter, and in some recipes, a splash of cream

other times it might be using white pepper instead of black pepper

whisk sour cream into your eggs for some really delicious scrambled eggs

believe the instructions if they have different instructions and baking temperatures for differently colored pans, i promise it actually does make a difference

chicken/beef/vegetable base is so good to have on hand, better than bullion is good and easy to find, but a little pricey, sometimes a tablespoon of that is the little extra something your soup or sauce or whatever needed

recipes will be like "prep time: 3 minutes" & the ingredience list is like "2 sweet potatoes peeled & diced" girlie they do not come like that

[lilac--sun]

i have so many headcannon for the Star Sans' and Nightmares gang + Error its all I think about

(not check for spelling mistakes °^°)

MUSIC TASTE:

Nightmare only listens to classical or very slow moving music, he says it calms him down

Killer isn't really a music person but he does really enjoy podcasts

Horror is a juggalo, so mainly ICP but him and dust usually share a playlist

Dust like anything if it is fast and loud , doesn't really have a set genre he likes

Cross likes slow classical music as well but he leans twards more modern music with lyrics

Error didn't have a preference until blue made him listen to some classic rock and that's the only thing hes listen to since then

On the other side

Dream loves death metal and hes surprised when people are shocked he likes that type of music

Blue also enjoys Dreams music taste but is more of a classic rock fan then anything else

Ink loves all music for the sole reason of it being an art form so he really doesn't have a preference

FIGHTING STYLE:

Nightmares gang usually fights very well as a team but they have to split up some times

Nightmare is a mid/far rage fighter due to his tentacles but hes a extremely good aim when it comes to weapns

Killer is a close range fighter, he likes to get close with his knifes and is very skilled with dodging

Horror is close range with us axe because he doesn't like using up to much magic to quickly

Dust is mid/close range because while he uses his magic for most of his fighting, if he has to hes pretty well trained in hand to hand combat

Cross is close rage with that massive sword of his, he likes to block and deflect more then actually fighting

Error is far range, his strings are more then enough to fight off anything and keep them/himself far enough away, he doesn't know how to fight close range at all

On the other side

Dream is a close/far rage, hes good at hand to hand combat but an amazing aim with his bow and arrow

Blue is like dust mid/close range where he uses magic to fight but if needed he could fist fight

Ink is long/mid range where he uses his brush to attack but has magic to use if needed

FUN FACTS ABOUT THEM:

Nightmare is just as good at using the bow and arrow as dream, maybe even a little bit better; he has never showed this off but he really is a great shot

Killer can be super cuddly, like out of nowhere he'll just curl up next to one of the gang members and fall asleep, nobody minds

Horror has always moved, talked, attacked slow but that's because hes saving magic so if he needs to use a massive attack, hes scary when the magic all comes out at once for an attack

Dust is a really big fan of antiques, he collects some then does a massive research about the antique (how old is it, what is it, what did it do, who owned it, who made it, etc.) It just gives his brain something to focus on

Cross with a massive sweet tooth; really likes to bake, horror is the cook of the castle but cross takes the role of making all the birthday cakes, cookies, brownies or anything sweet really

Error is always hot like ALWAYS (hes like a walking heater) even tho he wont let the gang touch him he often sits close enough so they can feel the flaming warmth

On the other side

Dream can't cook for the life of him, like hes tried but it always ends up burning/under cooking/not tastings good, but hes fine with not cooking

Blue usually sneaks into nightmares castle and just relax for maybe an hour or two because at night its calming, he thinks Nightmare doesn't know... Nightmare knows and leaves out food for him some nights

Ink has a tendency to get so engaged into his art projects he can go for month without doing anything but doing whatever his art project is..until he forgets what he was there for and goes back to dreams castle like nothing happened

CASTLE HEADCANNONS

Nightmares castle(based off of the real Neuschwanstein Castle) is much more german styled with a permanent purple tint and moon banners everywhere, a smell of apples is constantly around. It has easily over 80 rooms including a throne room, 1-6 different kitchens, each room has its own bathroom, massive ball room, dining rooms, a library that takes up almost an entire section of the castle: around 5 floors including the cellers/attic

On the other side

Dreams castle is much more a Mansion and so much more welcoming, the permanent tint of gold and Sun banners littered around the mansion also a faint smell of freshly cut apples is always lingering

There are probably only around 70 rooms with a throne room that is rarely touched, one super large kitchen much to Blues liking, dining room that's larger on the inside then it looks, the ball room which was turned into the meeting room, each room also has a bathroom only 4 floors with the basement

ROOM HEADCANNONS:

Nightmare got the biggest room. His bed is stiff but not uncomfortable(a king sized bed.... literally) his room is painted in a deep purple which looks black until light hits it, his floor is a black velvet carpet. Two bed side tables with reading lamps, infront of his bed he has a large bookshelf which only holds his favorite books

Killer has a pretty plan room(across the hall from nightmars) with the walls being a gray tint and the floor always being messy but no carpet only a few rugs and a large dresser that has been used to hold all his knifes and a full sized bed next to that

Horrors room has a distinct smell of meat but he keeps his room clean with a queen sized bed, right above his bed is a place to hang his axes on the gray walls and light blue carpets with a desk instead of a dresser

Dusts room is painted a almost black color and gray carpet floors and he got rid of everything but his twin sized bed and remodeled to look like his original room... Minus the trash tornado

Cross's room is once again kinda plan, his bed is a queen sized bed and has a dresser next to it with a desk on the far side and white carpet that always looks suspiciously clean with dark gray walls

Error doesn't stay often he usually goes back to the anti-void when the gang gets tired but when he does stay, he stays in a larger room without a bed; he prefers to sleep in his hammock he made from strings hanging from black walls and a dark blue carpet, the missing bed was replaced with a bean bag incase anyone wanted to come and sit with him

On the other side

Dream didn't get the largest room, which he was fine with since he didn't need a big room; his room has a full sized bed with golden walls,no carpet and small book case on his wall then a desk that takes up a good chunk of space

Blue did in fact, get the biggest room. He put in a queen sized bed and filled the rest of the room with different things he likes with baby blue walls and dark blue carpet

Ink doesn't really have a set room because hes always going from the mansion to the doodlesphere but when he does stay he stays in the room with different colors of paint splashed around the room, a full bed and a desk that he uses to draw on

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

And this is just the tip of the iceberg! my brain is just thinking of headcanons and story prompts rn lmao

[kimberly40]

Livermush is very popular where I live in McDowell County, North Carolina. Have you heard of it? Here are a few facts about livermush:

•Livermush is a blend of ground scrap pork meat + liver, and spices bound with enough cooked cornmeal mush to make it sliceable.

•Food historians trace its origins to German immigrants who ate something called pon hoss, (pork scraps blended with buckwheat and spices) and then brought it to America during the 1700s. The food ultimately came south to the mountains and Piedmont, where it wound up on WNC farms.

•Scrapple is similar to livermush but NOT the same. It has less liver and different spices are used. It tastes different too.

•By law, Livermush is required at least 30 percent pig liver to be classified as Livermush.

•One could purchase a five-pound block of Livermush for around 10 cents a pound in the 1930s and '40s.

•Hunter's Livermush, which is made in Marion, is only found within 100 miles of Marion.

•Hunters sells over a million pounds of livermush a year.

•Some historians connect its popularity to the Germans’ penchant for liverwurst, a smoked sausage made with pork scraps. Livermush emerged as an alternative that didn’t require a smoker and could be cut with cornmeal to feed more people.

•The 5 commercial livermush producers — Corriher’s, Hunter’s, Jenkins, Mack’s, and Neese’s — are all based in North Carolina.

•One producer of Livermush stated that the closer they get to the mountains in North Carolina, their livermush begins to outsell sausage.

•Hunter's Livermush in Marion produces 20,000 pounds every week for customers of stores in five counties.

•Although the composition is similar to liver pudding (which you can find in the eastern part of the state) and scrapple (commonly found in Mid-Atlantic states like Pennsylvania and New Jersey), livermush differs from these two with its liver content + binding element.

•Scrapple tends to contain less liver, whereas livermush has a higher ratio of liver and liver pudding is made with flour, and therefore has a softer consistency.

•Early settlers made livermush in cast iron pots and stirred with wooden paddles, incorporating whatever bits of the hog had not been used previously. A regional food born of necessity and hard times, its popularity is thought to have grown during the Civil War because it was an affordable substitute for more expensive cuts of meat.

•Pork jowls, pork livers, Cornmeal, flour, salt, pepper, sage and water are the ingredients in livermush.

•Liver mush is often compared to breakfast sausage and is sometimes called the poor man's pâté.

•Hunters Livermush founders Roy and Gurthie Hunter started production in 1955 at their Marion facility.

•Livermush is certainly high in Vitamin A and Iron, but a 2 ounce slice contains 90 calories, 40 of them from fat. And if you’re one of those people who need to boost your cholesterol level, that 2 ounce slice will provide 17% of your daily cholesterol requirement.

•There are only five commercial livermush producers on the planet; Mack’s and Jenkins Livermush are located in Shelby in the southwestern part of the state, Hunters Livermush is in the mountain community of Marion, Neese’s is in the piedmont city of Greensboro and in tiny China Grove it’s Corriher’s.

•There are two livermush festivals held every year in North Carolina. Marion, North Carolina, has the Livermush Festival, and Shelby, North Carolina, hosts the Mutts, Music, and Mush Festival.

*Livermush is a natural relaxer, cures stress, cures anxiety, cures sadness and best of all is DELICIOUS. 😁

The name doesn’t do it any favors that’s for sure. Every culture has its prized foods that outsiders can’t stomach. People either LOVE it, won’t dare to even try it, or they hate it. For those of us who grew up on livermush, we love it and will gladly eat your share. 😊

Peace, Love, and Livermush. ❤️

-Written by Kimberly Wright, 2022

[it-begins-with-rain]

if you dont mind me asking, when did you get into seventeen? i've been following you for years now (back when i was still into tog/acotar), got into svt just over a year ago, and now find it a cute coincidence that you listen to them too!

Ooo! Maasdom follower who is also SVT fan!!

So... I want to explain something first to explain something second, lmao.

FIRST::

I've had an ear to kpop since about 2008, part of a fandom I will not name but your hint is they are famous for how overwhelmingly toxic they are.

Fell in love with the Korean language and dramas, actually lived in Korea in college and Seoul is the most beautiful city on the planet (I lived in Wonju which isn't bad, but isn't as amazing as Seoul).

And then the group that I had been following entered their... how to say... image-destruction-phase. It was like they were addicted to saying shit that exposed how rude and arrogant they were IRL, one guy just let his homophobia hang out there for the whole world to see and waved it around proudly.

Amidst all of that (the homophobic one actually came out as homophobic a week after this, so it hadn't happend yet but it was the nail in the coffin) I had somehow become a fandom leader against my will, known for being able to play CSI: Fandom (because of an emotionally unstable former friend I had to keep talking off ledges by getting to the root of scandal rumors). It was exhausting and people were fucking stupid. My stance on idols is they’re grown ass adults (mostly). Who the fuck gives a shit if they’re dating someone or whatever? Honestly I was so sick of the bullshit.

Anyways

A former member of the group released a solo album and it just... wasn't my taste at all. I didn't say anything against it by any means, but someone sent me an ask saying they'd noticed I wasn't reblogging.

I said ONLY "It's just not my genre, but I wish him luck" and within 15 minutes I had 12 messages either threatening my life or telling me to kill myself. Because of those words.

That was when I was like "You know what, fuck all of this" and bailed. That was around 2012-ish. I refused to go anywhere near kpop with a 10 foot stick after that. If I saw news, it was because it hit CNN or BBC (so the tragic deaths and the Burning Sun Scandal which was just INSANE, like, omg). But that was it. And btw I still dont' listen to that group I used to listen to. I fully will not touch their stuff.

SECOND:

So that was a big ass mountain blocking me from being willing to even consider kpop. But a dear friend of mine was very much into it and just like once in a blue moon I'd notice a post on my dash that was kpop from her, but I ignored it.

In mid-2020, a fuck ton of bad shit went down even on top of all the COVID stuff. Like, at one point I genuinely considered driving into a wall (except I was buried alive under responsibilities) and it just got incredibly hard and incredibly dark. My personality- I can't ask for help. I just can't. IDK why, it's a huge block for me.

So that friend, my darling Sarah, who reblogged kpop stuff I rarely saw, a GIFset came across my dash that I was just so exhausted and defeated I didn't even have the energy to scroll past and decided to read it. It was Seventeen in that group blitz episode of Going Seventeen where they hit the inflatable obstacle course.

And it made my heart feel not quite as heavy for a few seconds. Maybe I even cracked half a smile.

I kept dragging myself on, and I saw the GIFset again and in another defeated day, I looked it up on Youtube (had to play it at 70% speed, those psychos talk FAST) and watched it.

And... it made me genuinely smile.

So I watched all of Going Seventeen over the next several months. Then about 6 months in I decided to listen to one of their songs (Hoshi- Spider) and loved it. Started listening to more of their music, found out Carat are actually extremely chill and extremely dorky, the opposite of the fan club I'd been part of before.

So I joined Carat formally (i'd never done that with the Fandom That Must Not Be Named, Carat is my first fanclub :) ) and I just... enjoy them.

They got me through some really incredibly dark times, just being able to watch something lighthearted and simple and funny. Like, I know it’s cliche to say, I know they'll never know that, they probably wouldn't give a shit, they probably hear it 150,000 times a day. It doesn't matter. The dumbassery helped me a lot, and I'm grateful for that.

And this year I got to go see them live in concert with my darling Sarah, the same week I got the news that my mother's cancer (which we were told was terminal) was in full remission and she's one of only a few cases her doctors have ever SEEN to go into remission, and just...

That was way more info than you were asking for, but that's it. Their dorky, probably-licks-bus-windows charm was just simple and yet funny enough that it helped me breathe when that felt impossible, and so I like them :)

[toxiclxki]

bucky barnes drabbles

I’ve got a pretty bad writers block going on at the moment and I read somewhere that when you do you should just write, so I did. This isn’t in any way connected to any of my WIPs or anything else, I just wrote. And now I’m posting it, so enjoy?

~

He doesn’t know when it happened, nor does he know why it happened; all Bucky knows is that some point, some point after he found himself with a new partner, with something resembling a life, he started to cook.

It was an offhand comment, spoken by someone somewhere at some point. He really couldn’t tell you when exactly, or who had spoken the faithful words; all he has are vague memories of a sun warming the back of his neck and the distant cries of seagulls. It was probably in Delacroix, because he felt as close to happy as he ever does, but it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that those words stuck with him, kept floating around at the back of his mind until one night; one night in mid-December, when the New York winter seemed hellbent on showing the city’s inhabitants that it still had it in itself to be just as cold as it was back in the 1930’s. The wind was howling outside, rattling the windowpanes, and there was so much snow in the air that he couldn’t even see the streetlight outside. Going outside, ordering a take-out, was out of the question, but that didn’t stop him from needing food. And there it was again, that half-remembered voice at the back of his mind, saying something about how cooking was therapeutic, so finally, he decided to try it, and even though the food hadn’t been great, he had enjoyed the way the process made him feel.

It became a weekly thing, and then a bi-weekly thing. He would spend hours during his days off, wandering around the city, finding butcher shops and, eventually, farmers markets, where he would browse for ages, picking out the ingredients he’d use that night.

Maybe, if he had had time, it would have become a nightly thing, but he doesn’t, so it didn’t. Still, he treasures these moments; the moments he spends alone in his apartment, with the only light being that above the stove and the radio tuned to a channel that plays old jazz music.

For a couple of hours, a couple of nights a week, his mind isn’t racing with thoughts of what he’s done in the past, with memories.

For a couple of hours, a couple of nights a week, he manages to block out the outside world and focus on the little things.

For a couple of hours, a couple of nights a week, his attention is turned completely to carefully dicing onions and peppers, to seasoning and tasting and seasoning again, to following recipes to a tee, to improvising and trying to channel the people in his life he knows are leagues better than him at this.

For a couple of hours, a couple of nights a week, he almost feels like himself again, like the man he used to be, like someone happy.

[ibis-gt]

*slides you 37 pennies* how would luther handle trying to go on a public date with cam (movie, restaurant, etc.) with the whole… affection turns height to no.

had two requests for this one so here u go! luther does his best to keep it together for date night. 2750 words, warning for brief mention of violence in a movie and some hanky panky between consenting adults. not explicit, just a little spicy.

~~~

Four months into their relationship, and Luther has more of a handle on things now.

He’s got the size thing totally under control. He hardly ever shrinks just because Cam looked at him anymore. He can take a compliment like a champion. Those soft, sweet, gentle smiles that spread across Cam’s face like molasses? Barely make him lose an inch. Physical contact? He’s… still working on that one.

But at the very least they can have date nights in public now, as long as Cam behaves himself, and Cam is quite willing to behave himself. Most of the time.

It’s a snowy Saturday night in December, and they’ve got a date planned. Cam will pick Luther up at eight, they’ll go have dinner at a local sushi place, watch a late night special feature from the 80s, and then come back home for some wine and light snuggling before bed. An absolutely perfect night, if Luther can make it through enough of it full-size.

He’s still debating his outfit when a gentle knock at his front door heralds his beloved’s arrival. Five minutes early as usual.

“It’s open!” Luther calls. “C’mon in and help me choose, will you?” He’s standing in his bedroom in a pair of black slacks with the horrid green jumpsuit undone and tied around his waist, staring critically at his two choices of top. A lovely turquoise turtleneck, or a stylish electric blue button-up. The floor creaks behind him as Cam ambles in. “Which one do you think is better? I guess it depends on what you’re wear - eep!”

Luther squeaks and jumps as Cam presses his lips to Luther’s neck, big warm hands sliding up his arms to rest on his bare shoulders, sending an involuntary shiver down his spine.

“Both look nice,” Cam murmurs in his ear. “But I think I like the blue one better.”

“C-cam,” Luther whines, his face going pink. “If you keep this up we’re not even going to get out the door.” The hands remove themselves, and Cam pulls back, chuckling.

“Sorry. Couldn’t help myself. All that exposed real estate, you know.” He lets out a perfect wolf whistle. God damn him. Luther glares over his shoulder and folds his arms, letting annoyance take over.

“We’ve been planning this for weeks, and you’re going to ruin it,” he pouts. “Go on, out. Wait in the living room if you’re going to be like this.” Cam puts his hands up in a placating gesture and retreats, but that damn smile doesn’t leave his face. Luther tosses his hair and huffs, secretly proud of himself. He didn’t even lose a half inch. He turns back to consider his options.

Well, if Cam is so focused on his neck tonight, that sweater might be the better option to afford him some protection. But he said he liked the button-up better… It’s lighter than the sweater so it won’t keep him as warm, but that means he can steal Cam’s big coat later on. The turtleneck would completely cover the green jumpsuit, but the blue of the button-up actually compliments it nicely. Luther nods decisively. The button-up will be perfect.

He dresses quickly, gives himself a final once-over in the mirror, unbuttons his top button, and heads out to see Cam. His boyfriend - his boyfriend! The thought still sends a thrill through him - has picked up the cat, Scrunge, and is stroking her head, making little baby noises at her. She purrs in her usual way, fast and loud, like a revving motorcycle. Cam sets her down when he sees Luther and sighs happily.

“You look fantastic,” he says.

“You clean up pretty nice yourself.” Luther crosses the room and fondly brushes a loose strand of hair behind Cam’s ear. Cam’s in a dark grey v-neck shirt and black suit jacket, slightly tarnished silver cufflinks adorning the sleeves. He’s got his big heavy winter coat draped over one arm so he doesn’t overheat in the relative warmth of the apartment. Luther sneaks a covetous little glance at it before grabbing his own shabby coat off a hook near the door.

He bends down to give Scrunge a goodbye scritch behind the ears. “Behave yourself while I’m out,” he tells her. “No tearing around the place and knocking things over.” She meows plaintively. Luther retrieves her bag of treats and gives her two as a bribe, which she accepts happily.

“Okay,” Luther says, straightening and shrugging on his coat. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Cam says, and takes his hand.

They walk to the restaurant. No point in searching for parking, it’d take longer than just hoofing it anyway. It’s been snowing on and off throughout the week and piles of dirty slush cover the sidewalk. It’s cold, but Luther’s coat is keeping him warm enough for now. He and Cam hold hands as they walk to the restaurant, and Luther doesn’t even shrink a little bit. His chest swells with so much pride he thinks his feet might leave the ground.

The place is only a little busy, so they have a short wait before they’re shown to their table. They get their usual orders. Luther prefers simple rolls and nigiri so the taste of the fish is front and center, while Cam likes to get the complicated, loaded rolls for the variety of texture and flavor. While they wait for their food to arrive, Luther fills Cam in on Scrunge’s latest reign of terror in his apartment, and how much it’ll cost to fix the cracked frame of the painting she’d somehow managed to knock off the wall in her frenzy to catch the fabled red laser dot.

The food arrives. Cam offers Luther a taste of his rolls - he’s gotten something deep fried with cream cheese, cucumber, and crab, and another loaded high with four kinds of fish, topped with roe. Luther tries the one with all the fish, but passes on the deep fried one. He trades Cam a piece of mackerel nigiri. Then he continues on talking, telling Cam about his week, how work’s been, the new guy they hired, and the annoying new habit his coworker’s formed of singing along with the music on the jukebox, regardless of whether she knows the lyrics or not.

Luther suddenly catches the look in Cam’s eyes. There’s something… hungry in them. It’s the only way he can describe it. It’s not regular hungry, because he’s practically ignoring his food in favor of listening intently to Luther’s rambling story. He’s leaning forward, arms folded on the table in front of him, drinking in every word Luther has to say. He’s hungry for him. The realization hits Luther like a truck and he stops mid-sentence, jaw dropping, a blush starting to spread across his face.

“What’s wrong?” Cam asks, innocent as ever. How could he even know the effect he has on Luther? How could Luther ever explain?

“N-nothing, um, I… I’ve been talking a lot, why don’t you take over for a bit? What’s keeping you busy at work?” It was delightful to listen to Cam ramble on about his job. Luther barely understood a word of it, but his enthusiasm was adorable and, importantly, not about Luther. He could keep it together and breathe a bit, work on calming down the scramble of emotion in his gut.

Sure enough, he wins himself a good fifteen minutes of calm while Cam talks on about carburetors and mufflers and manifolds. He could be making it up for all Luther knows. It’s not until Cam realizes his deep fried roll has gone cold that he breaks off to eat. They finish their food, decide to pass on dessert, pay, and head for the theater.

It’s only a few blocks away, a fifteen minute walk at most. The night has gotten a little colder and darker, and now stray snowflakes drift and spin through the air, catching the streetlights and twinkling like stars. Cam has a lot of fun pretending he’s a dragon, his warm breath turning to steaming clouds in the freezing air. Luther’s shivering now, his old secondhand coat doing little to protect him from the chill. Cam notices, of course, and whips his own coat off in an instant.

“Oh, please,” Luther demurs, “You’re so chivalrous, but really, I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking like a weathervane in a hurricane, sweetheart. I’ll be fine, I’m my own space heater.” Cam arranges the coat over Luther’s shoulders neatly and slips his arm around Luther’s waist, pulling him in close. It’s so warm and so nice, and so very, very close. Luther’s shivers slacken and cease, and then one more shakes him, different from the rest.

“Oh no,” Luther whispers, “I was doing so well, please…”

Luckily, he only loses about three inches. His clothes are a little looser, and he’s engulfed a little more by Cam’s huge coat, but he’s still a perfectly normal height. He sighs in relief.

“So what’s this movie we’re seeing?” Luther asks, trying to take his mind off of things.

“Oh, so it’s this old sci fi cult classic based on a book no one’s ever read. I saw it the first time when I was like… eight? And it scarred me for life, really, and now I’m obsessed with this shit. The special effects are super gnarly, and they hold up okay, even though you can totally see the tube for the fake blood in the decapitation scene. Don’t worry too much about following the plot, it’s not really the point of the movie, but what you should know ahead of time is…”

Cam rambles on like that, filling the night with fog. Luther snuggles in closer and listens happily, totally at ease. He made it through the most important part of the night, and once they get in the theater, he can relax. It doesn’t matter if he shrinks in the theater - from what Cam’s said, the only people watching this late-night special feature will be die-hard fans who’ll be glued to the screen, and in the darkness they won’t have to worry about anyone catching sight of them.

That also means, of course, that Cam might get a little handsy once the lights dim. If he’s being honest, Luther would be disappointed if he didn’t.

They get a seat in the back row. As the previews start up, Cam reaches over and takes Luther’s chin in his hand, turning it gently so they face each other. For a moment, he just holds them there, staring into Luther’s eyes with an adoring softness that makes Luther’s heart sing. Then he leans in and kisses him, just once, softly on the mouth. Luther shivers and loses another few inches. Cam lets him go, but Luther’s not satisfied. He grabs Cam’s collar and pulls him down for another kiss, this one deeper and hungrier. Cam chuckles against his mouth and nips at his bottom lip, catching it between his teeth for just a moment. Luther sits back heavily in his seat, breath coming in shallow gasps. He grips his armrests tight, trying to pay attention to the trailer for the newest slasher flick as it blares out through the theater. No dice. He’s losing height fast now, shrinking down to four feet tall, his normal clothes hanging off his frame.

They stay apart for all of a minute before Cam’s hand sneaks across the seat and slides into place on Luther’s thigh. He strokes his thumb back and forth in a slow rhythm, humming happily. Luther gasps and shrinks more, staring wide-eyed as Cam’s hand covers more and more of him, soon easily encompassing his entire thigh.

He’s maybe two feet tall now and he can’t see the screen over the seat in front of him. Cam glances down, catching the pouting, grumpy look on Luther’s face, and presses a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter.

“Here, sweetheart,” Cam murmurs, and picks Luther up with one hand. With the other, he frees him from his clothing so that he’s only clad in the jumpsuit. Cam settles Luther gently on his lap. This has fixed the problem of not being able to see the screen, but only momentarily. Luther goes bright red and dwindles down even further. By the time the previews have finished, he’s only eight inches tall.

As the opening theme blares with discordant trumpets, Cam pinches the back of Luther’s jumpsuit between thumb and forefinger and lifts him up. He dangles Luther in front of his face for a moment, expression torn between adoring and apologetic, then brings him in close for a gentle kiss. He sets Luther on his shoulder and hands him a piece of popcorn.

Luther hides his burning face behind the buttery morsel. He’d been expecting a little hanky panky, but nothing so direct. Stolen kisses, maybe a fake yawn that disguised Cam putting his arm around Luther, a little playing with his hair. Going for the thigh like that… that was entirely unexpected. He’s beginning to suspect Cam was trying to get him tiny.

The movie is just as gory and weird as promised. Luther isn’t super squeamish, but more than once he turns and ducks his face into Cam’s neck, squealing in disgust, his voice quiet enough at this size that he doesn’t have to worry about disturbing anyone else. Every time, he feels Cam shake under him with silent laughter, enjoying Luther’s reactions.

The movie ends before too long, and the other theatergoers file out, chatting animatedly with one another about the flick. Cam holds his hand up to his chest, and Luther pushes himself off Cam’s shoulder, landing gracefully in his palm. Cam sets him down on the armrest while he folds up Luther’s discarded clothing and tucks it in an inner pocket of his big coat. He looks down at Luther and tilts his head to one side, lips pursed in a calculating expression.

“You’re just a little too big to hide comfortably… here, let’s fix that.” Cam puts his elbows on either side of Luther on the armrest and looms over him, completely blocking the dim theater lights overhead. Luther takes a few involuntary steps back and bumps up against Cam’s hands, linked together behind him to form a ring penning him in. “You’re all mine now,” Cam breathes, quiet as a whisper. “So tiny and cute. I’m going to put you in my pocket and carry you home, and then… well, then we’ll see what I’ll do with you, hm?” A crooked, meaningful grin spreads across Cam’s face, and that hungry look comes back into his eyes.

It works like a charm. Luther’s legs shake, his heart pounds, and he shivers. He dwindles down to half his height, a mere four inches.

“There we go,” Cam croons, and scoops him up in one hand. Cam stows him safely in his coat pocket, held in a loose fist to keep him safe from jostling and the cold. He exits the theater and moves through the crowds easily. People tend to make way when they see a man his size coming towards them.

Luther curls up against Cam’s fingers and sighs happily. Cam’s hand is warm, calloused in places but soft in others, and the pocket sways gently with his gait. It’s so safe and cozy, combined with the late hour and the exhaustion of the day, it’s the perfect recipe to knock him out. He fights the heaviness of his eyelids as long as he can, but only makes it a few blocks before he’s fast asleep.

~~~

“Whew, cold one out tonight,” Cam says as he unlocks the door to Luther’s apartment. He can already hear Scrunge wailing on the other side. “I hope you weren’t too frozen in there.” He pushes the door open and addresses the cat. “Yes, we’re home, hello darling, we missed you too.” She winds around his legs and purr-meows at top volume. “Okay, okay, other people are trying to sleep,” Cam hisses. “You’re gonna wake up the whole floor, shitty kitty.” She mrrps in disapproval.

He pulls Luther out of his pocket. “So, babe, do you wanna - oh.” The little dear is asleep, snoring softly. Cam smiles and presses a kiss to his chest. He takes a seat on the couch, sighing as he plops himself down. Scrunge leaps up into his lap immediately and puts her front legs up on his chest, sniffing at Luther in his hand.

“Poor dear’s all tuckered out,” Cam murmurs, giving her a scritch. “Let’s let him rest.”

[organic-guacamole]

Hsmtmts: Season 3: Episode 2 Reaction

hold on...did EJ pack his East high morning news cup to go with to camp in the woods? cuz 1. what? 2. ???

are they just gonna mention disney+ every episode 🤡

"they would never call the show that" STOP IT THE 4TH 5TH AND 6TH WALLS ARE BROKEN (hexagon shaped room)

portwell is already too domestic for my taste sorry. he made tea(?) for her and everything...like he knew she'd be there...🤨

oh no why did she do that after he mentioned ricky UGHHHH I CANT DO THIS AGAIN

Maddox is... something

as I've been saying since 2x10, CARLOSXRICKY AKA "BROS" FRIENDSHIP FTW

Anna should've been with Gary and I will stand by that 😤

Ricky and Jet. Bowet, if you will.

I love Kourtney. even if this phone withdrawal thing is kinda ridiculous BECAUSE WE GET TO ONOW MORE ABOUT KOURTNEY WITHOUT NINI AROUND TO MAKE IT ABOUT HER!

Gina says she wants a lead role and that makes her Gina 1.0 again? how?

oh she's getting a solo song.

"not the old me, 2.0 me, no the real me's about to shine" that's actually really nice, why does she have to be defined by arbitrary divisions in her personality?

also why is this song like another mid episode music video. I forgot the word to describe them, but it literally cut away from the episode to have her singing into the camera. unless this is part of the in-show show? this season is confusing me with all the inception and self awareness whatever 😭

everything about this is so abrupt ???

twinsies 😐

Ricky....you're embarrassing me.

WHY IS HE LIKE THIS AND WHY DO I LOVE HIM?

when did Nini turn 17? wasn't she 16 last season? or was that season 1? which still wouldn't make sense because it hasn't been a canon year since season 1 yet so even if her birthday was in the summer she wouldn't be almost 18...

caswen.

FRIENDS? ENEMIES? LOVERS? LOOKS AT CAMERA

atp Ricky just needs to choose between EJ and Jet and because isn't it obvious?

Ashlyn is much more like season 1 Ashlyn here and I love it. like clapping when miss Jenn sang at the read through, "actually EJ's my cousin" "I don't wanna talk about EJ do you wanna talk about EJ?" vibes

oo a Maddox interview. she is definitely an acquired taste for me and that feels so wrong to type...

idk if I said it on Tumblr but I told that discord people that I feel like Jet broke up with a partner he wanted to go to camp with and that's why he's all moody/sulky/emo™

what are the ages of this camp? 13 year olds going to camp with 18 year olds? I'm sorry but I'm picturing my mother looking at the flyer for this and exploding because a co-ed camp with children and adults???

Woahh Nini's British accent. I just got transported to season 1.

why are they holding hands.

did I just join a cult

NO HES SINGING

I just stood up and ran around my room the embarrassment was too much

Dewey is funny omg. imagine Jet is actually allergic to chlorine and he's just like "therapy!"

how did Jet get in with the screen though? nvm just realized you could lie to them about having any

I cannot believe Ricky chose to wear that outfit.

the girl that sang after Gina was so good actually...does she ever get a name?

awww Emmy is so adorable, I feel bad for her that she thinks she's gotta be like Gina or whatever now

I feel like I should be talking about the Nini and Marvin scene but...

I knew Adrien was a good singer but I'm actually tearing up and getting goosbumps at jet's audition.

the camp is already so short and she's wasting time to sleep on the cast list?

what is up with these people and trying to give up their relationships first thing

"I'm not thrown" was that a- a CALLBACK TO SEASON 1 AUDITIONS? I CJOKED ON MY RICE

before I started writing fanfics to post online, I always wondered how these people could have writer's block and then suddenly write a song so amazing... I literally wrote 1100 words last night at 1am because I got inspiration...it's real

Kourtney!! yes!! I'm so excited to see a Kourtney centered plot line now, even if it is kinda her early S2 one about believing n herself and whatnot.

I'm sorry but Ricky in this episode is really just him flirting with Gina, Jet and EJ, in that order.

I desperately need to know what Carlos erased on the cast list. like more than anything I need to know if he erased his own name or Ricky's. he erased around the middle of the page so maybe they got a lesser role and he doesn't want that?

anyways, I liked the audition song medley and nini's song(shocker), so see y'all next week...

[chrisevansszn]

A Quick Fling. 🥵

2k word!

18 & up only!

Short story!

Tonight, a group of you and your coworkers are going out to a bar. A group of about eight for a fun night out.

It was a local bar in Boston called “Drink”. You put on a cute black dress and some   Gold YSL Opyum pumps. You arrived at the bar around 9:30PM, and the crew was already there. Devin booked a corner in the VIP sections so you all could hang out and chat with no problem. You walked to the section and everyone seemed to be staring at you. Probably because you rarely wear a dress and heels.

“Hi everyone”, you said walking up.

The crew consisted of Devin, Jordan, Michael, Jesi, Matt, Jake, Christina, and Chris. You all have been working as detectives for many years together. You all are practically family.

“Ok Y/N. I see you!”, Matt hollers out.

“Matt cut it out please!”, you blushed so hard, but you were seriously wearing that dress. It was hugging every curve on your body.

Your section came with its own waitress, so you ordered a vodka and cranberry. You found a spot between Jesi and Chris. You chatted up with both until your drink came. It was strong just like you wanted.

“Y/N I don’t think I have ever seen you in a dress since working with you for five years.”, Chris says.

“I know. I am honestly not a dress girl, but I figured I would throw one on.”

“It looks nice.”

“Thank you, Chris.”. You smiled at him.

The conversation turned into work and included everyone. Cases, unsolved murders, the whole nine. The waitress brought over a round of shots for everyone. Everyone then decided to go to the dance floor. The music is good, and everyone is gathered around dancing. You noticed how good Chris is looking in his flannel shirt. You make your way a little closer to dance next to him.

You finished your drink mid dance and decided to go to the bar to get another.

“Can I have Cosmo please?” The bar tender nodded.

“Hi beautiful.”

You looked over and saw a strange man next to you. Way older and not your type. You smile and give a dry hello. He continues to talk to you and you really are trying to ignore him. Come on bartender!

“Are you single beautiful?”

“No, I’m not. I actually have a boyfriend.”

“Well, where is he then? Leaving you here all alone.”

“I’m right here.”

You turn around and see Chris.

“Yep. Here is my man.” You fake smile again. Chris sits on the seat next to you. The man gives you and Chris the side eye. He isn’t buying it. You turn to face Chris and wrap your arms around his shoulders. Chris gives you a smile. He is trying to keep from laughing.

“Baby did you order another drink yet?” You ask.

“No, I didn’t. I can’t stop admiring you in this dress.”

Chris grabs you by the waist and brings you closer in between his legs. What the fuck is he doing?

“Not in front of everyone Chris.” You give him and look and pull away a little.

The man next to you is still staring. Chris laughs. Chris turns quickly and orders him another drink and he turns back around facing you. The eye contact you both are making is nothing like you two have ever done before.

You have to play the role. You step back between Chris’ legs and lean in. He grabs you again and takes you in his arms. You both sing the song that is playing to each other and catching a vibe. You lean in and give Chris a kiss on the lips and you feel him grab your right ass cheek and squeeze.

Now you’re doing too much sir! You like it….not going to lie.

The kiss wasn’t long but enough to make the man walk away. Chris didn’t let go either.

“You can let go now Chris.”

“What if I don’t want to.”

You paused…

“People will talk, and you know that.”

He giggled.

“I will let go this time.”

He releases you. You didn’t want him to. You both take your drinks back to the VIP section and sit. The rest came over shortly behind.

The group continued to drink and dance in the VIP section until the bar closed. Everyone was drunk off their ass and Uber’s were called. You went to the ladies’ room while everyone walked out. A few minutes later you walked out and saw Chris standing close to the exit.

“Chris did you call an Uber?”

“Oh yes, but I wanted to wait on you. I didn’t want you to be by yourself. You know?”

Damn. What a great man!

“Oh, thank you!”

“Feel free to join my Uber ride. We stay pretty close to either other.”

“Sure.”

You both walk outside and notice everyone else was already gone. Your Uber finally arrived. Chris opened the door for you, and you climbed in. He followed suit. The Uber pulled off. You wasted no time.

You leaned over.

“Why don’t I just go home with you instead?”

You rubbed your hand from Chris’ left knee up to his thigh, and then softly across his dick. It had been a while and some pipe is exactly what you needed.

Chris gave you THE LOOK. He took his middle finger into his mouth and licked it and turned and slid his finger up your vagina. You sighed softly. Oh…you are going to give Chris all of you tonight. He penetrated your folds and took everything for you not to moan.  He then took his fingers from your vagina and leaned in a little closer. Chris then stuck the same finger in his mouth to taste your waterfalls never once breaking eye contact from you.

The Uber arrived at Chris’ place and you both hope out. He has a nice ass farmhouse on some acres. He grabs you by the hand and you both walk to his front door. You could hear a dog barking from behind the door. Chris unlocks the door and uses his leg to block his dog from running out.

“Dodger back.”, he says gently.

He pushes the door open and allows you to walk in first and then closes and locks the door behind him.

“Hi Dodger.”, you give him a gentle rub.

“Come on Bubba..bedtime.”

Dodger follows Chris down the hallway. Your guess is to another bedroom.  You take off your heels in the hallway…fuck it. You could barely walk in them anymore. You see Chris coming back down the hallway.

“Do you want some water or- “

You instantly grab him and kiss those pink lips. He kisses you back so passionately and pushes you into the nearest wall. You grab his dick outside of his pants and you can feel it getting longer. Chris begins kissing you on your neck and lifts up your dress and grabs your ass and squeeze.

“That ass is perfect.” He says to you. He takes you by the hand and leads you into his bedroom.  You push him down on his bed, and then unzip your dress as he watches you. He sticks his hands down his pants and begins to rub his dick.  Your dress drops to the floor revealing your perfect breast and laced thong.

“Spin around for me sweetheart.”

You slowly turned so Chris could see every inch of your body. His are fixated on you, all of his attention is yours. You grab one ass cheek and squeeze it just for fun.

“Holy shit.”, you hear him whisper.

You walk over to him and softly kiss his lips. You move over to his cheek, down to his neck, and a quick lick on his right ear. You could hear his quiet moans. You unbutton his red and blue flannel revealing the muscle shirt underneath. His tattoos peeking out and is necklace hanging. A complete turn on. Chris takes off his flannel and muscle shirt revealing his body that is literally a canvas. Tattoos everywhere! Time to kiss them all. You push Chris back on the bed and climb on top.

You move slowly down kissing and licking each tattoo along the way. You unzip is pants and pulling out his long hard dick. He was ready for you, but first things first. You licked Chris’ dick from the bottom up to the tip. You can feel his hands in your hair and hear him take a deep breath. You take his entire dick in your mouth. Up and down, you got giving Chris that super sloppy 6000! You are giving him the two-hand action in the process.  

Your puss is throbbing. You wanted penetration immediately. You slid off your thong and climb on top. You slowly sat down on that thick dick and threw your head back. It was everything you needed. Up and down, you went while Chris had one hand on your ass and the other holding your breast. You let out moans.

After some time, Chris grabs you by the waist and flips you over. Now he is on top. He completely comes out of his pants and underwear. He pulls you to the edge of the bed and enters your walls again. As he strokes, he leans over you and gently grabs you around your neck and slightly chokes you. THIS IS YOUR FAVORITE! You’re are literally nose to nose with each other. You stick out your tongue and gently lick the outside of his lips. He giggled.

He then takes his dick out of you and begins to devour you like no one else had. His cooch eating game CANNOT be touched. While he’s eating your soul, he then sticks two fingers inside of you. Your back arches.

“Y/N you taste so fucking good.”

He then flips you over and pulls you up on all fours. He teases you with just the tip in and out, in and out.

“Chris give me your dick now.”

“Say no more baby.”

He rams his dick in your puss from behind and lets out a few moans. Faster and faster, he goes and harder and harder. Your mouth is stuck open and your eyes roll back. Chris continues to fuck you in different positions: on your back, from the side, on your stomach. Who knew he would be able to go so long!

You finally heard him say. “I’m fucking about to nut.”

He groans but not too loud, and you orgasm at the same time. He lays next to you and kisses your shoulder. Chris’ dick was so fucking good. You get up and go to his bathroom to clean up. You walk out and start putting your dress on.

“Wait, where are you going?”, Chris asked.

“Home.”, you say while grabbing your phone to order an Uber.

“Why don’t you just stay for the night?”

“That’s how people catch feelings. This is a business transaction.”

Chris busts out laughing.

“If you say so Y/N.”

He walks up to you and kisses your neck.

“Come to the kitchen with me, so I can get you a bottle of water. We drank a lot tonight.”

You all did. You didn’t even both putting on your heels because you could barely walk without them. You follow him to the kitchen, and he hands you a bottle of Fiji. You phone dings letting you know your Uber has arrived. Chris walked you outside and opened the car door.

“Text me when you make it home…please.”

“Of course. Goodnight Chris.”

“Goodnight Y/N”

He closes the door, and the Uber takes off. You left your panties behind.

Maybe he will call you up soon to come back and pick them up….

I hope you enjoyed! Follow for more! 💛

[tobiosmilktea]

high fidelity — kuroo tetsurou

3.9k words | genre: fluff | warning/s: terrible writers block writing, ooc kuroo cause i suck | pairing: kuroo x gn!reader

↪︎ in which being the only two employees at a small record store meant that you and kuroo worked together almost every day. and not a single day has passed that you didn’t find your coworker absolutely insufferable. you think he’s annoying, and he thinks you’re cute. in reality, kuroo just sucks at flirting.

a/n: is the plot a bit of a mess? lowkey yeah, but ykw that’s okay cause i needed something stupid to write. this was also a bit self-indulgent cause homegirl just got employed at a record store (yay)

fucking tired—is what you would tell kuroo in the means of his grand intervention to mess with his favorite coworker of all time. granted, you were his only coworker in the infamously meager record store down some random alleyway in downtown tokyo.

those six words were how you would describe how you felt at that very moment. busy with doing what you were employed on doing rather than sitting around and snacking on some trail mix. one would assume that working at a rather small establishment meant little to no work, especially in hours where it was slow with no customers roaming up and down the aisles, but god were you wrong. you were the only one on the shift actually busting your ass off on the floor and at the register while all kuroo does is change the music playing on the store’s overhead speakers and hangs out.

sure, he does do his fair share of work here and there. occasionally he would even take over most of the manual labor of carrying all the new shipments of heavy vinyl records for the sake of courtesy, but at the end of the day, it was always you who would have to restock the displays every time.

so much for being a gentleman.

your feet hurt, your legs ached, your arms were sore. you were just glad that kuroo finally decided to get his ass up and actually walk around for once. he probably wasn’t planning on doing any work, simply just meandering through the aisles of vinyl just to see what to buy next with his 20% off employee discount. you honestly couldn’t care less. what you did care about was that the stool behind the cash register (aka the only place to sit inside the entire building) was finally free.

you settled yourself behind the counter, a sigh escaping your lips as your chin rested atop the palm of your hand.

you finally had a chance to rest. yet despite taking this rare opportunity, you couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit bored now that the store was practically deserted. then again, what did you expect from working at a small business? not to mention, it’s the twenty-first century and all forms of media was digitized and easily accessible by a single internet search. there were, however, a few old souls out there, still in love with the idea of having a physical copy of their favorite artist’s work.

you were easily one of those people.

there was something so endearing listening to strangers talk about their love for music—it’s why you started working here at TRAX in the first place as a sorry excuse to surround yourself with the physical embodiments of the best invention mankind has ever made. hell, you still had the old walkman that your father gave to you. it was from the 90s with its gray plastic chipping at the corners and scratched-off lettering. you even had his old cassette tapes always in your bag whenever you go out.

regardless, the quietness of the store wasn’t at all bad at times. if anything, you were fortunate that kuroo wasn’t annoying the shit out of you like he normally does—poking at your cheeks and teasing you to no end. in fact, it was a nice break from the overstimulation of the occasional busy hours that come out of the blue. from old men mansplaining how record players work to annoying middle schoolers trying to blast their terrible soundcloud songs on the store’s bluetooth speakers. perhaps the slow hours were a godsend.

it was absolute hell trying to chase those annoying thirteen-year-olds out of the store with the help of kuroo. causing a ruckus or not, the situation was a bit funny at the end. it was one of those rare moments you and kuroo shared a genuine laugh together.

a sigh escapes your lips then as you take out your walkman, plugging in the old headphones that came with it. the black, plastic ones with thin muffs whose wires tangle no matter how much you try not to. you place them over your ears.

today’s mood was classic 80s rock, something along the lines of queen, guns n’ roses, and journey beating into your ears as you let your eyelids rest for a few seconds.

however, your means to relax was immediately shut down when a hand snatches your headphones off of your ears.

“ouch,” you groan as the plastic of the headset scratched at your temple. you look over your shoulder at your coworker with confusion plastered all over your face. “what was that for?”

kuroo blinks with a sly smile on his face, “those things still exist?”

you flick him a look, “what do you want?”

“you don’t get paid to sleep on the job, you know.” kuroo gives you a pointed look as he hands you back your headphones.

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. the audacity. “i get paid by the hour and the store is literally empty right now,” you defend as you click your walkman on pause, “besides, aren’t you the one slacking all the time?”

“only when the boss isn’t around,” he hums.

“the boss is never around,” you huff.

“speaking of an empty store,” kuroo starts once again, watching you wrap the thin headphone wires around the body of your walkman. “d’you got any spare change?”

your eyes peer at him slightly, “what for?”

“to get a drink from the vending machines down the street, obviously.” replied kuroo.

yet another sigh left your lips, licking at its dryness as you reached into your pocket to reveal a few fifty-yen coins. it wasn’t much, but it wasn’t like anything from the vending machines in the city was that expensive. just anything to get him off your back again for peace of mind. “get me a one too while you’re at it,” you mutter, tossing the coins into his palm.

“why don’t you just come with me?” he asks, curious.

you shake your head, “i can’t leave the store unattended.”

kuroo clicks his tongue, feigning himself from rolling his eyes and just tugging you along with him. “come on, it’s not like there are any customers.” he gestures onto the barren floor as if its emptiness wasn’t already obvious enough.

“do i have to?” you groan. you just got comfortable and you weren’t exactly in the mood to walk all the way down the street either.

“yes,” he said sternly, hoping that it was enough to sway you, but surprise surprise! it didn’t. his unsuccessful (and oddly pitiful) attempt at convincing you to come with him caused the corners of kuroo’s lips to dip into a slight pout.

no matter how annoying your coworker was, thinking he wasn’t at all cute or the least bit attractive was a lie. when you look at kuroo, you’re not entirely sure what it was about him that made your heart skip a few beats despite your brain thinking the opposite. was it his sleek obsidian hair that was always styled perfectly? perhaps it was his eyes that were so pretty that if you looked at him for longer than a few seconds, you would be entranced? or maybe it was his witty charm that despite being annoying, you still found his presence nice to be around?

whatever it was, you hated to think there was even the slightest possibility that you liked kuroo more than you would like to admit. and the worst part of it all? perhaps you did like him more than a friend.

and that was the biggest problem.

how annoying, you think.

“pretty please,” he begged, his warm hands suddenly finding yours in the midst of your internalized dilemma and pulling you out of your thoughts.

the action catches you off guard as you snatch your hands back from his abrupt contact. eyes wide and heart beating heavy, you gulped when you noticed how close he was to you then. the action of you pulling away from him only brought kuroo closer like some odd twist in fate.

your thoughts pondered a bit as you looked up at him, still patiently waiting for an answer as he gives you a comforting smile. perhaps kuroo stepped a bit out of line this time, and there’s no doubt he feels a bit bad about it. he was about to pull away and apologize but after your thoughts spiraled for a few seconds you gave in with a nod.

“fine,” you say, lifting yourself off the stool as kuroo steps away from you with a grin. you follow him around the counter, taking your walkman with you as you pass it.

you just hoped no one came by while you two were out. the last thing you wanted to do was get fired all because your annoyingly handsome coworker wanted to get a mid-afternoon beverage.

your shoes muffled gently against the store’s floor—tap, tap, tapping in some form of patterned unison as you and kuroo left the building.

the backroads of downtown were quiet. considerably so compared to the main streets as there was nothing but tweeting birds, whistling cicadas, and an occasional bicycler whizzing by. it was such a nice day, perhaps it wasn’t a bad idea to go out after all.

there was something incredibly calming about afternoon strolls down the street, feeling the rays of sunlight beaming down on your face as you further melted into an earth-smearing mood while you unpaused your walkman.

your headphones laid around your neck with the volume set on max this time just so kuroo could listen in. the corner of his lip quirked up a bit as you did so. it was like a nod of approval within a minuscule gesture. then again, you and kuroo always had a similar taste in music—messy and all over the place, but the classics are where you and he truly had the most in common.

the walk there was short and quiet. usually kuroo doesn’t mind being the one to strike up a conversation, but right now, it was as if he was trying to savor something at the moment that you couldn’t really pinpoint.

upon arriving at the rows of vending machines, kuroo slips in a few coins before pressing one of the buttons. he opted for a calpico, watching the can fall from behind the glass before bending down to pick it up. kuroo doesn’t even give you a look before he puts in the rest of your change, let alone ask what you wanted. the boy presses on the button right below a matcha drink—the exact one you were planning on getting.

he bends down when the drink dispenses and hands it to you on beat with the music emitting from your headphones.

“thank you,” you say, a bit dumbfounded as you opened up the can.

the slight confusion was evident on your face as kuroo couldn’t help but find your curiosity absolutely adorable. “i always see you with that drink whenever you come in for work,” he explains, chuckling as he takes a sip from his own. “assumed you liked it a lot.”

you couldn’t help but blush at his words, feeling your heartstrings suddenly tug at the thought that he knows you enough, let alone care to even remember such a minor detail. letting out a shaky breath that you hoped was drowned out by the music, you lamely attempted to hide the crimson red hues on your cheeks as you take a drink.

“i’m surprised you’d even remember something so insignificant about me,” you mutter as you two walk back to the store, yet this time your pace slowed along with his.

it seemed as if you weren’t the only one wanting to spend a little more time like this.

“i mean, it’s you.” kuroo replied, fingers nervously fiddling. “you are my favorite coworker after all.”

which wasn’t at all a lie. it was true. you were his favorite, but it was nothing more than a panicked and questionable explanation in the means of nonchalance. he couldn’t exactly expose himself out of the blue ever since you two talked about what you looked for in a partner. he recalled your words of wanting to find someone who cares about you and can remember every detail about you regardless of what it was. and much of his dismay of explaining his type to be the exact same of your own traits and characteristics, his sorry excuse of casually flirting completely flew over your head.

and if he’s coming to think of it now, all of kuroo’s sorry excuses of flirting probably went over your head. he mentally faced palmed himself. god, you probably thought he was the most irritating guy on the planet.

yet to his rapidly beating heart, you laughed, practically beaming at him. kuroo swears you could literally send him into cardiac arrest. “i’m your only coworker, idiot.” you tease before taking another sip.

he grins.

“gives me an even better reason to care then,” he hums, pulling the door to the store open just to be met with a thunderous shout.

you two were met with the owner of TRAX record store aka your boss. the short, pudgy old man with a receding hairline and a scowl on his face stood by the counter, arms crossed over each other like a disappointed parent.

“where have you two been?” he grunts, his familiar adenoidal and croaky voice ripping through your eardrums as you hurried to pause your walkman. “leaving the store unattended just to get drinks? you two are lucky i got here when i did because a customer just came by!”

your lips purse together nervously as the grip around your can tightened. kuroo notices your unease, giving you an apologetic look. he turns to face igarashi, your boss, “sorry sir, that’s my bad. i was the one who convinced (y/n) to come with me even after they said no.”

“oh really?” your boss tested. his hand came up to his chin to scratch the few strands of beard hair he even had. he scoffs, “of course it is.”

your neck swivels up towards kuroo as guilt melted into your bloodstream. knowing igarashi, he wasn’t the type to lay easy on simple mistakes. it was the only reason why you were glad he wasn’t here often in the first place knowing that he was like a ruthless hawk with eyes that followed you everywhere.

“it’s not entirely his fault, sir. i knew better but i still decided to go.” you muttered, refusing to look kuroo in the eye as he looks at you surprised.

igarashi lets out a huff as his eyes closed for a few seconds, “my therapist told me to take deep breaths whenever i feel as if i am about to lash out,” he explains before pulling himself together. he opens his eyes, tone much calmer now but the words were still like venom. “since you two were at least truthful about it, i will let it go this time, but know it won’t be the next time around. alright?”

you and kuroo nod, “yessir.”

“good. now, i want this place spotless by the time i come back.” with that your boss disappears into the back where he would be for the rest of the night–not helping at all. he stays in the backroom just to nap and to get away from his own unhappy marriage. you just hoped he stayed there until the end of your shift.

with your pulse calming, you took a sip of your matcha drink out of comfort, finishing all of its contents before throwing it into the trash bin. kuroo does the same thing, this time out of the fear of getting in trouble again as for the first time in a long time, you hear him ask you, “should we get to work then?”

you almost wanted to laugh. you were oddly giddy about working alongside him rather than vexed, nodding in response. both of you grab one of the grates of newly shipped records from behind the counter, ready to be put on display as you and kuroo worked down the same aisle.

with your walkman still on hand and your headphones wrapped around your head, you decided to play the cassette tape again just to ease the underlying awkwardness that was still in the air.

when you paused your walkman earlier, it stopped near the beginning of good old fashioned lover boy by queen. and the moment freddie mercury starts vocalizing, you could practically feel the ice around the two of you melt, heads bobbing to the beat as you two worked your way down the jazz aisle.

it went like this for the next hour. songs ranging from artist to artist, humming lightly to the beat of every drum. usually, kuroo wouldn’t last two minutes without complaining about doing work, but for once he didn’t mind knowing that you’re right next to him, mumbling the lyrics together in incoherent unison. if he knew working with you was going to be like this, he wouldn’t have been such a slacker after all. you could honestly say the same thing.

the cassette tape pulls to a stop, reaching the end of its duration as you and kuroo reach the bottom of the crate of vinyl records. as you reach inside to take out the last few albums, a gasp escapes you as your eyes fall onto one of the records. it was one that you have been dying to get for years now.

you put your walkman and headphone set down, grabbing the album.

“no way,” you grinned, capturing kuroo’s attention as he looks over at you curiously. “look, look!”

“tears for fears?” he says as a small switch flickers in his brain. “isn’t that your favorite 80s album?”

you nod, happy to think he even remembered that about you as you rush over to the cash register. you buy the album without a moment of hesitation, already freeing it from its plastic wrap as you reach kuroo again. you open the cover, beaming at its beautiful design. you couldn’t wait until you got home to listen to it.

at the end of every other row, there was a record player display that customers were able to use. taking out the delicate vinyl, you carefully placed it on the player’s mat with delicate fingers. you pick up the needle, hovering it over the edge of the record before placing it down gently.

on either side of the record player, there were hooks to hold headphones. each of which was connected to the machine as you quickly pull kuroo over. taking the headsets from the hooks, you put one of the pairs on before placing the other over kuroo’s ears, tiptoeing just to reach his height. almost immediately one of the most iconic songs of the decade stream into his ears. it was everybody wants to rule the world—one of your favorite songs.

you two stood there in silence, listening to the song’s nostalgic beats as your bodies faced each other. while you were looking over at the spinning black vinyl, kuroo eyes fell on you.

there was absolutely nothing in his wake to be able to take his admiration away as this, this beaming expression on your face had something special about it. it was as if his entire world was right in front of him, just an arms reach away.

his heart couldn’t slow for a minute as he could practically hear it over the music playing in his headphones. his breath gave way then, at the moment you turned to look back up at him with glowing eyes as if you struck gold. you consider yourself lucky being able to get your hands on such a rare vinyl, but kuroo considered himself the winner as he had you.

“do you like this song?” you asked him curiously, ignoring the way your heart started beating rapidly from the way he was looking at you with such care and admiration.

you were so close, you were literally right there. all of kuroo’s emotions that battered onto him like a cumbersome downpour can be relieved if he were to just say the words. a simple phrase, three short words, and a heavy heart beat. ready to leave his tongue and all would be done.

come on, just say it!

“I like you,” he says out of the blue, but his voice was a bit muffled due to the headphones.

your eyebrows furrow slightly, mouth suddenly running dry as your eyes widen.

did he just say what you think he just said?

you are not entirely sure what he said considering his words were partially drowned out by the music. you wanted to think that he did say the words of the impossible, but you couldn’t be so sure of yourself.

“sorry, what did you say?”

kuroo’s hands wrap around your headset, pulling them off of your ears and placing them around your neck. “i said i like you and i wanted to know if you wanted to go out sometime!” he says ratherly loudly. his headphones were still on him blasting tears for fears.

you couldn’t help but laugh, the back of your hand coming up to cover your reddening cheeks. warmth surrounded your heart, like a hug that squeezed at your chest in the most comforting way possible. you raise your hands up, cupping around the shell of his headphones as you pull them off of kuroo.

“you’re so loud,” you mutter.

as if fate decided to push you into the unknown with a strange burst of confidence within you, you got up on your tiptoes and leaned it. pressing your lips against his, soft and light, your skin ignited ablaze.

in a mere moment of serendipity just to test out the waters, you were pulled in deeper, mind blurring in satisfaction. yet it was nothing more than temporary as the sound of infamous footsteps gradually got louder and louder. panicked, you pull away quickly just seconds before igarashi emerges from the aisles, staring bullet holes into you and kuroo.

“i suppose you two are working?”

you nod, pulling your wrists out of kuroo’s grasp.

kuroo quickly answers, “we are, don’t worry.”

your boss lets out a suspicious hum as he gives you two one last look. he turns back around again, disappearing into the back.

a sigh of relief leaves you as you turn back towards the boy in front of you. he still waited for an answer, almost desperate to know as his eyes searched for an answer.

grinning, you pause the record player and kuroo watches it spin to a slow stop. “you’re an idiot,” you say with a laugh.

kuroo doesn’t seem to care at that moment, if anything he was just glad there were no one else was around. his hands wrap around yours again, “well, is that a yes or a no?”

“so that kiss wasn’t obvious enough for you?”

liking someone you found annoying was impossible, but liking your annoying coworker? now, that was a different story.

general taglist: @yongboxerrr @rosepetalhaven @tvwhoresblog @tanakaslastbraincell @kellesvt @kitsunetea @milktyama @anejuuuuoy

[yvaineseleneposts]

The Troubadour

Requested: no

A/N: This has to be my longest piece ever! I hope it was worth the wait and that you enjoyed it. There could be a few mistakes in there both in English and Italian, sorry in advance. I loved writing this, it wasn’t exactly what I wanted but I am a perfectionist and I have rewritten this about 5 times. I just needed to post it now!

Pairing: OC!Diana Bianchi & Damiano David

Words: 3k

Warning(s): swearing, drinking, smoking (I mean it’s the 70s…), smoking weed, my Italian (I have been studying this beautiful language for three years now but people make mistakes)

West Hollywood, California // Mid-January 1972

Red eyes.

Sweaty foreheads.

That is all Diana would see when they screamed at her. “CAN I GET TWO BEERS AND A COKE PLEASE?!”

Working behind the bar was not her dream job. Diana remembered it like it was yesterday, she and her friend Tami had gone to The Troubadour to celebrate the weekend when she saw a “help wanted” poster. It was a godsend. Diana applied there and then and not long after she found herself behind the bar, handing out drinks to people who looked like they were having the best time of their lives. Another plus side was the fact that she could attend the concerts of all the artists and bands for free.

Obviously, there were also downsides to this job. For example, Diana couldn’t go out and live her teenage years. She isn’t allowed to drink (too much) on the job and the hours aren’t exactly great. The pay is okay though and the tips are even better. Half of the people don’t even know how much they are giving and walk off like they didn’t just hand you 20 for an eight dollar drink. She doesn’t complain much about her job but she does feel left behind sometimes. Like when Tami or her other friend chat about some weird adventure they had the night before and who they met or kissed. Diana felt like she missed out on a lot of things but she had no other choice.

Her parents had kicked her out when she was 15. Diana moved in with her grandmother and lived with her for a while until she passed away. She has been living alone in her grandmother’s old apartment ever since. A few friends had moved in with her but then moved out again when they had found a better place to live. So it was just Diana paying the rent for the place.

 “CAN I GET A RUM AND COKE?!” Diana gets snapped out of her thoughts. Shit, what did he want?! She thinks to herself as she stares at the intoxicated man.  “SORRY?!” She shouts back over the loud music. At least she had another reason for not hearing the man.  “RUM AND COKE!” That is all the man yells before turning his band to her so he could face the stage. Some weird indie band is playing tonight. Diana wasn’t really into it and honestly couldn’t wait until her boss would send her home for the night. She puts in a little less rum, the man will probably not even taste the difference.

The band had stopped playing somewhere around two a.m. However not all the guests had left around 2.30 which is something Diana hated the most. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy her job but after so many hours standing on her feet, she wanted nothing more than to clean up, go home and get into her warm bed.

 “Diana, can you come here for a minute?” her boss asked. What was that tone, was he going to fire her?! “It’s nothing bad, don’t worry.” Pfew. Diana walked behind him into his office.

 “What can I help you with, Doug?” She asked as she sat down in the very comfortable chair across from him. Doug Weston had somewhat become her parent over the last few years that she had worked here. He was always so kind to her and could always ask him for help if she needed him.

 “I want to get more bands from across the sea. I want interesting people and not just the same bands playing over and over again. New talent that no one has heard of before but will become known because of this place. Inspire new talent, you know?” He was rambling on with his sales pitch as if you had any input, it was his place after all. “And seeing that you can speak more languages than I have ever could, I was wondering if you could write small pieces for newspapers in Europe that will inspire these artists to come here and get all the fame and fortune they want.”

 “Sure, Doug. You know I would do anything to help this place… and you of course”, Diana said while a wide grin spread on her face. She felt like she was moving up when in reality it wasn’t a new job position. She would do anything to not have the same indie bands playing almost every night. Diana would never have imagined that she would change the lives of four individuals barely six months later, and change her own life along with it.

Rome, Italy // Mid-March 1972

 “The Troubadour. The place where artists and bands from all over the world can make it or break it in the United States. It all depends on the crowd. If they love you, you can come back for an entire week! If not you will receive the money for that evening but sadly you won’t be allowed back. It’s always packed with record executives so you could get a sweet record deal out of this experience. Do you have what it takes? Sign up and good luck to everyone competing in the battle of the bands! – D. B.” Damiano finishes reading. “Ragazzi, I honestly cannot wait till we get to play there! It’s going to be veramente stupendo!”

 “Bene Damiano, calm yourself. It’s less than five months away. We still have to play in this dump to even afford to go. We barely have enough money for a motel, we don’t even have the plane tickets yet!” Classic Victoria, always worrying as if she is the mother of the group.  “Calmati Victoria, noi staremo bene”, Ethan jumps in. “Let’s get back to practising before we start another fight, sì?” The rest nods their head and pick up their instruments.  “I was thinking, should we start with I wanna be your slave oppuro no? Is it too much?” Damiano suggest.  “Oh, and for outfits, I have a few ideas?!” Thomas adds like a little kid who is excited for Christmas day.  “Positivo, let’s look at those after practice”, Damiano says. Not even ten minutes later they had many up a little setlist. It was a battle of the bands so they had to at least practice 4-5 songs to play against other bands. Then if they were allowed to come back they had to prepare yet another 6 songs on top of those 5 they had already played. They could do it, they had enough songs in their database but were they going to sing their Italian songs or did they have to translate them? The members of Måneskin weren’t sure yet. Luckily for them, they had four months to think about it.

West Hollywood, California // Mid-July 1972

Diana hadn’t even woken up yet, but on the other side of the city, Måneskin had arrived at the airport.  “Finalmente ci siamo. Ce l’abbiamo fatta!” Thomas exclaims. Damiano chuckles and throws an arm around Thomas’s shoulders.  “Slow down, loverboy. We have not made it yet. We landed yes, but we have a long way to go from here to that stage tonight.”  “How every grown-up of you, Damiano”, Victoria teases. “I bet with Ethan that you would follow the first American girl that you saw in this airport and that we wouldn’t see you until much later.”  “Ha ha, molto divertente, Victoria. Sei una persona così divertente.” They continue their bickering whilst Ethan collects all of their suitcases.   “Addiamo?” He finally asks the group, they all agree and make their way through the busy airport to the designated taxi area. During this, they complain about how crowded it is and how much the air smells. It is nothing like their own country but you have to take chances if you want to become famous like their dream.

Later that day

Doug had told Diana to come into work later than she usually would. It was going to be a busy night and he’d rather have her work during the performances than during the day and wear her out. So here she was around six-thirty instead of two o’clock. It felt so weird because usually when she arrives there is no line out front and now there was one to the end of the block. She passed all the people waiting in line, hearing them complain and moan as she walks up to Mario, the bouncer. He doesn’t even need to see her worker-id, as she walks in he wishes her good luck with tonight. She liked Mario, he was working here before she came and even then he had told her if she ever needed anything him and his wife had an extra bed for her. Honestly, the sweetest guy… also the toughest guy you will ever meet.

As Diana walked to the changing area to hang her coat and bag, she ran into a few participants of tonight’s show. She greeted most of them but they were too busy with themselves, the fame they hadn’t even earned yet was already rising to their heads. Before she could make her way to the bar, Doug called her over.

 “Diana, come here for a second. I want to introduce you to a few people.” Classic Doug, always introducing everybody to everybody. If he believed you could make it, he would introduce you to all his workers. However, the bands did not know this, the workers would treat them a little extra. “They are from Italy as well!” As if Diana herself had moved for their, it was actually her grandparents. She could speak a little Italian but other than her last name, there was nothing Italian about her. Doug briefly introduced the members of Måneskin to Diana, who couldn’t keep her eyes off a certain member. To be quite honest she had not remembered everyone’s names and she stumbled to get her name out of her mouth. All because she was already head over heels with this handsome, tall, young Italian man.

After a couple of introduction, Diana was finally behind her bar, her safe space. Meeting Damiano had made her weak in her knees, she had never had a reaction like this before. She didn’t really pay attention to the competitors and focused on serving the people but when it was Måneskin’s turn, she started to lose focus on her work.

During most of their setlist, Damiano kept glancing over to Diana and winking at her. Or at least that’s what it felt like for Diana. However, after a rather sexy song (let’s be real most of them are) he kissed one of his male bandmates on the mouth. Now Diana is not one to judge people on who they love. She reasons that everyone should love who they want to love and receive love because of it. It wasn’t that she hated it, it kind of turned her on, but she was very confused. Had she read the signs wrong? Were there even any signs to begin with? At times like these she wanted to ask Tami for help yet she was afraid that if Tami came and tried to help her that somehow Tami’s charm would work on Damiano and Diana would still end up with nothing. No, she had to do this on her own, she decided.

After the battle of the bands was over, a few stayed behind to talk with record labels about future arrangements. Diana started cleaning up, and washing and drying a few glasses, secretly listening in on a few conversations.

 “I liked what I saw out there. Let your agent call me and we will discuss your expansion in the United States.” Well, that sounded very good. Diana turned around to see who the band was that this man was talking to, but when she turned around she looked right into Damiano’s eyes.

 “I have been trying to get your attention all night”, he says shyly.  “Really? I thought so but I wasn’t sure”, Diana responds. Damiano raises his hand and scratches behind his head.  “I was wondering, you know. If maybe- ugh. Perchè è cosi difficile?” He mutters, not looking Diana in the eyes.  “Provalo in Italiano?” she suggests and Damiano’s eyes shoot up to meet hers.  “Cazzo. Parli Italiano?” He looks even more nervous now.  “Si, parlo Italiano.” He laughs at her answer.  “Vuoi uscire domani sera?” Diana nods her head, she honestly cannot stop smiling.  “I’d love to go out with you. Do you want me to pick you up at the hotel? That would be easier than you trying to find my house.”  “Yeah, sure. We’re staying at the Millwood Motel, it’s not too far from the airport.”  “Ah yes, I know that place. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” He leans over and kisses her cheek before leaving her to finish her work.

That night Diana barely slept. Did Damiano know any places here to take her to? Did she have to come up with a place? What if he was some weird guy? What if he was a murderer?! She sure was happy now that she didn’t give him her address. The following day she woke up around noon. She went to the kitchen and grabbed her Cona coffee maker, if she was to get through the day, she was going to need a big cup of coffee. She put water and coffee ground on the lower half of the pot and put it on the stove. She hated having to watch the coffee boil and couldn’t wait for better times when you would just have to push a button to get your coffee.

Seeing that she woke up around noon, it didn’t take long before Diana met up with Damiano. She asked him if he had anything specific in mind. Surprisingly, he did. He explained that he and his bandmates did a little sightseeing and they walked past a roller skating rink. Damiano always wanted to try that and he thought this would be perfect for their little date. Diana absolutely loved the idea and couldn’t wait till they got there.

Both of them were sad that the night had ended so quickly or so they thought. It was in fact 1 a.m. and they had already spend ten hours together. Diana brought Damiano back to the motel with her car and of course he couldn’t leave without planting a kiss on her lips. They kissed for a while before finally letting each other go.  “We’ll be leaving soon”, Damiano said and looked at their intertwined hands in his lap.  “Already? You just got here two days ago”, Diana complained. She just met him and now he is leaving already? She wasn’t prepared for that. She knew he was leaving at some point, he had to he didn’t live in the US, but still she had hoped for a little more time together.  “Maybe we’ll come back soon. We have a meeting with our agent and that record label guy tomorrow.”  “Could we meet up after? We should catch dinner together, I have another day off”, she suggested. Damiano agreed, kissed her one more time before leaving her car and making his way to his motel room.

The next day

Diana waited for Damiano in front of a large building. She was enjoying the sun on her face when she felt two arms coming from behind and hugging her on her stomach.  “Ciao, amore mio. Sei adorabile oggi”, Damiano said into her ear before kissing the side of her face.  “Ciao, you don’t look to bad yourself”, she said as she turned around. She grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him on his lips, his mates cheering them on in the background. “How did it go in there?” With that question Damiano’s face broke out in a wide grin. “What?”  “Amore, we’re staying here in the US. We got a record deal, we will be here for the entire year!” he shouts and all five of them jump in celebration. “I was going to tell you at dinner, but I just couldn’t wait anymore. We can be together, amore.” Diana broke out in tears, nodding her head, for she had never met a man who she loved more than Damiano. Her Italian lover boy.

[wevegottogetaway]

Thanks fo’ saving my ass tonight

I got so much going on with uni, but I couldn’t resist. If you too are queen/king of procrastinating uni work, you have my deepest support! Hope you enjoyed x

TW: none (except fool language)

Part 2    -    Part 3*

Office parties have never been y/n’s cup of tea, the idea of enjoying yourself in the very place people usually count down the hours before they can leave, is rather ludicrous in her humble opinion. Alas as the boss’ personal assistant, she not only had to plan and organize the whole shebang but her presence was also required, supervision purposes and all that. The only solace sweetening the deal for her was that she’d be in charge of the catering too, and y/n learnt very early on that good food and greater booze could make any boring work function at least tolerable.

Now that the festivities are in full swing, conversation flowing almost as heartily as the champagne in the guests’ eager mouths, y/n thinks she did quite well. The vast open space of the office is decorated with taste, the music set at the perfect level as to not overpower the boring chitchat bouncing off its walls, and to her greatest delight, the catering company she hired has truly outdone themselves. All in all, everybody seems to be having a grand time, and y/n decides that’s reason enough to officially relieve herself of her supervisor’s duties.

As she scans over the assortment of canapés, mini-quiches, crudités and other mouth-watering ambrosias, y/n fails to notice the tall figure casually approaching her. She’s in the midst of pondering whether she should try the humous or a cream cheese and salmon toast first, mouth salivating and stomach growling in appetite, when a raspy voice interrupts her inner battle, "I see m’not the only one who’s here just fo’ the food".

Her eyes pop off the delicious hors d’oeuvres to the sight gracing them next and she doesn’t know which is the most appetizing. Because standing a few feet from her is Harry, vibrant smile and pretty dimples on show, as he leans over the verrines platter to pick the best-looking one. He’s wearing an olympic blue floral suit on top of a scandalously unbuttoned transparent shirt, a bold number that would grant anyone else looks of surprise and confusion but looked absolutely divine on his broad frame. Besides, after two years working at the office, everyone had gotten used to his unconventional fashion choices by now.

Y/n quirks an eyebrow in curiosity as she dips a cucumber stick in a bowl of humous, before quipping, "not a big fan of these things?"

Harry lets out a small chuckle in a ‘no kidding’ way, and attaches his emerald eyes to hers, "they’re kind of a drag, if m’bein’ honest."

She smiles at his admission, realizing they both share an aversion for mundanities, "I know right. Like, why party here where everyone has to be on their best behavior when we could be down at the bar without the boss gallivanting around?" she cries out in exasperation and not for the first time, Harry thinks she’s quite possibly the most endearing thing he’s ever seen. His smile widens the tiniest bit at her passionate rant, "my thoughts exactly. Do we even know what we’re supposed to celebrate?" The question makes her laugh, she wouldn’t have known either if not for her involvement in the affair, "well as the person behind this all drag," she give him a pointed look at his jeering choice of word, "it would be weird if I didn’t."

Harry’s face falls at the possibility of having offended her, but his uneasiness quickly dissipates when she starts laughing at him. "M’sorry, that came out wrong," he tells her before letting out a giggle of his own and y/n revels in the moment. The idea of interacting with him beyond the usual ‘here’s the presentation for today’s conference’ or ‘do you have the quarterly report ready’ is rather intoxicating for her already feeble nerves. "Don’t worry, I take no offense, I’m just as bored as you are," she reassures him with a smile, "the party is for a new potential investor, something about wooing them with some ‘corporate fun’. S’a load of bullshit if you ask me".

Harry nods at the explanation unimpressed, his boss’ intentions being the least of his worries. Aside from being the classic douche every manager typically insists on being, the guy has always made his distaste about him pretty clear, so Harry would rather focus on more interesting things. Like how beautiful y/n looks right now, her hair tied up in a loose bun at the top of her head, leaving a few strands to fall around her face. "You look amazing, by the way," he brings himself to say, though he thinks his compliment doesn’t even do her justice.

Y/n looks down at her own outfit then: a knee-length red dress composed of a skater skirt and a backless top that only holds with a couple pressure buttons clasped behind her neck. Her cheeks warm up to match the color of her apparel, betraying the timidity she’s always fallen victim of whenever he happened to be in her vicinity. Y/n’s never been one to shy away from her feelings or trip over her own words when facing her crushes, but there is something about Harry that teleports her right back to her sheepish 13 year-old teenage self. Also, she’s not too keen on office romances and the drama that usually ensues so she’s always made sure to stifle her blossoming attraction and keep their relation work-appropriate. Surely that must account for most of her awkwardness, doesn’t it?

Her eyes trail back to his face and her response comes in a shy euphemism, "thank you, you clean up quite nicely yourself." It’s enough to quirk Harry’s lips in a bashful smile, their  complexion evidently on edge as they tread uncharted territories. Professionalism has always regimented their interactions with kind but polite rigidness, neither of them quite inclined to cross that invisible line, but tonight seems to challenge that.

Tonight, Harry is resolute in his infatuation, no longer inhibited from social construct but driven by a quest for knowledge; anything that will help him decipher her carefully shielded crux. Tonight, he endeavors to scrape the edges of her rough diamond to expose the gem encapsulated inside, peel back the stoic layers of her exterior to find her unapologetic and intrinsic nature. Tonight, he is thirsty for secrets and confidential disclosures, and he won’t leave until he’s drained it all out of her. Unless she tells him to fuck off, obviously.

Harry keeps the conversation going as he browns the buffet for a new delicacy to snack on, "so, what would you be doing if you didn’t have to be here?" He wants to know everything, the present and the past, the good and the bad, the superficial and the substance, the messy and the orderly, but he figures he should start by what she likes to do in her own time. The things that loosen her up after a tense week at work, the things that will make her eyes shine with passion as she relates them back to his curious mind.

The question reaches her ears as she takes a sip of her drink, "mmm," she smiles around her glass before placing it back on the table, "-that’s easy. Playing pool with the gang at Gibson’s." Her answer spills without hesitation, a heap of follow-up questions already brewing up in Harry’s brain, but the foreign name is what beckons his attention first, "Gibson’s?" he echoes with a faint rumple pulling the skin between his eyes. Is that the name of a friend? A boyfriend? Out of all the questions he’s contemplated, y/n’s relationship status never crossed his mind. He’s always assumed her to be a single woman, the evidence of a significant other never present in her language and demeanor.

A wave of relief washes over him at her elaboration, "it’s a bar couple blocks from my place. It’s been my friends and I’s HQ ever since we all met." The sentiment has her eyes sparkle at the remembrance of all the happy memories the place hosted, and Harry stores the information in his mental list of all y/n’s soft spots.

"Sounds rad, so you play pool?" he inquires with enthusiasm. He’s been knows to play a game or two in his youth, though it’s been a hot minute since he’s felt the weight of the cue in his hands as he sinks ball after ball in their respective pockets. He remembers the elation of it all, the adrenaline coursing through his veins at each successful strike, and his heart flutters at the thought of ever sharing a game with her; she seems like the competitive type in the most entertaining way possible. Before his thoughts can spiral into much filthier realms, like bending her over the table mid-game when his own skills prevail and she turns into a sore-loser, y/n’s voice rings him back to reality.

"Uh uh, correction," her expression suddenly turns in false seriousness before she proves him right about her competing tendencies, "I win at pool." Her eyes are so full of confidence, a spice of mischief sparkling in their corner, she would have no difficulty persuading anyone of anything that passes the threshold of her mouth. Harry certainly doesn’t doubt her mastery of the bar game, but it doesn’t stop him from challenging her in a slightly elevated pitch, "oh is that so?"

Y/n only grins at the banter, not at all fazed by his taunting remark, "maybe you’ll have to find out for yourself." She reaches for another snack, not taking her come-hither look off his handsome face, and Harry revels in her flirtatious advances, a smug smile taking possession of his lips as he surfs of the same wave of seduction. "Is that a challenge?" he philanders back, fueling the sensual back-and-forth they seem to have embarked upon.

"Not much of a challenge if I know I’ll win," y/n replies with cheek, her self-assurance once again burgeoning like sexy wildflowers sprouting from the ground underneath Harry’s feet, wrapping around his ankle and growing along his body to twine around his spellbound heart. He absolutely loves her unfaltering aplomb, finds it undoubtably sexy but he can’t let her know that just yet.

"Cocky."

"Confident."

They both chuckle at their repartee, enjoying this ping-pong of quick-witted banter they’ve never found in anybody else before. It’s like their intellects were meant to collide in galvanizing forces, the encounter of two fiery psychs too brilliant to one up the other.

Harry is mesmerized by their connection, if he knew sparks would fire this bright, he would have made a move ages ago. "Fuck, you’re something else," he shakes his head in incredulity before confessing, "definitely not what I expected."

Y/n’s chest tingles at his comment, a rivulet of liquid glee leaking through her arteries to pump her heart and her ego full of bliss, "Oh so you expected something, did you?" She punctuates her teasing with a thousand-watts power smirk, and Harry finds it strikingly alluring.

Not about to let her have the upper hand however, a burst of smugness crosses his features as he boomerangs her earlier allurement back to her, "maybe you’ll have to find out for yourself." It earns him a deep jazzy laugh rooted in her tummy and a tinge of pride swirling in his own. He wants to pry laugh after laugh from her belly until her last giggle, only relenting once the muscles in her chest are aching from unbridled joy.

Y/n sighs in content before taking a bite out of a mini-tartlet as she considers how to proceed in this much too flirty conversation. "So what would you be doing tonight, if not for this stupid party?" she returns his first question before realizing,  "-wait a sec, what are you doing here if you hate these things so much? My presence was mandatory but yours isn’t."

"I’ll have you know I was coerced into coming too," he quips back in a fake defensive tone, hand pressing to his chest, "Mike from accounting begged me to tag along, he just broke up with his girlfriend so I didn’t have the heart to tell him no." The selfishness of the gesture softens her heart in a goo of adoration, but she can’t let him know that just yet.

"Softie."

"Chivalrous."

His comeback has her giggle, a rejoinder already tiptoeing at the edge of her lips, "see, who’s cocky now?" Her eyes are full of jest and lightness, somehow taking the weight of the party off his shoulders. Turns out, food and booze are not the only remedies for boring work functions, y/n’s company is just as effective if not more, and that’s with the guarantee of a hangover-less comes next morning. Harry is truly happy he decided to make an appearance tonight, a sentiment he definitely didn’t foresee for the night. The realization has him faintly shaking his head in amazement, his lips letting out another whispered "something else" softly enough that it doesn’t quite reach her already inflated ears.

"So did you have any plans tonight?" She reiterates the question not wanting to ever stop talking with him.

There are probably a hundred exciting plans he could have conjured up to come off half as intriguing as she seems to be, but instead he decides to go the honest route, "nah, I would have probably crash on my couch, this week’s been pretty hectic." His truth is confirmed by the faded blackness tinting the skin below his eyes, a proof of hard work and long hours under the heedlessness of a greedy superior. Y/n knows it all too well, having had firsthand experience with her boss’ jackassery. That’s why she directly inquires, "boss giving you trouble?"

Part of Harry is eager to steer the conversation back to more pleasant waters but he guesses talking a little bit about work was inevitable at some point, especially since they both share palpable distaste for their superior. "The maniac keeps giving me last minute reports like I’m expected to work all night along on his bullshit projects," he explains dejectedly before running his hand through his luscious curls in sign of frustration. "Barely finished in time fo’ the party tonight, I had to slip in his office to put the file on his desk, that fucker had already left."

Y/n listens attentively, her chest tightening in empathy at the recollection of his misfortune. She’s very familiar with the embittering feeling that comes with working your ass for someone that barely registers your efforts and dishes the office hours before you can even dream of clocking off. She’s faced the same scenario time and time again, including tonight, when she’d come up to lock the boss’ office hours after he left to get pampered for the party. She barely got time to make the double commute to and from her place, much less spend hours getting dolled up. She does remember the odd file on her boss’ desk though, "oh I was wondering what that blue folder was about, he never usually leave unattended paperwork on his desk."

Harry starts nodding in confirmation before stopping dead, eyes widened in distress, "wait, did you just say blue?" he asks in urgency.

Y/n frowns at his sudden agitation, her mind reeling to try and visualize the state of the surroundings she left several hours ago. She’s pretty positive she saw a blue binder laying there, not that she knows the ramifications of that simple fact, "yes I think so, why?"

The dire nature of the situation becomes painfully obvious as Harry’s face turns into a mess of  dread and panic, "oh shit, oh fuck, no no no," the words keep tumbling from his mouth in a ramble of nerves. "So stupid, m’so fucked" he keeps muttering self-admonition in quiet anger, hands griping at the root of his hair.

Concern is starting to fester in y/n’s guts as she takes in his disheveled state, "Harry, Jesus, take a breath, tell me what’s going on," she steps closer to him, one hand softly holding at his biceps as she tries to connect their gazes.

Once his eyes plug into hers, pupils blown out in turmoil, he finally calms down enough to word  out his mishap, "s’not the right file on his desk, I only use red binders for the reports." Spinning around out of her hold to shout his stress back to the wall in a loud "fuck!", Harry’s mind is caught up in a swirl of possible excuses to give to his boss, all sounding more ridiculous than the other. He can’t think of way to fix his mistake and escape the inevitable berating coming his way comes morning.

Fortunately for him, y/n is not about to let this happen, "it’s okay, we’ll fix this," she encourages. "What’s on his desk right now?"

Harry looks back at her then, not totally convinced that this all mayhem is salvageable. His boss is never going to tolerate this minor negligence, especially once he finds out the irrelevant material mistakenly slipped amongst his work. "My 14 year-old niece’s english project" the answer comes out as a question, a hint of self-deprecating humor lacing through his words. "Bloody hell, he’s gon’ have my head fo’ that one."

Harry is adamant in his doom, but if anything, y/n is not a quitter. "No he’s not. He hasn’t seen it yet, right? You said he was already gone when you brought the file."

He takes a long breath, "I suppose not."

"Guess it’s a good thing I have the keys to his office then, yeah?" She smiles proudly as a beacon of hope shines on his conflicted face. The forest green of his eyes seems to breath back to life in an endearing revival, effectively tugging at y/n’s heart’s merciful strings.

"Fuck, you’d do that fo’ me?" his shoulders loosen up in relief, the tension slowly simmering down to a gentle buzz, as he envisages the possibility of an illicit break-in. Well, as illicit as it may be, considering they have the keys. Still, best they don’t get caught snooping in the boss’ office, for both of their sake.

"Of course, silly. No questions asked," y/n answers with a smile, and her willingness to put herself in potential trouble, warms Harry’s heart from inside out.

"Y/n, you’re an angel, a life savior," he grabs her shoulders in each of his hands, his gratitude painted all over his soft traits. "Fuck, I could kiss you right now." The words fly out of his mouth without him realizing their significance after spending the last ten minutes coming onto her. And well, y/n isn’t too opposed to the idea either, and she thinks she might hold him to that promise in retribution for her saving grace when the time and space works better in their favor. "Alright Casanova, let’s get your ass out of this mess," she grabs her purse form the table and takes his hand to guide him through the cluster of people milling around the office space, eventually reaching the row of elevators across the room.

As they stand waiting for their lift to come, Harry starts fidgeting with nervous energy, feeling like a kid who’s about to get caught trying to steal straight from the cookie jar. "Shit, alright, we have to be discrete if we want to pull this off," he tells her, not taking his eyes off the room in case someone would look at them and read their plan straight off their guilty-looking faces.

"Says the guy in the flashy suit," y/n immediately counters, in an attempt to revive the playfulness of their synergy. The night was going swimmingly before the whole ordeal, and she’s convinced this foxy little adventure can only add to the appeal of an evening full of surprises.

Harry’s indignation at her dig teeters from his pouty lips, "hey! It’s not that bad." She giggles at his poor rebuttal, and as the doors of the elevator open, they quickly take a few steps inside.

"Harry, that suit is so loud, it could break the sound barrier," y/n teases as she eyes the crowd of people frivolously chatting away, while waiting for the door to close back.

"Thought I cleaned up nicely," he cheekily throws back her words from earlier, letting them resonate within the small confines of the elevator as they make their way up to their boss’ office.

She turns to face him then, a smile spreading on her supple lips, "don’t get me wrong, you look wonderful, just nowhere near decent for a secret spy mission."

Her words have him beaming back at her in a second, his mind fixated on her compliment rather than how impractical it is that his clothes are flashier than the Queen’s; in his defense, neither are y/n’s. "Damn, just got upgraded from nice to wonderful, this night is actually turning around," he chirps as the door open to the deserted hallway of the top floor.

"Alright, more action and less flirting, Styles," y/n playfully chides him. "Go get the right file, while I open his door, we should be quick in case he decides to bring the tour and his special guest up here." She sends him off with a tilt of her chin in what she knows to be the direction of his office, and Harry complies with ease and starts backtracking a few doors down, "yes ma’am."

While he’s gone to fetch the correct document from his office, y/n rummages through her purse to find the key of her boss’ office and unlock the door. Once she’s inside, she makes her way around the imposing mahogany desk commanding the space, and finds the imposter file sitting innocently on the polished wood. For pure curiosity’s sake, she starts leafing through its contents and lets a small chuckle as she takes in the endearing work of a young aspiring writer.

Her reading is interrupted by Harry’s hurried strides when he joins her in the room. "Here’s the damn report," he flings the folder on the desk next to his niece’s, red clashing with blue, mocking him for his slight negligence. As he absorbs the sight of y/n’s face engrossed in the teenage’s fiction, he moves slowly behind her, getting a glimpse at his niece’s whimsical words over her shoulder, before his eyes settle on the bare skin of her back.

Y/n welcomes his sudden proximity, has stranding on end as she feels the soft puffs of his breaths against her neck. "Your niece is quite the writer, does she always come to you for advice?"

She ignores the shivers running down her spine, and gulps when Harry’s voice greets her ears in a deep quiet hoarse, closer than she excepted, "usually, yeah. I was the one who got her into writing, so it’s kinda become our thing, I guess."

She smiles at his softness, "that’s really sweet," and draws in a long breath in a vain attempt to calm her jitters. She can almost feel his presence on her skin though they’re technically not touching, her fingertips tingling in anticipation.  

Another frisson travels through her when he responds with a low "mhm," his nose slightly grazing behind her ear, taking in her beguiling fragrance. Jasmine and vanilla, fresh and soft, exciting and comforting at the same time; it suits her perfectly.

"Harry-" she doesn’t know what to follow the whisper of his name with. Careful? Not here? Please don’t stop? At this point, she wants nothing more than to succumb to his affections, regardless of their improper whereabouts.

Harry brushes the back of his index down the smooth skin of her back in a featherlike caress, "thanks fo’ saving my ass, tonight," he murmurs into her ear, before laying a small kiss behind it.

Y/n is exulting under his tender ministrations, her eyes closed to enhance the feeling of his touch. "Anytime," she breathes out as her head tilts backward, a hand coming behind his neck in a silent plea not to let go, and Harry smiles against her skin at her receptiveness, goosebumps of his own blossoming across his body.

His next words are out of his mouth before he can think, "mmm, I owe you a big one," his playful persona resurfacing now that the situation was handled. They snort in unison at the double-entendre, and Harry slides his free arm around her waist to bring her closer to his chest in silent remittance. Y/n doesn’t mind though, she kinda likes this boyish side of him, but she can’t let him know that just yet.

"Gross."

"Hilarious."

Their ping-pong of wisecrack is back despite the tension permeating the air. It’s the kind that speeds heartbeats and moistens palms in lustful anticipation, the kind that curtails people’s breath as their lungs fill up with voluptuous aphrodisia. "Will you let me kiss you? Show you all my gratitude? I really wanna have a taste, love," he pleads for her permission, and y/n is too consumed by desire to deny him, "have it."

In one swift move, he spins around and latches his eager lips onto her. Passion ensues, hands roaming all over each other to find the perfect hold; the back of a neck, the lapels of a suit jacket, a few strands of hair, the curve of an exposed ribcage, it’s all intoxicating but there is always more to explore. Their tongues are caught up in a heated tango of their own, swirling around each other to quench the thirst of passion, licking their lustful way around their mouths.

At one point, Y/n finds herself pressed against her boss’ desk, one leg around Harry’s waist as he attaches his hips to hers in a heated embrace that leaves them breathless upon parting. He rests his forehead against her temple as they both process the intimate exchange, not ready to burst out of this fairy bubble. "Fuck, been waiting to do that for a while," he exhales with a smile, still incredulous at the evening’s proceedings, and the girl nestled in his arms.

"Same," she agrees and gently cups his face to bring his eyes back to hers, barely believing the adoration and warmth swimming within his lovely olive irises.

Harry’s heart feels like a ticking bomb about to implode, the sweet taste of her lips already providing him with a fix he didn’t know he was addicted to. "One more," he demands against her mouth before diving into another searing kiss. This time his hands explore more meticulously, scavenging for other soft spots to add on to his mental list. The dimples in her back right above the curve of her ass seem to rival the area at her side right below the swell of her breast, but Harry is pretty sure he’ll find more sensitive spots in the near future. Hopefully.

Once again, the need for oxygen compels them to part way, but neither of them make a move to separate their tangled limbs. Y/n is reveling in the moment she’s been daydreaming about for months, "so good," she keeps whispering sweet nothing against his lips while rubbing her nose against the bridge of his.

Harry clears his throat as he regains his bearings, realizing that there are still very much in the middle of their boss’ office, a place they are not supposed to be in, doing stuff they’re not supposed to be doing. At least not here. "Let’s get outta here, yeah?" he brushes a strand of hair that fell in front of her face, "you can kick my ass at that game of pool as promised, and I’ll tend to yours once we’re back at my place, what’dya say?"

And well, how can one say no to that?

➪ Masterlist

[pillage-and-lute]

Thicker Than Water (Part 4)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (here) Part 5, Part 6, Part 7,  Part 8

Ao3 link HERE

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He awoke sore and badly rested, tears dried on his face.

Jaskier made it through the next day. He ate a little of the food Ciri offered him, only because when he tried to decline the first time her eyes got large and her bottom lip showed just the barest hint of a tremble. He couldn’t bear it. The dry horse bread that was usual for traveling rations crumbled in his mouth. He was so hungry, it was one of the best things he’d ever tasted. 

Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to even unsling his lute from his shoulder during their trek. His fingers itched to play, of course. He continued his story for Ciri and in his mind he played music for the background, he just couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t sell his lute in this next town, but before they reached Kaer Morhen he would have to. It would give them money, and he wouldn’t be a burden. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and continued telling Ciri the story. 

He noticed a bit before mid day that Geralt was watching him. That wasn’t out of sorts, of course. Yennefer and Ciri were watching him too, he was an excellent storyteller and the tale was enthralling. Geralt didn’t seem to be paying attention to the story though. He was staring-- glowering--brow low and furrowed, at Jaskier. 

Jaskier felt hurt lance through him and he almost staggered, avoiding Geralt’s gaze. He knew Geralt didn’t want him along, didn’t want him at all, but he couldn’t even pretend? He couldn’t go back to their relationship before? Not the warm, almost companionable silences that had been nurtured between them, but the grunts and stone faced silence of the beginning of their acquaintance.  

Jaskier breathed through the pain in his chest. Twenty years of silences, all kinds of them, stony and friendly and sleepy and painful and quietly nice. But they were back to the beginning, or worse, Geralt angry and Jaskier’s voice filling in places it didn’t belong.

“Jaskier?”

That was Ciri, and Jaskier realized that he’d actually trailed off mid-sentence. 

“Sorry little highness,” he smiled and gave a funny little bow. “I’m but a simple entertainer, a poet and a fool, sometimes my mind runs away from me.”

“Fool is right,” Yennefer snorted. It wasn’t totally unkind, but it still stung. It stung even more when Geralt, so taciturn all day, snorted with laughter at her comment. Jaskier felt his ears burn and his chest ache.

“Now, where was I?”

“The king’s son met the North Wind,” Ciri said, matching Jaskier’s steps. “And he has to beat him in a game of wit to gain knowledge of where the sorcerer’s daughter was taken, that’s what you said, but you didn’t tell us what game yet.”

At least someone treasured his words, Jaskier thought. Although they weren’t worth much, he threw one out after the other. 

Like garbage, whispered the back of his mind.

“Ah yes,” he said instead. “the North Wind sat before the king’s son, and laid out a chess set made of ice and wind.”

“How can chess pieces be made of wind?”

Jaskier smiled, Ciri asked questions at all the right places. “The North Wind wanders, he goes everywhere, blowing cold breath across The Continent. When the North Wind is present and we breath our breath can be seen.” Jaskier smiled here and added an aside, “My little sister used to call it dragon smoke. But by the same magic that gives the North Wind a body to walk the world, he can take our frozen breath and turn it cold and solid as glass.”

Jaskier let himself tell the story on autopilot. His feet ached. He’d been darning the socks he was wearing for a year or more, but he wasn’t good at it and the lumps were rubbing his toes raw. Worse than that, the soles of his boots were almost worn through. Just one more thing he’d have to buy.

He felt ashamed of himself. His boots had been going thin for a while, and instead of saving his coin and getting them repaired or just buying new ones, he’d drowned himself in drink, feeling sorry. Oh, he hadn’t known he would be making a trip up a mountain, but he needed boots regardless. No wonder Geralt had always been upset with him, he always put pleasure over sense, couldn’t even spend coin sensibly.

Couldn’t darn socks, couldn’t budget his coin, couldn’t shut up. A fool.

He stumbled on a tree root and nearly swore. Couldn’t even walk right. One of the blisters building on his foot had burst, he was sure. It was easy to tell, the pain had gone from a rubbing ache to stinging and warm. Only years of practice and performance kept him from interrupting the story.

Something must have shown on his face though, or his scent changed or whatever because Geralt was staring at him intently. That face, always so unreadable. 

Jaskier wasn’t going to give him anything else to scowl about. He kept walking, keeping the story rolling and his voice light. His bones ached. He had to stop for just a moment when a button, long past hanging loosely on his doublet, finally pulled free. He picked it up and the head rush nearly took him to the ground. He’d eaten little, slept poorly, and the only food he’d had in a long time before this was ale. He blinked the grey from his vision, trying not to let the panic show when it didn’t go away as quickly as he’d have liked.

It was okay. It was all going to be okay. They’d make it to the village by nightfall. They wouldn’t sleep there of course but he could get proper food. Maybe even slip away and catch a quick nap in a stable or hayloft or something. His whole body was buzzing with a sort of exhausted energy and his heart was pounding.

Jaskier reflected that he hadn’t been well before meeting up with Geralt and his little family. He’d been sick with drink and heartache and had not enough food then too. 

Smile through the pain.

This wasn’t even bad as performances could go. Once he’d actually broken a finger just before a set at Oxenfurt. Simple clumsiness, he’d closed his index finger in a door, but he’d played his whole set, with a perfect score from his professor.

It grew darker, the sun just setting when they reached a field at the edge of the town. It was a large open field and, in warmer months, it was likely home to fairs and large market days. Probably in these rural areas people traveled for a week to bring their goods and livestock to this town. It didn’t matter now, mid autumn settling into late autumn. To Jaskier the town was nameless. 

They set up camp in the field. It left them exposed to being seen, but they hid themselves behind a small rise on the edge of the field, blocking them mostly from sight. Still, Geralt seemed on edge. Jaskier wasn’t sure it was about the camp. Geralt kept looking over at him with his eyebrows pressed together. Whenever he did that it formed this little crease right between his brows that Jaskier wanted to kiss away.

Jaskier bit his lip, hard, to focus on anything other than that.

The three of them sat, too tired to talk much more. Jaskier had finished most of the story and decided to leave the rest for the next day they were traveling a lot, to give Ciri something else to think about. She was definitely Calanthe’s blood. They traveled all day and she never complained, but also told them when she needed to stop, advocating for herself in no uncertain terms. It was the princess herself who interrupted his thoughts.

“You said you had a sister, do you have lots of siblings?”

“Not really,” Jaskier said, settling down on the ground and feeling his bones pop. His blisters were definitely bleeding inside his boots too. “Two older brothers, Henrik and Teodor, and I had a younger sister, Lotte.”

“Had?”

“She was sickly, always too small for her age,” Jaskier said quietly. “I learned the lute for her, at first. She liked music and was often bedridden. A fever took her when she was about your age.” Jaskier looked down at his battered boots. 

“I’m sorry,” Ciri whispered. 

“It’s allright little highness, it’s been almost thirty years now. Time flies.”

“I didn’t know you had siblings,” Geralt said. It was growly, but Geralt always used that tone.

“You never really asked.”

Dinner was a quiet affair. Jaskier ate the last of the rations in his pack, waving away Ciri’s offerings and showing her his food as proof that he had some. It didn’t really settle the hunger that had been eating him from the inside out all day, but at this point he figured he could eat a mountain and still have room for dessert.

“Tomorrow,” Geralt said gruffly once dinner was cleared away. “We don’t all enter the town as a group. Yen and Ciri go together. I go alone. Jaskier goes alone.”

Jaskier nodded, so did Ciri and Yennefer.

“If we see eachother, act as though we don’t know eachother,” Geralt said, then he turned his gaze on Jaskier. “Don’t attract too much attention.”

Jaskier bristled at getting his own private reprimand. “I’m a bard, Geralt,” he said. “How am I supposed to earn coin if I don’t play.”

Geralt grunted. “I didn’t say don’t play just no... don’t do the whole...” he gestured a vauge hand. 

“The whole...me?” Jaskier said sarcastically. He was pulling at the lion’s tail he knew, but he was in pain and tired and hungry and Geralt had no right to be so cruel.

“The whole bright colors, loud and annoying thing. Country bard, not court bard, got it?”

Loud and annoying.

“Got it,” Jaskier said, looking back down at his boots. He didn’t say that none of his clothes could have passed for courtly anymore anyway. 

They set about getting ready for bed. Ciri gave him a quick hug before she and Yennefer disappeared into their magical tent. Jaskier sat and pulled off his boots, not letting a single flicker of pain show on his face. He knew Geralt would be able to smell blood, but Geralt had gone to get water from the nearby river. He had to peel his socks off and yes, there was blood there, by now stuck into the threadbare fabric. He let himself wince then. He rinsed off the wounds but he was without bandages, so he just dried off the area and put his other pair of socks on. He only had the two pairs anyway, but at least the blisters would stay dry. 

He rolled himself into his bedroll and thought of tomorrow. At least there were no tree roots here.

The next day dawned slowly, instead of bright pinks and oranges it was a kind of runny yellow that just leeched into the sky before fading into early morning blue. Jaskier watched in admiration as Yennefer changed Geralt’s hair to short and dark, and then gave herself brown eyes and a slightly different bone structure. To look at both of them was odd, because Jaskier could see the similarities. Yennefer’s nose was changed and her cheekbones were a little different, but it was still her, and Geralt just looked like a different, although quite handsome, version of himself. Ciri was simply given mousy brown hair and some extra freckles.

Just like that, the perfect and all powerful family looked like two normal people and one witcher who was still clearly a witcher but not the white wolf. Jaskier shouldered his lute. He’d cleaned up the scruff he’d been growing into a more respectable look and with his longer hair and tatty cloak he looked like any poor traveling musician. If he’d traded the lute for a shortbow he could have looked like a woodsman, totally nondescript.

He was entering from a different direction, so as not to arouse suspicion, and so was Geralt. Jaskier began walking around, so that he could enter from the east. Yen and Ciri would walk into town the closest direction, and Geralt was entering from the west. This early, it was unlikely they would have been seen all together. 

Jaskier made his way to the eastern edge of the town and walked in, scanning the streets. If this were a farm people would be up and awake long before now, farmers wake well before dawn, but this was a town, and so few people wandered the streets. Shop keepers were just beginning to open up. Jaskier bought a couple pears, slightly overripe but cheaper because of it, off of a fruit seller and had breakfast. He tried to lock into his mind all the shops around so he could find his supplies easiest later.

His mind was resisting him though. In spite of the softer ground, Jaskier had still slept badly last night. His body ached and he wished he could find somewhere warm to lay for an hour or two. Instead he found the well. 

As wells should be, this one was right in the center of town. He set down his lute case beside it, tuned his lovely lady, and began to play.

In his very first few months after leaving Oxenfurt he had learned this trick, and used it often. If you get into a town early, play at the well. People get their water first thing in the morning and there you are.

A few young women with yokes and buckets smiled at him and he nodded in return. The day brightened a little further as the sun crept above the buildings and more people came to gather in the town square. They weren’t there to hear Jaskier, not at first, most of them came for water, or to chat with neighbors, or discuss business. Many of them gathered around him though. 

Coins clattered into the case. Mostly coppers, but in a little town like this that was quite normal. 

“As sweet Polly Oliver lay musing in bed, A sudden strange fancy came into her head. "Nor father nor mother shall make me false prove, I'll 'list as a soldier, and follow my love,” he sang.

“So early next morning she softly arose, And dressed herself up in her dead brother's clothes. She cut her hair close, and she stained her face brown, And went for a soldier to fair Rinde Town.”

Sweet Polly Oliver was one of his favorites, a simple country song about a girl and her lover in wartime. This town was far enough north that with luck Nilfgaard wouldn’t attack, but the anxiety threatened. 

Jaskier gave a good performance, perhaps not his best, but he was tired and cold and the flagstones beneath his feet were very hard. He danced about, playing sweet folk songs and jigs and reels, delighting in the people who swept up and danced along. Still, though, he felt his feet bleeding inside his boots. He played from just after dawn until perhaps an hour after noon before bowing away and taking his coin. 

He’d done better than he’d expected, but there wasn’t nearly enough coin for all the things he’d need for Kaer Morhen, and extra food to help Geralt and Ciri. He’d buy what he needed now, and they’d stop again in Ard Carraigh before the keep. He’d sell his lute there, it was a large city, and he’d get a good price. The thought still made him ache, though. 

It wasn’t just his emotions causing him pain, he realised. The aches he’d been experiencing were in his chest lately, and both physical and emotional. He just needed more rest. 

Jaskier slipped through back alleys and bent streets. He’d seen a stable on his way into town. He stepped in quietly, startling a stable hand, no more than a boy, who’d been quietly talking to a horse.

“You’re the bard,” he said. “Saw you in the square jus’ this morning.”

“That’s right,” Jaskier said, bowing a little. “I’m afraid I’ll be moving on this evening and--”

“And you want to have a kip in the stables,” said the boy. “Yeah lots o’ musicians and peddlers do that. Rule is though, I got to get a coin off ‘em first as payment. I’m sorry, but I get a beating if’n I don’t.”

“No worries,” Jaskier said, he’d expected as much. He handed the boy two copper coins. “There’s pay, won’t have you getting beaten for my sake, the second coin is to wake me in two hours.”

The boy gave him a lopsided grin. “You got it sir, thanks.”

Jaskier snuggled up in the hay loft. He’d often done it, it was pretty common, if you couldn’t buy a stay at an inn or especially if you just needed a ‘kip’ as the boy had said, during the day. He’d slept in haystacks once in a while on the road too. They were sort of comfortable and surprisingly warm and, best of all, robbers didn’t get you if you kept yourself mostly under the hay.

The scent of hay and oats and horses lulled him to sleep.

He dreamed about haystacks. For some reason Roach was in the haystack with him. Geralt and Ciri too, even Yennefer. It was a crowded haystack indeed, and it grew smaller and smaller until Jaskier had to leave it and sleep on the ground so that the others weren’t squished.

He awoke to the stable boy nudging him.

“Pardon me mister,” he said. “But it’s been two hours.”

Jaskier thanked him and brushed off his clothes. 

The shops were doing a good trade this afternoon and he’d be sure to be a face in the crowd. He bought a small cooking pot and plenty of ground oats and barley for porridge at one shop. They were light to carry and owner packaged them nicely, first in one cheap, cloth drawstring bag, and then in another such bag, but with the drawstring on a different side, so he was unlikely to lose food. 

In another stall he bought plenty of nuts, walnuts were cheap here and would keep well. Good for traveling and they had protein. Some dried jerky, dried peas, and dried lentils finished his food shopping, and also most of his coin.

It was three days to Ard Carraigh, another week to trek up to the keep. The food would sustain him for that long, and they’d probably just pool their food to make sure everyone was fed. Still, he wasn’t being a burden, not too much. 

He couldn’t afford new boots, gloves, or a cloak right now, but with the last of his coin he bought a new pair of thick, warm socks, a small roll of bandages, and a couple pieces of candied ginger in a little paper twist. He tucked them all away and left the town, disappearing back to the field and their little camp well before the sun set. 

Jaskier’s heart sunk to see that he was the last to arrive. Everything was packed up, they couldn’t risk staying in the same place two nights in a row. Geralt grunted at him, but didn’t unleash any thoughts on Jaskier being a burden, so he counted himself lucky. 

He hung his head a little at having delayed their parting and trekked after the perfect little family, his pack much heavier than it had been. Ciri slid her hand into his and they walked on in silence. The hand was nice though.

In an odd way, it hurt, too. He wasn’t part of the family, so he didn’t really deserve this, but it was painfully good to have just a taste of being wanted. 

What would happen, he wondered, when the winter was over. He was a danger to Geralt and Ciri if Nilfgaard found him. He wasn’t wanted by Geralt at all. Jaskier was reminded once again that it would be so much easier for Geralt to kill him, or for Yennefer to wipe his memory. Maybe he could fake his death to get Nilfgaard of his trail.

“Jaskier?” Ciri asked. “How did you become a bard?”

Jaskier looked down at her, maudlin thoughts interuppted. “Oh, well, it’s not as though you have to register, you just become one. Walking into an inn and saying ‘let me play for you pretty please I need food’ is a good start.”

“No,” Ciri giggled. “I meant, you said you learned the lute for your sister, but you write your own music and stuff too.”

“Oh, well, anyone can write music if they have an instrument and a good enough memory,” Jaskier said. “Indeed, many of the greatest bards had little education at all, I, however, studied at Oxenfurt.”

“Did you like it?”

“Sometimes. It was school, and some parts were dull but I learned much.”

“I heard some of the maids giggling once about a young scholar who’d come to stay with us,” Ciri said, matter of factly. “He was always in the library and was kind of snooty with me when I asked questions, but the maids were saying he certainly had a lot of ‘carnal knowledge’. Did you study that too?”

Jaskier was choking on thin air. 

“I, um, no it was more of a hobby,” Jaskier said before his head could catch up with his mouth. “Little Highness, I suspect you weren’t supposed to hear that conversation, and no, I studied the seven liberal arts.”

“So it was about sex, I was never sure,” Ciri said.

Jaskier coughed awkwardly. “Yes, princess.”

“It’s okay, I know about that stuff, Grandmother explained it.”

Jaskier let out a breath, at least he wouldn’t have to be the one to explain anything to her. 

“When you went to school were you scared to leave your family?” Ciri asked.

“No, pet, I was excited to go,” he wasn’t about to get into all his trauma with her, she had enough of her own, poor thing. “I couldn’t wait to learn about music and poetry.”

“Grandmother said all poets were silly romantics and dreamers, but I think that sounds nice. Do you have a moose?”

“A what?”

“I read it in a book, a moose, somebody you love and you write about it.”

“Oh, that’s one of the trickier words Ciri, it’s said ‘muse’, and yes, I had one or two.”

“Only one or two? In the book the poet had hundreds,” Ciri sounded almost disappointed. 

“I only ever needed one,” Jaskier said quietly. “One that mattered anyway.”

“And your Countess still left you,” Geralt said, rather coldly. He was doing his annoyed face and Jaskier could have kicked himself. He’d been talking too much. The reminder that the Countess de Stael had left him too hurt, but Jaskier wasn’t going to risk Geralt’s ire to say that she wasn’t the muse he was talking about. That was maybe something he should keep to himself.

“Do muses often leave?” Ciri asked, wide eyed. “If somebody was writing me poetry I wouldn’t want to.”

“No, usually the poet does the leaving,” Jaskier said. “After his muse asks him to go. There’s a shelf life on a bard, you know. We only have so many stories and songs before we’re used up and no one wants us around anymore. That’s when we move along.”

“I’ll hear your stories again and again,” Ciri said. “I won’t ask you to go.”

Jaskier’s heart curled up and whimpered inside his chest. He’d have to go sooner or later, he’d have to leave her. Geralt would get sick of him, too sick to bear even for Ciri’s sake. Or Jaskier would just have to leave of his own volition, lest he shovel shit into her life too.

If he could give her life one blessing...

“This’ll do for a campsite,” Geralt said. It was a tiny, clear area. Jaskier almost groaned. It was surrounded by oak trees, with dropped acorns that would dig into his bedroll and mottle his back with bruises come morning. He’d had a good rest in town, though, so another bad night of sleep wouldn’t be too bad, he told himself.

The others had eaten in town. Jaskier said he had too, so he wouldn’t waste rations. He had plenty, but strangely, he wasn’t so hungry lately. Anyway, always best to save.

He pulled off his boots and  his freshly bloodied socks. Ew. Ciri retired to the magic tent early, exhausted from their long days of walking. Jaskier listened to Yennefer and Geralt talk.

“We’ll need lots of supplies in Ard Carraigh,” Geralt was saying.

“We don’t have any money,” Yennefer replied. 

Jaskier had his back to them as he cleaned the wounds on his feet, but he could picture grave expressions. 

“We’ll get some, I’ll do a quick contract there, something. We’ll need a cart and pony to get Ciri up The Killer, it’s too much for her, it’s too hard for some witchers even.”

“That’ll cost,” Yennefer said. “But you’re right. I wish I could portal us but--”

“Tracking, exactly. There’s always plenty of contracts in cities, it’ll be fine.”

Jaskier looked at the blisters on his foot, they’d opened more with his long performance that day. It was no matter, he wound the bandages around them and put on his new, thick socks. At least his feet would be warm. 

Not too warm, though. He spotted a hole in the bottom of his boot that he hadn’t noticed before.

And they needed lots of money for Ard Carraigh. No matter. He knew how to get some.

He pretended his eyes filled with tears from the pain of blisters, not from heartache, as he pushed his feet back into his boots and opened the lute case. He pulled out his beautiful girl. He wouldn’t play her, it would annoy Geralt. He’d always hated Jaskier’s music, although he hated to hear Jaskier sing even more. 

Pie with no filling.

Jaskier wished he could play her, though. It was going to break his heart to part with her, and he didn’t think he’d ever played another instrument as fine. If he could, he’d play her every second until he had to sell her. 

Probably for the best, though, if he was going to fake his death. She was distinctive.

He brushed a hand over the beautiful wood work on her front. There was a little bit of linseed oil left, and he poured it on the rag he kept in the case and began to work over his girl lovingly. His eyes teared up again, but he fought it back. He would have smashed his lute if it meant helping Ciri. And Geralt.

Jaskier longed for Geralt to forgive him, to take him back and let him stay by his side, but he’d meant what he’d said, bards have a shelf life, and Jaskier’s time was up. 

He wished Geralt would at least speak with him, though. His heart was aching. In a completely different sense, so was his chest.

“Play us a tune, bard,” Yennefer said.

Jaskier turned around. Yen and Geralt were sitting beside eachother, close together. She looked so beautiful in her fine cloak that Jaskier wondered how he ever thought he could catch Geralt’s eye when beings like her existed.

“You know,” he said. “It’s late and I wouldn’t want to bother Ciri.”

“Tent’s soundproof,” Yennefer said, waving her hand. 

“I mean, really,” Jaskier protested weakly. Disobeying Yennefer’s request/command was like bathing your brain in lava, but Geralt was looking angry again. Some would say there wasn’t much change from Geralt’s normal expression, but Jaskier knew his face better than he knew his own. Something had made Geralt angry or upset. The only possible answer was Jaskier. It was always Jaskier. 

“Play us a song, bard,” Yennefer said. “You’ve been so quiet other than stories, I’d almost think you were a doppler, Melitele knows no one could have taught you to shut up.”

Jaskier swallowed the lump in his throat.

He began, slowly, to pick out a gently tune on his lute. It was a song about winter and home, and he knew the lyrics well. Yennefer had only asked him to play, so he would. His music was at least less offensive than his voice.

He reveled in the feel of his lute beneath his fingers, letting the feeling wash over him, committing it to memory.

When he was finished Yennefer said, “I suppose your voice was tired from your performance, I heard in the town how the bard had played such a long set.”

Jaskier smiled grimly back at her. “Just earning my keep.”

He went to bed, feeling the cold seep into his bones.

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