#i mean it's house in a tie ofc i was going to add him in this too

[ihopeicanchangethislater05]

wilson's ties in every episode: 

Season 1 Episode 9: DNR

1/1

+ special entry as this is a tie appreciation post

[jinkicake]

YOUR ARRANGED/FORCED MARRIAGE IS SO GOOD OMG. if you’re up to it, i was wondering if you could write one for childe? ofc only if you want to <3

Forced / Arranged Marriage Trope 

Childe, Scaramouche x Reader

A/N: Hi, Anon, you're so sweet!!! Thank you!! I had to add Scaramouche too bc... I simply had to (it fits so well w him) so I hope that is okay~ I kinda got carried away and made Childe sorta yandere, im sorry I love him being unhinged and it scares me in the best way like somehow scara is soft but I made childe not…. Hmmm i love childe!!!!!!

fem!reader bc I like the use of ‘wife’

WC - 1.5k

TW // SLIGHT YANDERE!CHILDE (NOT REALLY)

~~~

Childe

“If you’re thinking about going back to that kitten outside I will tie you down to our bed.” Childe’s rather calm voice strikes you down on the spot, almost as if you’ve been struck with a flash of lightning. The original plan that you had was to make a stealthy exit through the front door, you should have known better. You try to keep your frantic heart sane as you slowly turn on the tips of your toes to face him. 

Your husband is sitting in one of the couches of your front room as he thumbs through a book gifted by a friend of his in Liyue. It’s incredibly hard to not roll your eyes as he practically sits in the dark like some villain, tucked away and hoping to catch you lacking. 

“Come here.” Despite his soft voice, you can tell that he is not in the mood to play with you. You clench your teeth painfully tight and wordlessly head to stand by his side. The harbinger doesn’t look up from his book as he blindly grabs your wrist, tightly wrapping his fingers around the two bones. He presses his touch, imprinting his fingers, into your skin as his thumb rubs comforting strokes against you. “Be more careful wife, it’s too dangerous to go out late at night.” Through your leveled breathing, you can’t help but gasp as he tugs you closer toward him. “I would hate for anything to happen to you.”

You don’t have it in yourself to tell him that the dangers inside this house put any of those outside of it to shame. 

“I know,” You settle for something that will please him, a kind phrase that will acknowledge his worries and provide him with a sense of understanding. By the narrowing of his dull eyes, you seemingly said something completely wrong.

“I don’t think you do.” Childe finally looks at you and the blank expression on his face causes a sense of fear to find root in your heart. He looks at you calculatingly as if he is planning his every move and the one that follows in his head. “How can I possibly make it clear to you?”

The vision that lights up on his hip makes your entire body freeze.

“No- I believe you, I won’t go out anymore,” In your panic, all you manage to sound is desperate. Childe ignores you.

“I really just want to protect you, don’t you understand how much you mean to me?” It’s so terribly difficult for you to focus on him as his voice is overcome with heavy emotion. Almost like a flip of a switch, the thought of losing you breaks his sanity and pushes him to a dark edge. “Oh, ангел (angel), you must listen to me,”

You’ll do anything if it means you’ll never have to see him in his foul legacy form again. 

“I will, I will, I promise.” Despite all your troubles, you dryly swallow any anxious nerves down. You place your free hand over his own, slowly closing the book that Childe is reading. “жизнь  моя (my life), let’s go to bed, please.” His native language sounds heavy on your tongue and you nearly twist the muscle trying to spit the pet name out. For once, you applaud your memory and mentally thank Childe for always calling you something other than your own name. 

“Right,” Childe puts the book on the coffee table before rising to his towering height, he stands above you with a sweet smile on his face. Despite the warm expression, you nearly start to break into a sweat at the lack of feeling seen in his eyes. “I am rather tired. We can finish this in the morning.”

“Of course,” You struggle to give him a smile back and choose to instead place a kiss on the back of his knuckles. Childe greedily bathes in your affections as he wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his chest. 

“You know that I love you, жена (wife),” His voice now sounds uncharacteristically vulnerable, it quickly smothers over any of your fear and hostility and causes your heartstrings to twinge with adoration. “I couldn’t handle it if anything happened to you.” 

Perhaps you are just as far gone off the deep end as he is because, above all else, you feel safest in his arms and sheer terror in his presence. 

“I will always protect you with my life. If I must, I will kill for you, Родна́я (dear).”

Scaramouche 

“You can’t be serious.” In all the years you’ve been married to Scaramouche, there have been multiple times when you thought him to be ridiculous. This situation is by far the most ridiculous of them all. Above everything else, the Harbinger is a drama king.

“I will not have my wife being accompanied by another man.” His anger is laughable, you’ve seen the true extent of it but, it’s hard to take him seriously when he’s glaring at you from under his too-large-of-a-hat.

“I wouldn’t have to be accompanied at all if you just let me go by myself,” Your reasoning does not get through to him.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He snaps and the bite isn’t even strong, you already expected this from him. “As if I could let you out of my sight for a minute,”

In the worst way possible, your husband is attached to you with no desire to let you go. Although he tries with his affections and will lovingly pet your hair with an awkward hand, he still stumbles over his own two feet when around you. 

“I want to visit Mondstadt for their Windblume festival, you promised me that we would go.” You’re stubborn in your ways and are unwilling to let Scaramouche forget his first and foremost obligations to you. “I am going with or without you.” 

Your husband glares at you, eyes narrowed in frustration as he clenches and unclenches his fists. All you do is stand patiently and wait for his fit to end. 

“Fine.” He grunts and quickly writes a note on his desk, you excitedly wait for him as he hands the note to one of the guards outside his door. It’s only when he closes his office door again and it’s the two of you alone inside that you run to him with open arms. 

“I’m so excited!” You gush and gush while squeezing your arms around his waist. Scaramouche pats you back as he tips his hat to cover more of his face, he quietly scoffs through your cheers. 

If he had an ounce of courage to stand up to you the way he does the other Harbingers, the way he just told Dottore to fuck off through a simple note, then perhaps the puppet would have some control in his marriage. 

Much to your delight, he does not.

“What is the point of all this?” The grumpiness that Scaramouche is exuding does not go over your head. All it takes is a simple squeeze of your hand, which is tightly held within his own, to make his grumbling melt away under the Mondstadt sun. Being tucked away in the forest, away from the cozy town and any of its people is something you’ve already become accustomed to.

Whenever you travel with your husband, the two of you can’t get too close to others because of his status as a Harbinger and everything else.

“We are supposed to strengthen our relationships!” You place your basket onto the soft green grass before pulling out a blanket with one hand. Somehow you manage to spread it out and sit before ushering your husband to do the same. “Don’t you want to improve your relationship with me?”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes.

“What is there to improve?” He turns to glare at anything but you, his hard eyes rest on the trees and then the blue sky all while you sweetly tuck his hair behind his ear. The soft action internally makes him flinch but, on the outside, all the Harbinger manages to do is blush. “You’re already perfect,” 

“Aren’t you sweet?” You tease and lean over to place a kiss on his cheek. Scaramouche pushes you away, hand resting on your shoulder before he throws the idea away and tightens his grip. The gentle smile on your face, radiating more warmth than the spring sun could ever provide him, makes the Harbinger feel a little nervous. 

You are everything to him. 

Just as he goes to kiss you, a lone dandelion flows through the air. He watches it carefully as it sneaks over your head and fades away into the distance. The entire time he is distracted, you lean over again and place a kiss on his lips. 

“Happy Windblume, my love,”

Scaramouche can’t even fight the ridiculous smile off of his face as he makes a promise about your future together. 

“We will have to do this again next year. We’ll return every year.”

[little-wicked10]

My Sultan (Nandor the Relentless x ofc🥵)

Summary: While the boys are away, Nadja and Nandor’s human lover have a girls night in of swapping juicy secrets. Nadja reveals to her mortal friend that Nandor gets a hard on when being called “sultan”, the ultimate position of power and dominance for a once great and aspiring Ottoman general. Nadja, and the whole house, will soon realize what Nandor is capable of.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ (EXPLICIT!!! Seriously) and cursing

( // means it cuts to, from, or between interviews, documentary/not documentary footage, and perspective)

——

It was odd that Nadja had not joined the boys on a hunt. She loved the thrill of a good feeding followed by feral lovemaking with her husband. Regardless of the reason behind her staying put, I was happy to have my friend in the house to keep me company. “Come, little one, let us indulge in a, as you humans say, girls night,” she smiled giddily as she led me to the fancy room. It was strange to hear her say it, but I was all for her enthusiasm.

//

“Nandor and I met when he approached me on the street claiming I was some Greek princess or goddess,” I said crossing my legs as I sat across from the camera crew.

“Did you find that strange?” a crewman asks.

I laughed, “Of course I did. I thought he was one of those weird LARPing guys or an Emo kid that never grew out of that phase. His approach was definitely random and odd.”

//

“The night I met my mortal lover, Laszlo had pointed her out as a potential meal. An easy on-the-go snack,” Nandor admitted while seated in an ornate chair in the library, “I approached her to hypnotize her, but instead she bewitched me with her feminine wiles….not my proudest moment as a warrior.”

//

“I thought him mad when my great warrior friend nearly fell to his knees for some woman. A mortal one at that. Then I found it quite funny,” Laszlo complained.

“I myself was not surprised,” Nadja added, “I’ve had a great many mortal lovers in my time. And to be frank, Nandor does not have a good reputation among lady vampires.”

Both husband and wife laugh, clearly remembering the blunders of Nandor’s string of failed attempts at finding a partner.

“Though mortal, I do admire the young lady,” Laszlo adds once through laughing, “She’s got moxie, as the Americans say. And she makes sure the bloody oaf blows out the candles so he won’t burn the fucking house down.”

“Yes, that is a plus,” Nadja chimes in, “Also, I don’t have many ‘girl’ friends. It’s exciting to have another woman to talk to. At least one who understand trying to be in a relationship with an idiot vampire.”

//

Nadja and I had decided to drink. She opted for her stash of wino’s blood while I took advantage of my own bottle of red wine. After each drinking two glasses and feeling a wonderful buzz, we decided to rummage through the boys’ clothes. Laszlo was forever stuck in the Victorian era. “Oh try this one on!” Nadja threw a puffy pirate shirt at me and a scarf with some garish and dark pattern. I giggled and threw the shirt over my clothes before Nadja came to my aid to tie the scarf around my neck.

“Did he steal all this from a homosexual pirate?”

Nadja, with blood alcohol on her breath, laughed as she finished the knot, “A…a homosexual pirate!”

Her laughter made me laugh even more as I gave my best pirate Laszlo impression, “Argh! I’m Laszlo Cravensworth! I’ve come for yer booty!”

Nadja stumbled a bit as she laughed and returned to the closet door way, sipping on her third glass of blood to find her something to scrutinize. She put on ANOTHER of his pirate shirts and a waist coat before we both began acting like pirate Laszlo.

“We should see what Nandor has!” I said as the idea popped into my buzzed brain.

“You are so brilliant, little mortal!” Nadja said as she lightly smacked her head wishing she had thought of it.

We both scurried out to the bedroom of my boyfriend. After another glass for each of us and throwing on Nandor’s strange Persian hats and his fur-lined cloaks, we sat in the fancy room talking about the men whose entire wardrobe we ransacked.

“Ok, ok. What does Laszlo like to be called in bed…or coffin I guess,” I asked very bubbly.

“His highness,” Nadja replied with a regal tone in her voice.

“You’re kidding? His highness?” I giggled as I leaned back against the couch.

“The second I call him that,” she snaps her fingers, “straight at attention.”

We both knew the camera crew was having a hay day with us spilling dirty secrets about our love and sex lives in front of them. I doubt it wasn’t anything the vampires haven’t overshared already. “What about donkey dick, hm?” Nadja asked.

“Besides that he has one?” I smirked and held my hands up to show, exaggeratedly, the size of my man’s dick.

Nadja made a face of disgust before repeating her question, “No, no. Ew. What does Nandor like to be called when making love?”

“I don’t call him anything. Just his name,” I answered truthfully.

Nadja’s face suddenly became very mischievous. Her red lips turned up into a playful smirk making the tips of her fangs appear, “Oh, he hasn’t told you yet?”

I looked at her curiously. She studied my face before gasping and rushing to my side and sitting beside me on the couch. “You must know what I’m about to tell you!” She exclaimed grabbing my shoulders.

I glanced at the camera before looking back to her, “Should I be scared?”

She smirked, “No, but I believe you will thank me once you realize the power this secret has.”

Now I’m interested.

//

The men returned from their hunt expecting to hear their women chatting away or waiting for them naked and willing (at least that’s what they kept hoping for). “I say a good hunt, old sport. You’ve not lost your ways of the warrior,” Laszlo complimented as he took off his hat to give to Guillermo.

“Thank you, Laszlo. You did very well in selecting our prey,” Nandor complimented in return.

After removing his coat and patting the pockets of his waist coat, Laszlo looked around, “Now where is my darling succubus of a wife? That feeding has me in the mood to storm the castle, if you catch my drift, Nandy.”

“I too wish to engage in the sexy times with my love,” Nandor admits.

Both men call out to their women with no answer. They both sniff the air and begin to follow the smell of wine and blood. Their noses lead them to the Fancy Room and Laszlo pulls back the curtain to reveal a funny sight. Both women are dressed in a strange assortment of each of their clothings and spooning, Nadja obviously being the big spoon, on the couch using one of Nandor’s cloaks as a blanket.

“I say, old chap, I have no fucking clue what happened here, but I’m slightly aroused by it,” Laszlo admits.

“Why are they wearing our clothes?” Nandor asks.

//

“What’s sex like with Nandor?” a producer asks.

I sigh and think a moment, “Sex with Nandor is wonderful. A lot better than with a human man. We’ve yet to have rough sex just, as he and everyone in this house says, make love. But that might change after what Nadja told me last night.”

//

“My darling human loves our lovemaking. I’ve yet to not satisfy her,” Nandor brags, “And I am very satisfied with her as well.”

“She said that you’ve not had rough sex yet. Why’s that?” producer asks.

“I don’t think my little human is interested in such things. Plus my vampire strength could kill her if I am not careful,” Nandor admits, “so there is that.”

//

I had it planned perfectly. Nadja and I had talked about it at length until we passed out.

I sat in the library with Laszlo and Nadja. Nandor and Guillermo were about to return from going to the store, and I could feel the butterflies in my stomach. I’m not ashamed of my sex life with Nandor. In this house, it wasn’t hard to get familiar with the vampires and their sexual proclivities. Nadja and Laszlo certainly weren’t quiet about any of it.

The front door opened then closed, and I could hear Nandor and Guillermo talking. I glanced over at Nadja who gave me a knowing look and I adjusted the black silk robe I wore. Not uncommon for me to wear around the house since Nandor could be insatiable at times. If I’m being honest, Nadja looked just as excited as I felt. “Good evening, everyone. My darling,” Nandor greeted leaning down and kissing my head.

“Laszlo, I picked up new ascot for you since I accidentally used your other one as a napkin,” Nandor apologized handing Laszlo a little black box.

“I’m going to my crypt to watch Guillermo reorganize my closet,” Nandor gave Nadja a sideways glance before turning to retreat down the hall.

I jumped up to sit on my knees and lean against the back of the couch before calling to him, “Should I join you, my sultan?”

Nandor froze in his tracks. Laszlo choked on his pipe. I smirked playfully at Nandor’s back, “Or will you not be need my services tonight?”

I heard Nadja giggle with delight as Laszlo continued to choke, “S-Sultan?” Nandor slowly turned around and the look on his face was strange, intense. He suddenly rushed toward me, his boots echoing on the wood floor. When he stood before me, he made me look up at him with a finger under my chin, “What did you say?”

“Oh shit,” Laszlo said before Nadja shushed him. I could feel both of them staring at us intensely.

“Will you not be needing my services tonight, my sultan?” I batted my eyelashes innocently with a smirk still on my lips.

Laszlo whispered, “Why the fuck does she keep calling him that?”

Nandor barred his fangs a bit, “Crypt. Now.”

I guess he decided I wasn’t going to be fast enough because he had me thrown over his shoulder. I shrieked and laughed as my warrior carried me off. “Do not disturb us for we will be engaging in sexy times,” Nandor shouted. He slammed the door of his crypt shut and locked it before tossing me on his couch layered with furs. I watched as he threw off his over coat. His red and gold tunic just made him look all the more powerful for some reason.

“Where did you learn to call me that?” he asks stepping towards me.

“A woman has her ways,” I began untying the belt of my robe, “Does it not please you, my sultan?”

Nandor growled and rolled his neck at the name, “You have no idea how much it does.”

I opened my robe to reveal my naked body to him, rubbing my thighs together, “Show me. Take what you want then, great warrior.”

Nandor pounced on me like a beast. He held my neck firmly in one hand and claimed my lips in a bruising kiss, pinning me beneath him. His hips shoved against mine making me gasp and roll mine for friction. He bit my bottom lip and I felt his fang puncture it and cause the taste of blood to fill both our mouths. Nandor groaned and he pulled away, sitting up enough to rip my robe to shreds as he licked my blood from his lips, “Your Sultan wants to taste more than blood tonight, my desert flower.” He leant down and trailed his lips along my jaw, down my neck, towards my chest, letting his fangs graze the swell of my breasts and making me shiver. The heat was rising and twisting in my body from watching him change so quickly and give into something more dominant. It felt like I was going to explode with anticipation.

I grasped the arm of the couch above my head with both hands and prepared as he reached the apex of my thighs, spreading my legs roughly and digging his strong fingers into my thighs. “I will have my fill of you, and you will not push me away,” he ordered.

“Yes, my sultan,” the smirk forming on my lips changed into an ‘o’ as he devoured my cunt. I felt his tongue enter me and his nose press into my swollen clit. “Na-Nandor!” I cried which spurred him to fuck me with his mouth even more. I rolled my hips into his mouth and held the arm of the couch with one hand while the other tangled into his hair. Nandor moved his mouth to suck on my clit and shoved two thick fingers inside me and curled them. I keened and arched my back off the couch, grasping his head with both hands.

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Nandor!” These words were like a song and the only ones my mind could form.

I was sped towards the edge so quickly that I crashed over the edge before I knew it, my whole body shaking. Nandor didn’t stop as he replaced his fingers with his tongue and threw my legs over his shoulders. My obscene cries and moans increased as I pushed on his shoulders to slow down but that only resulted in him taking my hands and pinning them to my sides. Tears pricked my eyes as I was at the mercy of his overstimulating, delicious torture. I held on to his hands for dear life as the feeling of his tongue fucking me and his fangs slightly grazing against me became too much, “T-too m-much! Nandor!”

His only response was to growl and reach up and pinch my clit between his fingers. Something snapped inside me and my vision went black around the edges.

//

There was suddenly a loud scream full of ecstasy echoing from Nandor’s room. Laszlo didn’t even look up from his book, “Well done, old chap.”

//

It felt like the aftershocks of having electricity running through my body. I trembled with a wonderful euphoric feeling as Nandor released me to collapse back onto the couch so he could crawl up my body. When I opened my eyes, I saw Nandor’s handsome face completely soaked. “We are not finished yet, my mortal concubine,” he smirks, lust having blown his pupils.

“Yes,” I gasped, “Yes, sultan.”

“Let your sultan conquer every part of you,” he growled, and before I knew it, he was completely undressed, cold body against mine.

He threw my legs around his waist and pinned my hands to the couch arm before spearing me with his cock. I cried and moaned as he stretched me. Nandor fucked me at a brutal pace that had my eyes rolling to the back of my head and my toes curling.

//

Laszlo and Nadja were both huddled by Nandor’s door. After that last orgasm, neither could resist trying to see what was going on. Nadja had her ear pressed to the door while Laszlo was kneeled down trying to look through the peephole. “I’m so proud of our little human. Very much being the seductress I knew she was,” Nadja smiled.

“I’ll be honest, I never thought Nandor could fuck like that,” Laszlo admitted, “Why hasn’t he fucked us like that in our orgies?”

“My darling, there’s ‘orgy’ sex and then there’s ‘making love to your love’ sex,” Nadja explained.

Both husband and wife were jolted away from the door when two bodies slammed against the other side of it.

//

Nandor had thrown my legs over his shoulders and was fucking me into the door. His mouth was only an inch from mine, breathing each others air while ravishing one another like we will die tomorrow. The door creaked every time he thrust into me and all I could do was hold on to his neck as he took what he wanted. “The whole house will know who rules over this body,” Nandor grunted, “Tell me who does.”

“Y-you do! Y-ou! Fuck you feel so good in-inside me!” I panted like a bitch in heat.

“Your sweet cunt keeps pulling me back in,” Nandor growled before he moved my legs to wrap around his waist and sunk his fangs into my neck.

I moaned and gripped his black hair tightly as an overwhelming feeling of euphoria spread throughout my body. This was the first time he had ever fed on me while fucking, and I now know why Nadja went on and on about it last night. It felt like the pleasure was in my veins and effecting every single sense. It felt so intimate and raw. I couldn’t describe it with the right words if I wanted to.

Before I could blink, we had moved off the door and back on the couch. I was bent over the arm with Nandor’s chest pressed to my back and his hips thrusting deep and hard as he licked away the blood around the puncture wounds. He jerked my head back by my hair so his mouth was near to my ear, “You’re blood drives me mad, my dearest. Just as my cock does you.” His other hand snaked around to grip tightly on one of my breasts, tweaking my nipple and slapping the sensitive flesh. I could only moan as my answer. It truly felt like I was being conquered by a warrior, and I loved being at his mercy.

Every time I tried to speak, it came out as gibberish mixed with moans and whines. My mind was fuzzy and only focused on the feeling of his cock pushing me closer and closer to another orgasm. Nandor pushed my shoulders down to the couch with the hand in my hair allowing him to thrust directly into my g-spot. My eyes rolled to the back of my head, and I screamed his praises as I felt a gushing explosion around his cock. He shoved himself as deep as he could inside me and released his seed with a mighty roar as my vision blacked out.

Nandor fell on top of me, his forehead resting against my temple. All was silent except for his feral panting and my quiet whimpers. I felt his fingers untangle from my hair and his hands wonder along my convulsing body in an attempt to bring me back to reality. “Sssh, my darling,” he whispered in my ear as he left gentle kisses along my face and neck. I suddenly felt the weight of his body begin to leave mine and his cock being removed from inside me. I whined desperately and grabbed his neck to keep him from disappearing. I could still feel him throbbing inside me and my body wasn’t ready to feel empty just yet. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, worry laced in his words. I shook my head.

“I’m sorry, my love. I was too rough with you. And I did not ask permissions to feed on you,” he chided himself. My man had returned from being a conquering sultan.

“N-no. No, Nandor. J-just need a m-moment. P-please d-don’t leave,” I managed to stutter.

Nandor seemed to understand, and he began to delicately change our position. I felt him move us to be laying on our sides with my back to his chest, never once disconnecting us. He wrapped his arms around me and comforted me until my body stopped shaking. “I must leave your insides before you arouse me for another round of sexy times,” he whispered. I nodded my head, whimpering as I felt him gently slip out of me and a rush of our releases spilled out with an obscene sound.

“Was it as satisfactory for you as it was me?” he asked.

“More than satisfactory, my love,” I smiled as I took his hand to kiss the back of it.

“Mm good because I will be ready to go again in a few minutes,” he admitted.

“Really?” I asked shocked, “Nandor, I need to recoup for a minute.”

Suddenly, I felt him harden against my back as he gripped me tighter, “I still have more conquering to do.”

[atoriv-art]

little asks compilation as to not spam ♥

thank you!! ♥

crying this is vaguely related but did you guys know neji appears in a time travel episode(/arc?) in the boruto anime. does it surprise you to hear that it makes me extremely mad

but also so true LMFAO i'm usually the type to give things a chance (or so i'd like to believe) but not much of boruto interests me 😔 some of the kids look cute and i like.... like..... a few of the timeskip designs (...like three of them? i like suigetsu karin and tenten's.) but it's not worth it and in fact i think having to see neji and hiashi alive in the same UwU Family space would have had me banging my head against a wall.

also what if they made him ugly. that's my perfect angel boy they can't do that.

HEHE ofc!!! part of the reason i love posting fanart is that i get to spread propaganda for the things i like LMFAO

and i'm glad people enjoy the funny sharky ears they're my favorite <3

ASDMKASD eu acho que esse é o maior contato com outros brasileiros que já tive quando posto arte e afins, é bem interessante

eu consigo imaginar o tipo de coisa da qual vc reclama, eu acho bem chato tbm GFKMGFM

fave i respect the movement though i'm more of a short king gaara truther myself bc i think it's cute. sasuke still the tallest of the boys tho

thank you!! and hehee this ended up being more me ranting about their general writing but :)

i'm veeeery fond of their og naruto dynamic, i think it often goes misunderstood/understated but to me it's one of the highlights to the original series! from stuff like kakashi shielding him from orochimaru and sealing his curse mark (which. btw. crazy. LOVE that scene) to the ENTIRE deal with chidori and the pride kakashi felt watching sasuke fight gaara with it... i think it's SURPRISINGLY well done! while i due to personal preference like to read it as specifically familial, i think you can read it anyway you want (not all mentor-type dynamics need to be familial in nature and not being so won't make it any less meaningful)

i don't think kakashi was a particularly great teacher (in fact i think tenzo is shown to be a MUCH better captain/mentor the moment he's introduced to team 7 lol) but you can certainly tell that he cares about all of the kids and wants to do right by them, it's just that with sasuke specifically to me it feels like it's of highly personal significance to him?

and it's not hard to see why, obviously kakashi and sasuke do not have the same trauma but i find it reductive to say that it means kakashi can't see himself in him at all, or that he can't be of any use to sasuke? one of my favorite scenes is the (... i think mildly controversial, from what i've seen?) one where he talks to sasuke on that tree and tells him to drop his revenge quest, because while yeah it was not a perfect effort, to me it's clear that 1. kakashi was being very genuine in his words and 2. that it like... almost worked? sasuke was very sincerely pondering his words before the sound 4 came along.

btw so funny that both kakashi and obito tie him up when talking to him. anyway

so you add that with the weird relationship kakashi has with the entire uchiha clan, starting with obito (the very reason kakashi is able to teach sasuke in any meaningful way at all), going through itachi if you treat team ro as canon WHICH I DO, I LOVE TEAM RO, and ending with sasuke, who is someone kakashi can still try to give a normal life to? yeah i can see why he might feel personally responsible for him!

sasuke's side is less in your face but like... sasuke sought kakashi out to help train him and very much echoes kakashi's words about not abandoning your comrades. he is also often the first one to understand where kakashi is going with something, him and kakashi have similar ways of going through life even if kakashi has majorly mellowed out with age.

there's also little things like how sasuke just had no qualms about walking into kakashi's house unannounced (after itachi beat his ass ty itachi looove u itachi), even before that, how when kakashi calls sasuke over while itachi+kisame are having tea, sasuke just kind of announces that he HATES sweets (so cute), as if he made the assumption kakashi either bought it for him or was thinking about it? like.

look at his baby face.

despite whatever route it ended up taking To Me it's very clear that they did have a special bond and that it was a VERY important part of sasuke's everything pre-shippuden, he was clearly comfortable around kakashi despite his standoffish attitude. it was not perfect and kakashi does hold blame for a lot of things (in general he has a very hands-off teaching style that doesn't work great with these kids), but that's like. part of why i like it you know! it's a little complicated but not through any ill will. it's just that they are both full of Issues lmao

it makes me ssoooooo saaaaad that they BARELY speak to each other at all in shippuden because like. that was one of THE dynamics in the original team 7 you know? and idk if it comes as a surprise but i'm not even OPPOSED to sasuke wanting to kill kakashi by the time they meet again? in fact i think it could be kind of awesome. because like he could have a lot of reasons to be angry with him, up to and including the mere fact that kakashi took SO LONG to even meet him again?

(remember when team 7 finally meets sasuke again w/ tenzo and sai, and he himself mentions kakashi? it's one of those things you can choose to dismiss as meaningless dialogue but i often do think about it lol)

but instead we have sasuke in the peak of his borderline-demonization by the writing, which just leads to there not being much of an interesting dialogue at all. i'm not opposed to kakashi's sharingan being something that sasuke comes to resent either — it could be very fun character writing as that is the very thing that encouraged them to bond in the first place —, but i don't like the way it was done and i ESPECIALLY hate how it was immediately dropped like BROTHER MY PLOT THREADS... THEY'RE FALLING APART...

i could go on about a thousand different other things, such as.

sorry to mention jiraiya but. the rasengan vs chidori thing is VERY telling; jiraiya is naruto's mentor, and kakashi is sasuke's, this is reflected best when the kids each use their respective Overkill Jutsu at each other and the adults each take responsibility for their own kid

again, i'm unsure if it's fully intentional but there is this opposition of orochimaru vs kakashi other than the obvious confrontational scene they have. the very fact that kakashi is the one to put a limit to orochimaru's literal influence on sasuke through the curse mark is a very interesting narrative choice! kakashi is also extremely afraid of orochimaru and highly protective of sasuke; again it reads as a Personal fear/protectiveness rather than purely Professional to me. it builds this idea of kakashi being one of sasuke's choices, and orochimaru being the other (and we know which one he chooses unfortunately lol)

chidori in general is like. crazy btw. it becomes sasuke's signature move. and it's kakashi's creation. hi

this is also something that was dropped but there was also the occasional pointing out of similarities between, fucking, lee and gai of all people vs kakashi and sasuke? and like i don't need to explain this one that much right. gai is lee's dad in like everything but name LOL (and much like kakashi he also has questionable habits when it comes to how he teaches his kid)

but this is way too long LMFAO my tldr is that I Like Them And I Wish They Had More Screentime </3

their dynamic concretely to me is about caring very much about someone who shares a lot of pain with you, but being a little intimidated by that shared aspect. nothing hurts more than failing / being failed By someone who you know DOES understand you, in the end!

it's all my personal preference of course there's no right or wrong way to read naruto (well the wrong way is thinking it's good.) (joke) but i WAS surprised to not see sasuke and kakashi's relationship being discussed more (esp. with empathy for both characters) because well. obviously it's one of my favorite naruto things GFKDMGKFDM

[misiahasahardname]

for the character + emoji thing - Jake, Liam and Henry TMF and the sunset duo (any TMNT show): ❤️🧡💛💚📖🏡❤️‍🩹😋

(sorry if this is a bit much 😅)

omg omg ok

idk if it’s meant to be in order or i do all of these for each character listed? i’ll do the latter because i think it’d be more fun

(sorry if these aren’t great, i’m trying my best)

OK!

JAKE

otp - a tie between jaisy and jenry. both mean absolutely everything to me, just for different reasons! (i’m a big fan of fluffy ships and stupid ships)

everyone i ship with this character - daisy, henry, liam and drew (how did this pathetic guy pull so many people?)

brotp - honestly? jalia. lia and jake have great potential as friends!!

notp - i don’t think i have one? (i could list the obvious incest or large age gap ships but like. you’d expect that)

au i’d like to see them in - DEAR EVAN HANSEN AU!!!!!!! (we really cooked when we chose that cast)

domestic headcanon - so him and the dromies move in with eachother. and they realise that jake is SUPER forgetful (the adhd brain fog never clears) so they start putting sticky notes everywhere to help jake remember stuff, like to do chores, to take his meds, that he has an appointment or a date or something… it helps and he’s grateful :>

angsty headcanon - so, so absolutely terrified of losing his friends that it’s genuinely taken a serious toll on his mental health. like he struggles to sleep sometimes because he’s too busy thinking about the things he said during the day and stressing if he said something wrong or if someone took a joke the wrong way. it gets worse after episode nine… i don’t think he’ll ever recover from that. :(

funny/stupid headcanon - was so desperate for money as a kid he pulled out three teeth for the tooth fairy lmao

LIAM

otp - henriam. sorry i’m crazy about them

everyone i ship with this character - drew, henry and jake (i think it’s obvious i’m a big polydromies fan)

brotp - also henriam!!

notp - can’t really think of one?

au i’d like to see them in - can. can we have a vampire liam au. would that be ok. because i’d love to see a vampire liam au.

domestic headcanon - his art covers the walls of the house. he makes sure every room is decorated appropriately, and is constantly painting or making something new to add more character to the house. his room is a total mess because of him constantly working lol

angsty headcanon - unfortunately i do not have enough Thoughts or canon to go off of to make an angsty headcanon. disappointing :(

funny/stupid headcanon - absolute menace on halloween. to him it’s like april fools but in autumn. he will take every oppurtunity to fuck with people on halloween, whether that be through scaring or scheming. he is not allowed to answer the door for trick or treaters because he will either start handing out onions or steal a handful of sweets from their buckets when pretending to hand out sweets. evil (i hope this made sense lmao)

HENRY

otp - JENRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!

everyone i ship with this character - jake and liam

brotp - henriam. yes they’re perfect platonically and romantically!!

notp - anyone from the music club (besides jake ofc), mostly for their sanity (this doesn’t mean i would hate to see any ship with him and a music club member, i just personally would not ship it)

au i’d like to see them in - au where he’s in the music club. i just want to see the shenanigans

domestic headcanon - doesn’t do any chores because no one trusts him to be responsible

angsty headcanon - i’m sorry i genuinely cannot think of henry angst. angstless being

funny/stupid headcanon - he jokingly flirts with everyone all the time so no one knows when he’s being genuine or not (this is why you’re struggling to pull, henry!)

SUNSET DUO (doing them both at the same time ig)

i have selected 2012 sunset duo because i’m predictable lmao

otp - for raph it is definetly rasemona (is that what they’re called?) polyamory is always a W!! (also like. i cannot just choose one. it’s impossible. he’d definetly end up dating both of them anyways). i don’t really have an otp for mikey because in all honesty i don’t actually properly ship him with anyone?

everyone i ship with this character -

brotp - i mean……. brotp feels like a weird term to use for them but. it’s them. sunset duo. yippee! (i also think pepperoni pucks and raphril are fun, underrated friendship dynamics)

notp - NOT EACHOTHER. NOPE. nothing relating to tcest or other incest shit. gross weirdos

au i’d like to see them in - my very own extended family au!! i’ll talk about it one day i promise—

domestic headcanon - they’re definetly the closest brother dynamic out of all the others. they hang out regularly, whether it be they’re training together, playing video games (and getting way too competitive), or just chilling out. i feel like they’d also look after chompy and ice cream kitty together. shared responsibility or smth

angsty headcanon - thanks to their amazing twin senses (sunset duo are twins trust me) they know a lot of… dark things about eachother.

funny/stupid headcanon - they both have physical touch as their main love language, it’s just with eachother that ‘physical touch’ is beating the shit out of eachother. they will playfully slap, punch, and nudge eachother regularly, and these actions only sometimes escalate into fights where they need to be pulled apart by their brothers!

gaymers i have no idea if these made any sense or if they were even good. i’m sorry

[sayitaliano]

hey, could you write a few sample sentences using the word "persino"? i don't really get it :(

thanks <3

Ciao :)

"Persino", "perfino" (same word) and "addirittura"* are adverbs that work the same as "even". Gonna focus on the first two and leave you a link for the third one despite ofc the meanings are the same. You basically use perfino/persino when there's a situation that turned out to be a bit too exaggerated compared to what it looked like to start with. Maybe you renounce to something you like or wanna do in order to avoid something else or someone; maybe you go somewhere you don't like in order to see/meet someone you like; maybe you do something you don't like to do to make someone else happy or to gain something...

I suggest you to read these two posts (conditional, ending part | addirittura*) cause I mention these adverbs there too, but I'll probably add the same things here (but especially the second link, may give you a further insight, as I mentioned above).

Anyway, as you asked, let's see some examples. 1) Lucia è persino uscita prima pur di non incontrare Daniele = Lucia went even out earlier in order to not meet Daniele. (Lucia doesn't really like Daniele for whatever reason, so she decided to go out from her house/office/sny place earlier than she was supposed to -maybe she had something to do as well but she rather went out earlier anyway- to not meet him)

2) Ho perfino messo la cravatta! = I even put on a tie! (The person speaking doesn't really like to wear ties but it may be a special occasion so they decided to put on one, despite they don't like it, and they're pointing this out either to claim a praise or to stress how much they care about this event)

3) Sono perfino andata in piscina per incontrarlo! = I even went to the swimming pool to meet him! (This is someone who may have a crush on another person and in order to meet them, they decided to go to the swimming pool which may be a place they really don't like either cause they cannot swim or for any other reason like they don't like wearing a swimsuit or there're too many people.... Let's not judge the stalking level of this sample, it's only again to give you an idea of the use of "perfino/persino" aka what you're able to do/afford in order to get something)

I hope these can be enough for you to get it. If not, feel free to ask for more examples :) Or you can try to send one or two of your own so you can check if you really got it :)

[osakunt]

hi, i saw your request post.

can i have tsukishima letting his s/o play his hair, like the apple hair thing. (cuz i simp) ofc, he keeps complaining but doesn't remove the hair tie.

thanks! i apologies abt my gramatical errors 😥

➟ Tsukishima x gn!reader [timeskip]

➟ hey no, you’re fine. I understood perfectly - Thank you for reassuring ! Enjoy <3

“Stop fussing” you tap his head with your finger trying to tie up his hair. You hear him grumble under his breath but let’s you continue with your hair salon fantasy.

He’s tender headed, making him whip his head away from you. He gave himself whiplash with the way he just jerked away from you. “Can you not !” He rubs the area you had slightly pulled

“Not my fault you keep on moving. Got ants up your ass ?”

“Shut up”

You grab him again after he falls in distraction with his phone. You start to add a bunch of little things to his hair like rubber bands, pins, and even that chalk highlight thing many wanted when they were younger.

Blond pieces of his hair now had streaks of blue, pink and purple and he didn’t have a clue.

Setting your things down, you indicate that you were done. “Okay you can get off me now” lightly pushing him off you.

Starting to do chores around the house you hear your name being called out.

Stepping behind him in the bathroom you see him touching the colored hair and small pigtails. “What is the meaning of this ?”

“Awesome, righhtttt” you acknowledge him for a little while then go back to what you were doing. He stays in front of the mirror for a little while. The look starts to settle in - deciding to not touch his hair, he continues on with the hair style.

[palimpsessed]

Writerly Ephemera

I was tagged by @amywaterwings @mostlymaudlin @tea-brigade @effing-numpties @captain-aralias @bloodiedpixie . This is so cool, so thanks for sharing yours! ❤️

Per Amy: We add little bits of ourselves to our writing, scattering memories and places and phrases and things into our stories. The game is to find five examples of this, of YOU, in your writing and show everyone.

I don’t really feel like I put much of my own experiences into my fic, probably because I don’t feel like I have a lot of experiences to pull from. (That’s not me being self-deprecating; that’s me never going anywhere or doing anything.) So, let’s see what we come up with!

Going to tag here. I feel like I’ve gotten to this late so I’m not sure who has been tagged. Anyway. No pressure, loves. Just saying hi. 🥰 @theflyingpeach @bazzybelle @otherworldsivelivedin @unseelieseelie @wetheformidables @caitybug @nightimedreamersworld @foolofabookwyrm @stillmadaboutpetra

1. I have put the most of myself into A Man of Letters. I have my degree in English Lit and when I was in college, I was at the height of my Jane Austen obsession. So I sort of built my degree around the development of the English novel. My senior thesis was on a book called Evelina by Frances Burney, who was one of Austen’s greatest literary influences. Evelina is an epistolary novel—told entirely in letters. I love the epistolary form, for the same reason I love dialogue and texting fics. It’s such a fun narrative technique and can reveal so much about individual characters. It’s actually a bit like the way Rainbow Rowell uses multi POV in her books. Anyway, my love of the epistle was on full display in this fic, which is ofc told in letters. —Do I share a passage? That’s like...the whole fic 😅 So, idk. Here’s Simon being a disaster as he meditates on letter writing:

Dear Penny,

As I start this letter, I already know I'm not going to post it. I know I won't be able to bring myself to do it, because of what I have to say to you. I do feel bad. It's not that I don't want to tell you. And you know I'm so much better at writing things down than saying them out loud. It's only that I feel like this would all sound better coming from me in person. I just don't think I'll be able to make you understand in a letter. I'm still trying to understand myself. And writing all of this down helps me with that. Even if I'm only pretending to write to you, it makes me feel better, to think of you on the other end. I promise I really will tell you everything as soon as we're together again.

2. Also for A Man of Letters, my fascination with Regency fashions, in particular the dandy, was a major factor. I did an art book about this, comparing how fashion has changed over time, especially in regard to gender. (I also did an art book based on Evelina, since I’m on the subject. I minored in book art. 😁) I always fancied the look of a Regency dandy, so that was my gift to Baz.

Whoever has been working their magic on Salisbury should in fact be the person to whom I offer my eternal devotion. Alas, I am left to flounder under the burden of lusting after a man who is incapable of dressing himself.

The utter and unmitigated shame.

Salisbury wore a forest green wool frock coat that set off the golden highlights in his brown locks. This was accented with a green and aubergine striped silk waistcoat that was trimmed in white piping and felt much too daring a pattern for the man. (I don't care if he was a soldier; it takes a hardier man than him by half to choose a stripe like that.) His charcoal trousers were enticingly snug, but not so much to prove lethal. His cravat and points left much to be desired, though that likely reflected poorly on his ability to keep himself in order, rather than the ability of his valet. (Good God, maybe the man doesn't even have a valet!)

3. When it came to my countdown fic, To the Manor Borne, I had Shep make a reference to Cluedo, because Pitch Manor would be perfect for a real life game. Behind that, is the fact that my family played a lot of Clue and I watched the movie a whole bunch growing up, to the point where my sister and I used to quote it to each other. This was a way to pay homage to that. He also talks about playing the game Murder in the Dark, which was one I played at Halloween as a kid. One of my cousins was dressed as a ghoul with glow in the dark face paint and we were in my grandma’s creepy upstairs. Perfect vibes.

I’ve seen the kitchen and the dining room and the library and the study and the parlor. Walking through this house is like playing Clue. (They call it Cluedo on this side of the pond, because they like to be difficult.) (That was a whole thing. Do not get me started.)

I keep thinking Colonel Mustard’s going to pop up out of nowhere and brain me with a lead pipe.

And:

What kind of games do you play with magickal friends who don't have magic? Twister? Not with the wings and tail. Cards? Baz and Penny would cheat. Or accuse everyone else of cheating if they didn't win. Murder in the dark? With these people, in this house, I knew it would turn literal fast, and also it was like ten in the morning. Hide and seek? Simon and I would hide and everyone else would ditch. Snowball fight? World War III.

4. I’ve referenced Mozart in my fics a couple of times because when I was first getting into classical music, I was listening to a lot of Mozart. My sister had a CD of some of his early symphonies, and my local classical station does “Mozart in the Mornings” which happened to fit in the exact time slot between two morning classes I had my first year in college. I’d go sit in my car with a cup of tea, and just vibe with Mozart as my soundtrack. I’ve name dropped him in both A Man of Letters and To the Manor Borne. Also, Mozart wrote 12 variations on the melody shared by Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, which is a lovely tie in. (I also had the gang sing/cast The Holly and the Ivy, which is one of my favorite Christmas carols, and by strange coincidence was playing on the radio at the same time I wrote that scene. 🥰)

"It's a songbook," I tell him, like he can't figure that out for himself. "Did you know that Mozart wrote twelve different versions of the same song?"

He's laughing. "Mozart did not write Twinkle, twinkle, little star, Simon."

"You know what I mean."

"He composed twelve variations for solo piano on the French folk melody Ah! Vous dirai-je, maman."

"Sure. Anyway, this is for the violin. For you to play."

He's still laughing, and I'm trying to figure out what's so funny, but then he kisses me again, on the lips this time, so I figure maybe I'm still doing okay.

Only one more to go! What will it be? 👀

5. Therapy! Eheheh...😅 Look, it’s no secret the gang needs it. And tbh, so do I. Haven’t actually managed to get myself to go yet, and I think that’s where a lot of my “send them to therapy” happy endings come from. I did it in Use Your Words and To the Manor Borne. I started Chamber by Chamber with SnowBaz already in therapy, and then structured the whole thing around therapy that they give to each other and to themselves. It didn’t really fit in A Man of Letters, but if it had, I absolutely would have done it. I’ve only shared from two fics so far, and since it could kind of spoil the ending to Use Your Words (tho saying this may be spoiler anyway...), here are two snippets from It’s a Kind of Magic, Part I of Chamber by Chamber.

I've been working on articulating my needs. We both have. Ordinarily, I'd be afraid of pushing him away by making demands when he's on the verge of a spiral, but my therapist insists that I can't go on treating Simon with kid gloves. If I never ask him for anything, he'll think he doesn't have anything to give.

And

When I told that to my therapist, she said that I needed to talk it out of me and she'd help me find ways to work through it all. She said I needed to talk it out with Baz, too, so that he'd know how to help me when things got bad again—that was something else she said, that things would get bad again, and that I'd need to be prepared for that. That I couldn't expect things to be easy, and just go away.

6. BONUS! I think the biggest way I include bits of myself is in the AUs I’ve chosen to write. I have three I’m planning that say a lot about me, so I’m going to talk a bit about them here. There is ofc my Scooby Doo AU, inspired in large part by the fact that I watched it all the time growing up and also, my sister continues to be obsessed with it. When we were young, my parents were doing a lot of work on their house and we’d take family trips to the hardware store. My sister and I hated it, so we’d wait in the car with my mom and she would entertain us with “Scooby Doo stories”. Other AUs I’m planning? Troop Beverly Hills—please tell me someone else out there loved this movie the way I did when I was 5. It was very influential to baby me and I remember wishing for nothing more than being able to dress like Shelley Long. So, I’m going to let Baz do it, because I think he deserves it. 🥰 Lastly, tho it will probably be the first I write, is my Cupid and Psyche AU, from when I was heavy into mythology and religion. Since these are all forthcoming projects, I don’t really have a snippet. Instead, here’s Baz comparing Simon to Eros, which is what started my brain on that particular AU.

I am lost. I barely know anything about Salisbury, but I can't help being drawn in. At one time, I could have comforted myself that I was only so smitten with him because he looks like he was sculpted by Praxiteles. That excuse grows weaker with every encounter. He's the furthest thing from a lifeless tribute to beauty in marble as one can be. There is something deep and dark and feral inside of him and I want to claw it out. I want to see it, to let it free. To taste his wildness and his pain.

[daisiesforlacey]

The Costuming and Coloring of JATP : Part 1 - Julie Molina

I’ve seen so many of these posts and I wanted to make my own! I love costuming and color theory in film and I thought I’d do my own take on jatp! Please keep in mind that I am by no means an expert and this is only my thoughts, and feel free to add your own interpretations and thoughts :)

Heads up this is a super long post (I won’t be coving all of Julie’s outfits, only the ones that have significant meaning)

And none of this could have been possible without Soyon An, the costume designer of jatp! All referenced quotes and information for her can be found here, here, and here

One of the main difficulties of costume design is having the clothing fit the period, tone of the piece, and the character. The characters have to wear the clothes, not the other way around. Who is this person? What are their conflicts? How do they look at the world? What do they value? How do they grow? Just some examples of what good costume designers ask. 

They can also be used as a subtle tool to show who each character is; how we dress is a reflection of ourselves.

JULIE MOLINA:

Ok so we all know she is an absolute queen with AMAZING fits, even from the start of the show! I’m going to go chronologically, just to make it easier on all of us!

Julie starts off the series in a baggy yellow sweatshirt over her blue and white shirt, her painted jeans, fluffy slippers, and a set of necklaces! (Actually we first see her at school, where she wearing a flannel instead of the sweatshirt, but the same concepts apply) This already gives us A TON of information on her!!

Her necklaces include a Virgin Mary pendant, a nod to her heritage and religion and one of her own name, which we can assume is a gift from someone special to her

She puts on the sweatshirt after she gets home and bombed playing in front of her class. Idk about you, but I always want to wear sweatshirts and comfy clothes whenever I feel down, so I infer that that is what Julie is doing! 

There is also something to be said about the visual irony between bright yellow smiley face on the front and Julie’s own grieving

(Also can I just say that I love that Julie is allowed to be a teen and wear silly slippers because their comfortable clothes. I am so tried of teenagers being over sexualized and as a brown girl myself, it’s wonderful to see these multidimensional non white characters!)

Her own painted jeans, (also pretty baggy) and sneakers as said by Soyon An, are painted by Julie! (We also see her creativity later when drawing a cupcake on her mic for Luke’s bday, but that’s another post)

Her creativity seems to have no bounds, and it’s obvious that from the start that this is how she expresses herself!

If you want to get really analytical, one could say that the bright yellow covering up her blue collar could show how Julie herself is trying to cover up her own sadness

The blue and yellow also come up in another scene of hers with Luke, but that is another post entirely

JUST FROM HER CLOTHES ALONE WE, THE VIEWERS, ALREADY SUBCONCIOUSLY KNOW SOOOO MUCH ABOUT JULIE:

She’s most likely Catholic and cherishes her religion and family

She’s not feeling too confident in herself

She’s crazy creative and talented

She’s trying to mask some sort of sadness

ISN’T THAT INSANE??? A TELL TALE SIGN OF A GOOD COSTUMER!

Julie then moves to plaid pants and a cropped lavender blouse (Which I absolutely adore!!!) 

She has just met the boys, and Luke gave her that little pep talk in front of the studio and is now wearing form fitting clothes!

DON’T TWIST THIS: She’s wearing these clothes because she now feels more confident in herself and is ready to sit down and play Wake Up

Julie is wearing more subdued colors; the focus isn’t on her outfit, that’s not where the color is. The color is lighting Julie from behind. The focus of the moment is Julie and her music.

You’ll also notice the lighting behind her shifts from the cold early morning, to the sun rising behind her, again, very poetic. The sun is literally rising on Julie and it is a new dawn for her, and the start of the show itself

Not to mention Wake Up which is literally about moving forward and... waking up lol

This is maybe one of my favorite performance outfits of her! (Who am I kidding, all of them are my favorite)

Julie is wearing a camo jumpsuit with patches and her signature sneakers

The patches, once again, show us that Julie is creative in many ways along with her shoes

I love that all of her outfits seem like the average person could make them and wear them. Yet, these characters are still teenagers and are discovering their own personal style, which can be sort of outlandish. It really works to ground the show in reality with all of the kooky happenings

Julie is once again wearing her necklaces, and we can infer that she wears them all of the time

In this outfit (with an added Double Trouble tshirt underneath), she also sings Flying Solo. The jumpsuit is a reflection of her friendships with the guys and Flynn!

And this outfit with Bright??? Chefs kiss. This is the subtle characterization I live for!

Julie’s actress, Madison Reyes’, mother is in the armed forces. She and Soyon wanted an outfit to pay homage to her, and I think the camo works perfectly

By this time we already have a good grasp on who Julie is

Julie is wearing a neon blue leotard, silver white pants, fishnets, her drawn on white sneakers and a rainbow chunky sequin cloak. She also find a drum major’s cape from the music room. She has her hair in the same cornrowed way as she does in Stand Tall, with pink, red, and blue ribbons.

While I may be jumping the gun this early in the post, I love this detail. This is her fantasy which ends up coming true in the final number and that is just beautiful

Julie’s fantasy outfit in I Got the Music is so extra and wonderful

This is Julie’s idealized self; it is bright and unapologetic and you can’t help but notice her. The outfit is purposefully outlandish and completely unrealistic

This is the first thing that clues you in that this is a fantasy; she does a quick change from her previous outfit. You can also see that her trio of necklaces aren’t there.

She keeps some elements from her actual school outfit, the pants and presumably the leotard, they just get an upgrade

Ok now onto the breakdown:

These are her school colors

This is the first time we see Julie in blue since the first episode. So far, we have seen her in muted tones. This time the blue is vibrant. This signals to the viewers that she is not hiding anymore and has almost reclaimed the color

Soyon specifically said she wanted a hood for Julie such as the Virgin Mary is traditionally depicted with a head covering

Julie is wearing her school colors loud and proud with a cropped LFHS reddish hoodie, underneath is a bright blue leotard, a blue belt, and white distressed jeans and fishnets

Julie is now fully in her element and has formed a band with the boys!!! Woohoo!

If you recall, in this episode, Julie also interacts the most with Carrie and Nick up until now; the two characters rooted in her school life.

Most everything I said in the previous section is here too, just a little toned down.

One thing that I see in this outfit is that she’s wearing a little bit of the boys’ themes; Luke’s blue, Reggie’s red, and Alex’s denim and grey. 

This is also the day that she gets into the conflict with the boys, they go to Bobby’s to get revenge, lie to her, and bail on the dance. I see this as them becoming closer and then falling farther apart.

Julie is also wearing fishnets and socks, which mirrors Dirty Candi’s performance of Wow. This is a wonderful detail to show that the two aren’t so different after all.

I love this outfit and I will forever be mad that we never got to see her perform in it

Julie is wearing her mothers mesh tie dye top, a black tank top, and loose black striped pants

THIS IS SUPER IMPORTANT: This is the first time we see her wear her mother’s clothes, a physical representation of her coming to terms with her mother’s death!!!

This is also when Flynn comes up with Julie and the Phantoms, another big milestone. This is when they were supposed to make a mark on her school

(Ofc we all know this is when the boys bail...)

The next day, Julie is wearing a powder blue floral dress, sneakers, with a white t shirt and a cream colored cropped fluffy jacket (this is most aligned with my aesthetic)

Again, this shows that she is experimental with her clothes

 It is also worth noting that Soyon does a good job with establishing that she is a sneaker head, I mean have you seen her kicks????

Now is a good time to talk about character colors: good media will establish a color per character. This helps viewers easily distinguish who they are and how they connect to others. Characters may wear these colors a lot or have significant moments in these colors

The colors also have their own meanings which apply (we’ll look more into this in the Stand Tall dress)

Luke is blue, Julie is purple (as we will see later on), Alex is pink, and Reggie is Red

When characters wear another character’s color it signals to us that they will be having a ‘moment’ with the other character (getting along after fighting, learning something new, etc.)

Alternatively, if a character is wearing colors opposite to another, you know they will clash

In this episode, Julie goes to Luke’s house and learns more about him and Emily AND SHES’S WEARING HIS BLUE!!! BIG MOMENT!!!

ONCE YOU NOTICE COLOR IN FILM, YOU CAN LEARN TO PREDICT WHERE THE STORY IS GOING. THESE ARE SOME HELPFUL HINTS:

Notice a character’s colors and when another character wears them, they will be having a ‘moment’

If the color in the scene isn’t on the character, the focus isn’t on them, maybe it’s on the emotions of the scene or other characters

Colors WILL signify emotions; yellow is happy, blue can be sad or calming depending on the shade, red can be passion or anger. If a character wears a lot of one color, you can predict their emotions

Ok no hate, this is definitely not my favorite outfit. It gives me mad Shake It Up vibes, not that that’s bad, just not my thing.

Julie performs Finally Free in a teal and black dress/shirt, silver biker short, a black vest, and arm bands

It has been confirmed by Charlie and Madison that this is when Luke realizes he like Julie, which makes sense as you see that she is wearing blue (She will now start wearing more of these cool tones)

She is also wearing arm bands, something Luke does often

Her vest is also the same one as the girl from the beginning, which we all know by now is Rose, her mother!

She has upcycled the vest and added her own special twists to it! It also helps for us to see connection between Rose and performing

You can also see a dahlia pin, her mother’s favorite flower. These often make an appearance! (They’re also purple)

It’s Edge of Great Time!! This is maybe the most iconic outfit!

Julie performs in a white blouse with butterflies, her hair also with butterfly clips, her pants are constructed beautifully with black and white panels. She finished the outfit with black and white combat boots and more butterflies!

Soyon specifically said that the butterflies represent Julie coming out of her cocoon and coming into herself, like a butterfly would!

This is truly her most powerful and performance worthy outfit and sucks all of the attention to her

Julie’s clean contrast of black and white also make her stand out from the rest of the band! The combination is often a symbol of power and truth! (Think judges robes)

Time to get some tissues, Unsaid Emily, it’s your turn!

This is what I consider Julie’s most average and basic outfit, but there is a lot to analyze here: A magenta sweater and jeans.

This sweater is her mothers; meaning it is probably a comforting item for her, seeing as she is about to have a very emotional moment, calling back to that yellow sweater in the beginning!

Also see how this has blue, pink, and red designs, and I’m sure by now you can tell what I am going to say: These are the guys colors! 

She’s going to have a heartfelt moment involving them, and it fits. This is one of the emotional climax’s of the show and this is when she becomes even closer with the Phantoms

You can tell, just from her standing on the steps of Luke’s house what is about to go down (Well maybe not all of the tears, but still)

Julie goes to check on the guys in the studio in a blue floral shirt and blue jeans

These are once again, Luke’s colors, but are slowly becoming THEIR colors. She wears these when she is saying goodbye to her best friends

This is also the outfit that Julie’ wears when she finds them after the performance and they haven’t crossed over. 

It makes perfect sense that she is wearing all blue when SHE AND LUKE HUG!!! (And then all of the boys too in the best group hug ever)

Of course we’re gonna end the post with this absolutely ICONIC outfit!

Julie is wearing a purple dress with purple tulle, a bedazzled leather jacket, and her hair IN THE SAME STYLE AS I GOT THE MUSIC!!!

Lets go one by one:

The dress is a Balmain dress that Soyon got for $500, then she completely deconstructed it and made it to fit Madison! that’s incredible

This is the climax of the show: the boy are ‘doing their unfinished business,’ Julie is playing the Orpheum, and what color is she wearing but PURPLE! What color are dahlias? PURPLE! What color has had the most significance? PURPLE! What do red, blue, and pink make up? PURPLE! PURPLE IS JULIE’S CHARACTER COLOR

You’ll also notice that her jacket has pink, red, and blue accents, the colors of Alex, Reggie and, Luke, to show that they have become a part of her and she is now a part of them

That’s the same for her hair

It shows how she has now achieved her dream, her make believe world is now her reality

I really think we’ll see more of Julie in purple in the seasons to come, now that she has found herself

I hope that you all have learned a little about color and costuming in this post! Once you get the hang of it, it becomes really fun, like a puzzle!

I hope to do more of these with the rest of the characters as well!

Feel free to add on your own ideas and interpretations!

[mazzy-moon]

A Lone Butterfly - Chapter 7

Title of Chapter: Be Good

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings/Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Age Difference, Slow Burn, Fluff, Angst and Feels, Mutual Pining, References to Depression, Brief mention of rape/kidnapping

Pairing: Javier Peña (Narcos) x Isabel Cotrille (OFC)

Summary:  Tension grows between Javier and Isabel just as her time in Columbia is running out. Trapped between her desire to stay with Javier and her need for healing, she contemplates her next step.

Notes: Thank you to those of you invested in this story, I appreciate you so much. Keep in my mind this is not the end of Javier and Isabel’s journey. The *best* is just beginning.

If anyone is interested, comment or message me and I will add you to a tag list each time I update.

Here’s a link to read it on ao3.

The next day, Javier and I head down to his work building. He wants me to tell them what I told him about the man from the cartel. There isn't much to tell, but I will do what I can to help them.

I am sitting in a chair in the office of the man I just met, Officer Santiago. He's in charge of the case, Javier being second in command.

"So, Peña says you have some information that could help us?"

The man has a domineering presence, which probably comes in handy in some situations, but makes me slightly nervous.

"Just tell him what you told me, Isabel," Javier says, his voice soft and reassuring.

I swallow. "Okay. Well... when I escaped the room the cartel had me in, I saw one of the men there. He tried to stop me from escaping. He looked like he may have been in charge, I don't know. I stabbed him in the eye. Anyway, last night I remembered what his name was."

I tell him the name and he immediately asks for more details. Was anyone with him? What did he look like?

"He had dark, curly hair. He was tall, and had a scar on his right cheek." I struggle to remember any other tiny detail but nothing comes to me. "That-that's all. I didn't get a good look at him. I was too panicked."

Santiago digests what I've said and seems satisfied.

"Thank you for your time, Ms. Cotrille. We've been trying to get a name on this guy for months."

Javier guides me out of the man's office and into the open area just outside it. At least a dozen desks fill the room, all close together. My eyes catch on one of them. It's filled with heartfelt notes, flowers, and photographs. I see a face I recognize on one of them and a rush of guilt sweeps over me. Eric.

I had forgotten about the man who died trying to save me. A few stares are directed at me as I stop in my tracks. Javier realizes I'm no longer following him and looks back. He doesn't say anything, just places a hand on my back and quickly ushers me outside. I'm thankful. I don't really want to break down in front of everyone at the office.

We walk a little off the main entrance, hidden from view.

"Did you know him?" I ask Javier.

"Yes," he replies solemnly. "He had just been transferred here a few months ago. He was a good guy."

I see his Eric's face again in my head, picturing him as he was that night.

"He was so young," I remark, talking to myself.

"Twenty four, I think."

That's barely a life. Why did I decide to drive off that day? If I hadn't, I would've never been taken, there would've been no rescue operation, and Eric would still be alive.

"He tried to save me." I can't conceal the regret that's evident in my voice.

"It wasn't your fault, Isabel. He was inexperienced. I shouldn't have let him on the mission in the first place. The only reason I did was because he insisted and wouldn't let it go. If anyone is to blame it's me."

I'm not looking at Javier. I hear his words, but only half of me believes them. Javier forces my attention, grabbing my shoulders.  

"Are you listening to me, Isabel? Don't do this to yourself. You couldn't have prevented what happened." It's the sternest he's ever gotten with me.

He lowers his voice slightly. "Okay?" he says.

I nod. He convinces me with a look.

The next few days pass slowly. I'm brought back to the headquarters to give the sketch artist a description of Matías's face. Later, when my mother's funeral took place, only a handful of people were there. My mother was mostly a recluse, and we kept to ourselves after my father passed away. Javier stood next to me for the entire thing. After we got back to the hotel I drowned myself in unrelenting tears and slept for what seemed like a hundred years. I woke up to a massive headache, still in my black dress and with swollen cheeks.

Today was the day. The flight back to Oregon was booked, and as I stood underneath the shower I contemplated what going back to my life there would look like. A worry crosses my mind that I hadn't contemplated before.

What if things can't go back to normal? How will my friends react to the situation I was now in? Will they still treat me the same? I think of Melody, my closest childhood friend. I try to imagine what her reaction would be to knowing I had been kidnapped and...raped. I can't.

I hated thinking of myself as a victim. I'm still the same person I was before all of this happened, but as much as I try to deny it, I've lost something of myself. I'm not quite the shell of a person I was right after, though. No, Javier helped to ease that darkness. But I'm... emptier somehow. The thought brings me a melancholy I didn't know existed. Is it possible to miss yourself?

I stay in the hot shower until my skin is pink. I tie my damp hair back in a bun at the base of my neck and tug an oversized sweater over my jeans.

Javier waits for me in the hall. He takes my luggage- some personal items retrieved from my mother's house- and we walk in silence until we're outside. I expect him to say something, but he doesn't. The car ride to the airport is painfully silent. From the corner of my eye, I watch the way his forearm flexes as he steers the car. Without being overtly obvious, I take a deep breath in. His smoky, pine scent fills me and I savor it. I will miss his presence. The safeness I feel when I'm around him. Suddenly, I don't want to leave.

When we're at the gates, he finally speaks.

"Take care of your self for me, Isabel."

"I'll do my best."

I frown at the awkward tension between us. Despite our nearness, I feel too far away from him already.

"Call me if you need anything, okay?"

"I will."

"I mean it. I'm big deal here, I can book a flight at a moment's notice," he jokes.

"So I hear."

I smile for a moment up at him. The space between us grows colder as the intercom informs me it's time for me to go. I panic. I expected more time. Without thinking I close the distance and throw my arms around Javier. He's surprised at first, but quickly reciprocates. I bask in the feeling of his arms wrapped around me. He holds my head under his chin with one hand as I cling to him.

"Thank you, Javi." I whisper into his chest. Tears fall from my eyes as I look up at him. His mouth meets my cheek, just next to my mouth. I realize what I want then and act without thinking. I turn my head and lock my lips on his. As his mouth moves against mine for a brief moment, my heart breaks a little at how good it feels. He pulls back, his thumb wiping away the tears from my face. We speak without words. Somehow, I know he doesn't want me to leave either.

I summon strength from someplace within me and pull myself from him.

"Goodbye, Javier. I'll miss you," my honesty surprises me.

"Me, too."

He goes in for another quick embrace right before I finally leave.

"Be good," he says in that husky voice of his I already miss.

I don't look back as I board the plane, but I feel Javier watching me the whole way.

This is going to be a long flight.

[hardkinkbardkink]

anon asked: I am once again sending you a prompt, which I think is like my third one? Sorry for the spam I guess. Eskel is the love of my life soo... Eskel meeting Jaskier after The Mountain, and quickly falling in love with the charming bard. He knows Jaskier’s heart belongs to Geralt, but his body belongs to Eskel. They get to Kaer Morhen, and ofc Geralt is there. Eskel having to deal with that- but it all ends happily with a big polyamorous fuck pile. Jaskier definitely has enough love for both witchers.

listen. i. Adore eskel. i fucking LOVE that bitch, i love him greatly and i love him fiercely, he is the light of my life & my forever favourite witcher character and not even sweet darling joey batey as jaskier can change that like?? eskel is It for me. i was maybe seven when i played the first game because it is a National Classic and you were legally obliged by law to play it and wee bairn me looked at this four pixels of a man on my screen and thought fuck guess i gotta be gay?? the fucking. quest. where he gets his face ripped open. when i tell you i cried. and then he got even hotter?? impossible. i’ll never love a character like that again, it’s been too long to change x

my mild obsession aside, did you mean for this to be so angsty? because it is, it’s fucking Sad and has Feelings and also a soft threesome that feels firmly out of place on my noncon-bestiality-centric porn blog (so i posted in on ao3 too)

as always i look at canon and i pretend i do not see it lovelies x

send in more eskel prompts if you want him to get fucked in true hard kink fashion & also send in more eskel prompts in general i will never refuse

***

Eskel has no intention to stop in that tavern at all, until he hears the singing.

It’s nothing, he tells himself.

It’s nothing, and yet he pulls Scorpion to a reluctant halt, pays the stablehand a copper and no mind as he makes his way, ensorcelled, to hover near the entrance. He’d heard the one particular song in so many renditions his head spins with it. Most of them lousy, some of them bearable. This one—

Oh, but this one seems like it’d been torn from the bard’s very soul.

Eskel waits until the final, unusually heart-wrenching notes of Toss a coin bleed into a brief silence.

He doesn’t enjoy taverns much—the burning glances when he settles at a table, swords at his back and hood pulled low over his eyes. The quiet chorus of gasps when he slips the bastard cloak off and people get a good look at his monstrous, twisted face, averting their gaze quickly but drawn in by morbid curiosity again and again. Their reluctance to serve him, to approach him, to trust him with his own damn job.

Eskel’s had decades to get used to it.

Maybe next century.

He pulls the door open with an unsteady hand, eyes falling immediately to the bard, centre stage as he can manage in a wayward tavern not designed for such performances. He’s dressed finely, lavishly, with great care and taste and Eskel lets himself admire, just for a moment.

“Oh,” the bard breathes on a sharp inhale, and his dazzling blue eyes glitter with a sort of recognition that punches Eskel right in the gut with its intensity.

It’s entirely quiet for a few painful heartbeats.

“Oi!” a man hollers to his side, clearly too deep in his cups to try at decency. “Y'heard the bard, toss a fuckin’ coin to the witcher.”

They don’t, and Eskel would never ask that of them—but he’s served a decent pint on the house as soon as he sits down in a darkened corner, and his cheeks can’t exactly burn, but he feels like they would.

The bard gets through another song, a bawdy drinking tune. Eskel keeps his eyes on him the whole time, though he barely hears the words, mesmerised by the sway of the man’s hips and the honey-warm timbre of his voice.

A faint panic rises up in his throat when the bard thanks his audience for their attention, bowing in a manner entirely too exaggerated for this place and time—and makes his way with a strange mix of confidence and reluctance to sit across from Eskel.

“My apologies for presuming,” the bard begins, and Eskel watches with bated breath as his long, shapely fingers wrap around Eskel’s own mug. He takes a deep drink, eyelashes casting lovely shadows on his cheeks. “Eskel?”

He nearly chokes on his own tongue, but manages to nod curtly.

“It seems that Destiny’s playing tricks on me.” The bard’s lips twitch up in a sad smile. “I’m Jaskier. Pleased to make your acquaintance, after all these years.”

Jaskier. Jaskier. Of course it’s Geralt’s fucking bard, his—

“I must say, I harboured my hopes that you wouldn’t be quite as broody and silent as Geralt is.”

Eskel manages to shake himself out of it, though only barely.

“Sorry.” He clears his throat in an attempt to make his voice less gravely. Less threatening. “Sorry, fuck, just spent so many winters with Geralt talking my ear off about you, I’d half-expected the bastard to’ve made you up.”

He tries for light-heartedness. A flash of poorly-disguised pain passes through Jaskier’s face, and Eskel realises it was decidedly not the way to go.

“Ah, you won’t have to worry about that anymore, darling. Geralt and I are no longer companionable, in any way.”

Perhaps it’s the darling that does him in. Perhaps it’s the overwhelming desire to never see this brilliant man sad or hurt again. Perhaps it’s Eskel’s own harrowing loneliness.

It doesn’t matter much, because he downs the rest of his ale in three gulps, and then there are warm fingers around his wrist, pulling him away and up the stairs, pushing him into a room and onto a bed with a lapful of bard.

“Goddess,” Jaskier says quietly, almost privately, except that his lips hover temptingly close to Eskel’s. “You do look just like him, if it wasn’t for—”

“The disfigured maw?” Eskel adds helpfully, out of habit if nothing else.

Jaskier puts a gentle hand on his cheek—the scarred one, gods save his soul—and Eskel leans into the touch involuntarily, like a dog starved for affection.

“I was going to say the hair,” Jaskier finishes with a hint of kind amusement, and winks.

Eskel knows, with that first hungry kiss, that he’s absolutely and utterly gone for the bard.

“Beautiful, darling—gods, you’re stunning,” Jaskier whispers later, hands roaming Eskel’s broad chest, and fuck, he hadn’t been touched like this in months, so he hides against the smooth column of Jaskier’s throat—sucks a vivid bruise there like he has any fucking right—and desperately ignores the praise that isn’t meant for him.

He sucks Jaskier’s cock to make him shut up, and gets called lovely and breathtaking and darling angel for his efforts. He opens Jaskier up—mouth latched to the pale insides of his thighs, littering them with bruises—on four fingers and so much chamomile oil the smell makes him lightheaded, and Jaskier tells him he’s a treasure, fuck, so good to me. He gets pushed backwards onto the bed, his wrists guided above his head in a soft suggestion of restraint as Jaskier rides his cock with determined fervour, and he's divine, gorgeous, my sweet, darling witcher.

Jaskier arches beautifully when he comes, spills all over them both, his eyes heavy-lidded, still holding Eskel’s gaze, and Eskel knows he’s only looking for an echo of Geralt in his yellow irises—but he flips them over, takes his pleasure in Jaskier’s body, and he can live with being a second choice when he’s used to being no choice at all.

***

“I’ve been—fuck, awfully lonely on the road, gods, darling—”

Eskel’s quickly found out Jaskier is quite keen on being held, suspended in the air with only Eskel’s hands underneath his thighs and a cock driving into him with haste and despair.

Especially out in the open, on the side of a well-traversed road. Eskel licks absently at the raised imprint of his teeth above Jaskier’s collar and yearns to deepen it, have it stay there forever.

Jaskier pulls at his hair, panting harshly, brings their lips together in a searing kiss. He whines at the back of his throat and his sinful hole flutters around Eskel’s cock, milking him into completion faster than anyone ever could, whispering low into his ear, that’s it, that’s it, love, fill me up ‘til I can’t hold anymore, fuck, so good like nobody ever did.

And if they’re never quite alone in their passions, if Jaskier still searches his eyes for a ghost of someone else—Eskel can pretend he doesn’t see, because he’s the one who gets to fall asleep with the bard pressed up against him, soft and warm and kind.

***

Inkeepers take him in more willingly, when he’s got Jaskier at his side, flashing them a smile full of promise.

He doesn’t need for brothels, when he wakes up to Jaskier lapping at the head of his cock like it’s the sweetest treat. When Jaskier’s unable to keep his hands to himself. When he stays nice and loose and ready for Eskel to pound him into the ground at any moment.

“I’m not a young man anymore,” Jaskier always says after, struggling to catch his breath, even if he were the one palming Eskel’s cock through his breeches.

“You don’t look a day over seventy,” Eskel offers in return, and Jaskier slaps him upside the head in mock offense.

Eskel’s never been happier than he is with Jaskier trudging the Path with him.

Which is why the frost crunching under their boots fills him with a hollow aching. A single snowflake lands pointedly at the very tip of Jaskier’s reddened nose, and Eskel glares at the sky.

He lets Jaskier fuck him, then. They get a room for the night, light the hearth and feed the flames. Share a bottle of wine, of which Eskel takes the brunt. Stretch out leisurely on the furs, and Eskel’s insides tie in knots when he watches the silver hairs on Jaskier’s dark head glimmer in the firelight.

Jaskier takes his time, as Eskel thought he would. Lavishes him with kisses and praise and adoration and Eskel still doesn’t think it’s all his to have, but he melts under Jaskier’s touches anyway.

I love you, he aches to say, to scream at the top of his lungs when Jaskier pushes into him, jaw slack and eyes squeezed shut in rapture.

“Come away with me,” he begs instead, on the verge of release and at mercy of the insistent snap of Jaskier’s hips. “To Kaer Morhen.”

Jaskier shushes him with a kiss and a gentle hand in his hair.

“I don’t want to leave without you.”

Don’t leave me alone, I can’t bear it again.

He tips Jaskier’s chin up, the bard’s pretty eyes brimming with unshed tears as he nods—and this time, just for a second, Eskel doesn’t feel like a shoddy replacement.

***

They beat Lambert to the keep by three days.

Three days spent reacquainting with the concept of heat and the feeling in their fingers after weeks traversing increasingly higher snowcaps.

Three glorious, uninterrupted days of having Jaskier share his bed in the only place Eskel could ever call home.

When he gets there, Lambert asks when he’s going to get a turn on the bard, and if Eskel beats his insufferable arse in training a little harder than he normally would on the first day—well. It’s what brothers do.

He makes sure to keep the ever-present mark at Jaskier’s throat a vibrant purple when it fades into yellow, and Jaskier begs him for it as sweetly as he begs for his cock, just within Lambert’s earshot.

Geralt doesn’t show for a full fortnight, and then some. The snow piles higher with each day. They all collectively agree that their last wolf won’t show this year, like he did so many years before.

Perhaps it is because Eskel thanks his Lady Destiny too soon, that Geralt staggers into the hall in the midst of a snowstorm, his cloak frozen stiff, frost melting on his silver hair.

They fall into each other’s arms, because they always do; because they're brothers, because they’d been through hell together, because they love each other fiercely even if Eskel can’t think of a single person he’d rather avoid more than Geralt, right now. They stand there in the hall, the snow on Geralt’s collar a shock of cold against Eskel’s neck. And then Geralt stiffens, suddenly, rigid in Eskel’s embrace in a way that has nothing to do with the chill.

“You smell—” Geralt begins, seemingly perplexed, and inhales deeply at the juncture of Eskel’s shoulder.

They fall away from each other abruptly, Eskel’s chest tight with a muffled pull of dread.

“Let’s get you warmed up, yeah? I’ll get Lambert to see to your mare. He might not be too happy to see you, though. You lost him a bet.”

Geralt follows him, almost reluctantly, and Eskel wants just one more night before it all goes to shit. Just the one.

***

Jaskier is sleep-warm and perfect and doesn’t appreciate the chill of Eskel’s skin once he finally gets back into bed.

Eskel takes him too roughly for the time of night, bites at his freckled shoulders and sharp collarbones, has Jaskier trembling and begging for it twice before he lets the bard come.

He muffles his own release against Jaskier’s lips, all too aware of Geralt in a room not a hallway away.

***

The door creaks when it’s pushed open. Faintly, but enough to rouse Eskel awake. He tightens an arm reflexively around Jaskier’s sleeping form, and the bard nuzzles up against the side of his chest.

Yellow eyes stare at them intently, Geralt’s expression unreadable, though the nod he gives can mean only one thing.

Eskel is careful as he untangles their limbs, and his heart decidedly doesn’t pound quicker for a beat when Jaskier reaches out after him and mumbles a sleepy Eskel.

Their footsteps are nearly soundless on the stone floor. Geralt is equally quiet, rigid as a bowstring. They walk for a long time, until they come to a place Jaskier didn’t yet get a chance to explore. Neutral ground. As neutral as can be, with Eskel still drenched in Jaskier’s scent.

“I’m not sorry,” Eskel says finally, and Geralt flinches.

They don’t look at each other.

“Why,” Geralt forces out. Eskel can hear the bones in his jaw click. “Why bring him here.”

Wind howls outside the walls, the storm unrelenting.

I didn’t want to be alone, he almost says, but bites his tongue. Instead,

“You broke him, Geralt. You left and he—he used to call out for you at night, you know? He’d have nightmares and wake up shaking. And I couldn’t help.”

They rarely talk like this, heart to heart under the guise of night.

“Why?” Geralt asks, softer this time. Kinder.

It doesn’t feel right, but it’s what’s going to make things right.

“I’m just a substitute. A lousy one at that. He still—he wants you. Loves you.”

And it’s the truth, when he finally admits it out loud. Eskel is more at peace with that than he thought he would.

“Please don’t take it from me,” he whispers, overwhelmed in a way that he was assured the mutagens were supposed to eliminate. “It’s all I have.”

Geralt doesn’t respond, though he does place a hand on Eskel’s shoulder, in comfort or understanding, he couldn’t know.

***

Jaskier keeps his head high.

“Geralt,” the bard greets him, in a manner far too cold and collected.

He doesn’t flinch under Geralt’s gaze, doesn’t look away before Geralt, but when he does—Eskel catches his expression shatter, fall into a million pieces that he desperately wants to collect and put back together. They slip through his fingers.

At night, Jaskier jolts awake clawing at his own throat, crying that he can’t breathe, asking Geralt to help him, please help him. Eskel holds him until the tremors subside. Neither of them sleeps well.

All the good evaporates from Eskel’s life.

The silly marks of faux ownership fade from Jaskier’s skin, eventually, and Eskel’s heart aches.

He kisses Jaskier deeply, puts all his horrible feelings behind it, and then just holds the bard close. For the last time. Eskel knows he isn’t meant to cry—but the trials merely took away his ability to shed tears, not this overpowering fucking desire to do so.

“Eskel?” Jaskier says, gently, the question of what’s wrong implied.

Eskel shakes his head and holds Jaskier tighter.

***

“You. Apologise.”

Geralt seems startled by the development. As does Jaskier, to be fair, shifting nervously where he’s gripping Eskel’s arm.

“I don’t want his apology,” Jaskier says weakly. “We’ve had our words, and they were very—pointed. Very definite. Eskel—”

Jaskier looks to him with wide, terrified eyes.

And it wouldn’t be enough that he has to give up the one good thing in his life, would it? It wouldn’t be enough that every time they fucked Jaskier looked beyond him and for someone else. It wouldn’t be fucking enough that he was madly, unreasonably in love with a man whose affections laid firmly elsewhere.

No, it wouldn’t, because now he has to—

He takes a deep breath and listens to the staccato of Jaskier’s quickened heartbeat.

“I wouldn’t make you do this, except you do want his fucking apology, and Geralt wants to give it to you, because you love him and he loves you and I'm—” useless, disposable, unwanted, "I’m done. I’m done. Figure it out. Please.“

Jaskier’s hands fall away from around his arm, and Eskel takes off.

He doesn’t really have anywhere to go, when every place he’d grown to love in the keep knows Jaskier’s presence, wears his mark and his scent.

The corridors are still and silent. Grey and imposing. Cold is seeping through the thick stone—cold from this winter and the hundreds before it, and Eskel thinks the walls had never truly known warmth. It’s all terribly dull, Jaskier had said when they’d walked the halls that first time, hand in hand with not a worry between them.

He’d been stupid to grow so attached when Jaskier was never his to keep. He’d been stupid to bring him here and expect everything to stay the same in blissful ignorance. He’d been stupid, and he didn’t want to be lonely again, even for just a few months—and now he’s going to be lonely until some merciful beast cuts his suffering short like it was always meant to.

It is, perhaps, too early in the day to drink, but Lambert’s eyes light up when Eskel goes to him with the offer.

Later, out of habit, he almost stumbles into his room before his drunken brain screams at him to keep going. Eskel falls asleep in an abandoned bedroom that smells of dust and time instead of his bard.

***

"You didn’t come to bed.”

Eskel hears Jaskier approaching, of course he does—but he doesn’t turn to face him, eyes firmly fixed on the window, even if it is just snow there. He does feel quite dramatic, sat in a windowsill like a maiden awaiting her beloved to come and whisk her away. Eskel awaits only peace and for his heart to feel whole again.

“Smells like you,” he says, too honest.

Jaskier shuffles closer.

“I waited up for you.”

A hand falls gently to his shoulder, and Eskel shivers at the touch.

“Thought you’d be staying with Geralt. You—you can keep the room, if you want.” Eskel couldn’t ever be comfortable there, anyway, not after everything.

“Darling—”

The hand moves from his shoulder to his cheek, soft and tender and Eskel meets the incredible blue of Jaskier’s eyes easily.

“I never meant to make you feel unwanted,” Jaskier begins. Eskel wishes only to shrink under his gaze. “I want you so, so much.”

Jaskier settles next to him, their thighs pressed together, the black of his trousers startling against wine-red silk. Eskel feels fucking dumb.

“I know it wasn’t about me, I—you should go be with your wolf. I’ll be fine.”

The scars pull tightly when he smiles, aiming for reassuring; it comes out tired and helpless.

Jaskier leans in impossibly close, the ghost of his breath on Eskel’s lips.

“You’re my wolf, too.”

They kiss before he knows it—desperately, hungrily, until Eskel’s head spins and Jaskier’s hands tug at the collar of his shirt.

Eskel pulls away with a deep, burning hatred of himself.

“Just go, Jaskier.” When did his voice grow so cold? He never wants to speak to Jaskier like this, never, and yet— “I don’t need your pity.”

He expects Jaskier to do just that. Go, and avoid him for the rest of winter, and walk around with Geralt’s scent all over him and a mark to the side of his neck and—

“No. Nuh-uh. Not happening. Eskel, gods, I—I’m sorry, yeah? That you couldn’t trust my affection was all for you, and perhaps it wasn’t, not always—”

Fuck, but it does hurt to hear it, just a bit.

“—but then you had to go and be the most splendid creature under the sun and I, well.”

The gold of Jaskier’s rings glitters enticingly in the sparse sunlight when he reaches for Eskel’s hand.

“I do love Geralt, but Eskel, darling. I love you just as much.”

Eskel could fall to his knees if he were the praying sort.

Fuck, he might anyway.

Jaskier kisses him, and Eskel carries the bard all the way to bed to show his worship in a different way.

***

It’s easy to kiss Geralt.

It’s not the first time he’d kissed Geralt.

“Fuck, look at you,” Jaskier moans, somewhere to their side.

Geralt arches his neck beautifully when Eskel grabs a fistful of silver hair and tugs his head backwards.

It is, possibly, the first time he’d kissed Geralt without the hushed secrecy of darkness and a hard scrubbing to get the scent of release off each other.

Jaskier leans over his shoulder to capture Geralt’s lips for himself, chest pressed tightly to Eskel’s back.

He’d thought the jealousy would smother him, when Jaskier first brought it up. He’d thought he would choke on the image of Jaskier laid bare before anyone else. He’d thought—

But it’s Geralt, isn’t it? It’s Geralt, and they’d already shared so much with each other, their joys and their pain and their lives, and—

“Eskel,” Geralt breathes like he used to so many lifetimes ago, except he doesn’t bite his tongue, now, and Eskel leans in to bite instead at the soft skin below his jaw, to leave his mark there, twin to the one he’d left on Jaskier.

They fall softly to the mattress, him and Geralt, with Jaskier crawling over them swiftly, a sun-warm smile on his pretty face.

“Gods. Gods, you’re stunning.”

Eskel turns his head slowly, lazily, and finds Geralt’s eyes heavy and sparkling. Not just yellow, anymore, no longer the colour of a beast's—rather, the exact shade of sunlight caught in honey. Of morning dew on dandelions.

Fuck, he’d grown mellow.

Jaskier comes to straddle him, all pale skin and gorgeous hair and bruises from his hips to his throat. He settles heavily over Eskel’s cock, the bastard tease.

“Jaskier,” Eskel near-hisses, because suddenly the head of his cock dips inside Jaskier’s oil-slick hole. “Fuck, you—”

“Of course I got ready for my wolves, darling,” Jaskier breathes, and laughs, and seats himself completely in Eskel’s lap like it's nothing. “In fact, you might be partial to know—I had to employ the use of my other hand, to prepare for what I have planned.”

Eskel’s head spins, thick with the promise that he doesn’t dare dwell on. His eyes slip shut; Jaskier coaxes them open with nought but a soft word.

He can feel Geralt stir next to him, watching with a tight grip on himself as Jaskier moves easily, like he’d been made only for this, his one divine purpose.

“Geralt,” Eskel hears himself call out weakly. “Geralt, Geralt—”

Words seem only a silly hindrance, so he doesn’t bother, grabbing instead at the thick muscle of Geralt’s thighs, guiding him to sit astride Eskel’s chest, crush him with all that glorious weight—stuff his cock in Eskel’s greedy mouth, fuck.

Eskel thinks he might combust, go up in flames as he’s caught between the agonising pleasure of being buried to the hilt in Jaskier’s slack hole and the heavy satisfaction of having Geralt’s cock glide wetly on his tongue, further and further as Geralt stares at him, bewildered.

It’s a wonder he doesn’t come as soon as the length of it slides seamlessly down his throat, so deep he can feel it when he wraps a hand around his own neck. He squeezes, just to make sure Geralt feels it, too, and the rumble of a groan from above him makes Eskel thrust wildly into the clutch of Jaskier’s maddeningly hot body.

“O-oh, you were made for each other, weren’t you?” Jaskier’s hand is petting gentle circles up Eskel’s heaving stomach. “Fuck, darling, next time I’ll watch you bounce on Geralt’s cock till you sob with it.”

He reaches blindly to grab Jaskier’s hand, entwine their fingers together. With heavy-lidded eyes, he watches Geralt’s head get pulled back for a messy kiss. The bruise on the elegant column of his throat stands dark and proud and Eskel’s chest swells with it, even if it’ll fade in hours. He’ll just have to try very hard to keep it vivid.

Geralt rolls his hips, knees tightening around Eskel’s shoulders, ragged moans filling the air, mingling with the sinful noises dripping from Jaskier’s lips. Eskel’s vision spots, air suddenly hard to come by, and yet it doesn’t cause him distress; fuck, of all the ways to die, being smothered between Geralt’s thighs with Jaskier tight and lovely around his cock is Eskel’s preferred demise, if given a choice. His heartbeat quickens, though, and Geralt stops his delicious rutting, moves away with a tender look and a touch to his swollen lip. He leans down to steal another kiss, but Eskel’s too floaty, too hazy to do anything more than open his sloppy mouth–for Geralt, and then for Jaskier, when he collapses on Eskel’s chest.

“Desperation really is becoming on you, darling.”

Feeling Geralt’s tongue lapping at his cock when it’s still moving in and out of Jaskier—

Feeling a finger press in alongside him, joined quickly by another and another, until the fit is so tight it seems like he’s suffocating—

Feeling the torturously slow drag of Geralt’s cock against his, contained so closely in the heaven of Jaskier’s body—

“Fuck,” Eskel and Geralt groan in perfect harmony, Jaskier trembling wildly in their arms.

“Gods, gods, fuck, I love you, love you both so much—”

Eskel can’t speak, can’t move, can’t do anything but suck in desperate breaths and look as Jaskier’s face morphs from pain into rapture, his brow smoothing out, his bitten-red lips coming apart in a perfect o.

Geralt roars, withdraws his hips just a little, and it jostles Eskel’s very soul.

Fuck, he can't imagine what it’s like for Jaskier.

He wonders if—

“Move,” Jaskier says in a broken voice. “You can move, you can fuck me, a-ah.”

Eskel wishes he could Axii himself into not coming. He wishes—gods, but he can’t, he can’t, and when Geralt starts moving with purpose, Eskel feels the crackle of release at the base of his spine, coiling tighter and tighter until—

“Fuck, Eskel—” Geralt moans, and it’s torture, when Eskel can feel his cock throbbing against Geralt’s, and then he’s coming and coming and coming, a shockwave of sensation.

His ears feel like they’re stuffed with thick wool.

Jaskier kisses him, quick and filthy and needy.

“You’re perfect, perfect, my darling—” he says against Eskel’s lips.

Eskel whines at the back of his throat, his hands trembling where they grab Geralt’s hair and tug him to lean down.

The raw, painful pleasure of his oversensitive cock still trapped within the suffocating heat of Jaskier’s body threatens to undo him completely. He claws blindly at any skin he can reach, to ground himself, to settle against the unrelenting drag of Geralt against him. He can feel his seed dripping out of Jaskier and down his balls. It’s fucking filthy.

He kisses Jaskier and he kisses Geralt and his lips go numb before Jaskier finally tips into a shaking release that rips a hoarse scream from his throat.

The bed is barely big enough for two people, but they make it work. They’ll make it all work, somehow.

Before sleep takes him, Eskel hears Lambert yell, I’m moving the fuck out from down the hall.

[grlwtskulltattoo]

Fall For You - Chapter 3

Characters - Jax Teller x OFC (Katrina)

Summary - Katrina leaves an abuse relationship and heads home after finding out about her father’s passing. Old feelings come back to the surface for a person from her past. Story will follow the events of the show as much as possible. How might have Jax’s story changed with a different woman in his life...

Word Count - 3892

Warnings - NSFW, Hardcore Smut, Violence, Angst, Adult Language, Dark Themes, Fluff, Miscarriage, Pregnancy, Accident, Mentions of Physical and Emotional Abuse, Self-Harm.

Will add to the warnings as the story progresses. Warnings cover the whole series. Some parts will be more mild than others.

A/N - Feedback is welcomed and encouraged, and may help motivate me to continue. All mistakes are my own. If you would like to be tagged in future parts, please send me an ask to be added to the list. Sorry it took so long to update this story. Had a lot of changes going on in my personal life that I had to focus my energy on. This story is still on my mind, and I plan to continue working on it....just might take me a bit.

Katrina wakes up early. Not that she got much sleep, tossing and turning throughout most of the night. The dread of attending her father’s funeral and the get together with the club afterwards weighing heavily on her. She showers then dresses in her nicest pair of black jeans. She throws on a black tank top and covers it with a black button down shirt. Her black riding boots finishes the ensemble. Katrina doesn't own any dresses, not that she would wear one anyway. She combs out her dark hair, then tries to style it into a half ponytail, hoping that her work doesn't get ruined by her helmet when she leaves. She then applies her makeup, paying special attention to the bruise that is slowly starting to fade from around her eye.

Glancing at the clock on the nightstand in her room, Katrina hurries to finish getting ready. The service is only a couple hours from now, and she wanted to stop by the funeral home before going to the cemetery. She’s hoping to have a few moments alone with her father before his body is moved to the cemetery. There were no plans for a viewing do to the severity of the accident, just a graveside service. Katrina puts on her leather jacket and grabs her small backpack before heading out the door.

She makes a quick stop at the gas station before heading to the funeral home. She parks her bike, then she takes a deep breath before walking inside. It smells strongly of flowers, no doubt to mask the scent of death. There is an eerie silence to the place, that is a bit unsettling to her. She vaguely remembers being here when her mom passed, however she wasn't alone that time. After a few moments of standing in the lobby, a man finally approaches her. He’s dressed in a black suit and tie and is nicely groomed.

“Hi there. How may I assist you?” He asks in a calm, soothing voice.

“I’m Katrina Morgan. I came to see my father, Daniel.” Katrina tries to keep the hesitation out of her voice. It takes everything in her not to bolt for the door. Deep down she knows if she doesn't take this opportunity she may regret it.

“Ahh, yes. Of course. Let me show you to him.” The man replies as he motions for her to follow him. He leads her to a small room with a closed coffin. There are a couple rows of chairs in the room. “Take as much time as you need.” He says softly before leaving the room and partially closing the door.

Katrina stands in the middle of the room, fighting the urge to turn around and leave. She takes a deep breath then approaches the coffin. Before placing her backpack on one of the chairs, she pulls out the eagle feather she found in the toolbox. Katrina stands in front of the white coffin twirling the feather in her hand. Even though she doesn’t know much about her culture, since her father refused to talk about it, she can’t help but feel there is some kind of importance to the feather. She wants him to have it with him despite her feelings towards him. Katrina carefully opens the lid to the coffin, taken aback by the sight of her father’s lifeless body laying there. The injuries from the accident were evident on his face, but at least he had been cleaned up. His hair was long, and not in its usual ponytail. He was dressed in a nice button down shirt and from what she could tell, some dark colored jeans. She carefully lifted his right hand that was laying on his stomach and placed the feather underneath. She whispers goodbye to him before slowly closing the lid.

Katrina feels moisture gathering in her eyes as she sits in one of the chairs. There is that sense of relief that he’s gone, and he can no longer hurt her with his hands or his words. But there is also a sadness she feels, for what could have been. For the relationship they could have had, had he not turned to alcohol and drugs to console himself after her mom had passed. She remembers the evenings when he came home from work, how they would go out to the garage to tinker with the Challenger while mom prepared dinner. He taught her how to change the alternator and the water pump in the classic car. How to change a tire and do an an oil change. He was so excited to get the old car running again and possibly put it in some classic car shows. 

All of that changed after her mom was gone. As soon as he got home he would lay into her about how she was worthless. No better than a piece of garbage. How he couldn't wait until she was no longer his problem. Katrina lightly rubbed her thumb over a small row of scars near her wrist. Hidden by the skeleton torso tattoo that now covered them. The pain of her father’s words when she was younger, caused her to seek out some kind of relief. Unfortunately that relief came in the form of causing herself physical pain. She avoided home as much as possible when she was a teenager, hanging out with Jax and Opie as late as possible, then trying to sneak into the house without her father noticing. That usually wasn't a problem, since he was typically passed out on the couch. On the rare occasion that he wasn’t passed out, she tried her best to stay out of his way. She lost count on how many times he called her a slut or a whore, when she would come home late from hanging out with the guys. God forbid she got in between him and his access to liquor, or she didn't grab him another beer fast enough. She ended up having to wear long sleeve shirts and long pants year round, to hide the bruises that peppered her arms and legs from him kicking her or hitting her. It’s amazing how much a person can change when they loose something that means the world to them.

Katrina sat there in silence, her heart heavy with all the emotions running through it. She didn’t hear Jax enter the room, and was a little startled when he lightly placed his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, is everything ok,” He looked at her with concern in his eyes.

“Yeah, I just wanted to say my goodbyes before he was moved.” Katrina quickly brushes the tears from her face.

“Do you need more time?” Jax softly asks.

“No, I’m good.” Katrina is ready to get this over with. She’s shed enough tears.

“Ok. They’re going to get him in the hearse to take to the cemetery. Do you want to ride with mom over there?’ Jax asks.

“I can ride my bike. I’ll be fine.” Katrina doesn't like the idea of not having an escape, if she needs it.

“Are you sure? It’s no problem, Gemma would be happy to take you over. I can bring you back here to pick up your bike afterwards.” Jax still has that look of concern in his face.

Katrina knows she’s being stubborn, and she appreciates the offer, but she isn’t going to budge. “ No, really, I’m fine. I want to ride.”

Jax sighs in defeat. “Ok. Do you want to ride up front? Clay was going to lead the procession.”

“That’s fine, he can lead. I can ride behind the club.” She really didn’t want to be in the lead. She didn’t want to be the center of attention.

“Let’s get our bikes ready.” Jax leads Katrina out of the room. She follows him outside, breathing in the fresh air, the bright sun nearly blinding her.

Katrina puts a funeral sign on the front of her bike, like everyone else had. She then fires up her bike and gets in line behind the club. Jax and Clay, along with a couple of the guys from the club head back inside. A few moments later she sees them come out a side entrance carrying her father’s coffin to the hearse. A flag draped over the top. She almost forgot that he had served for a brief time in the army during the Vietnam War, before being injured in combat and shipped back home. Another one of those things he never talked about. After the coffin is placed inside of the hearse, the guys get on their bikes, and all that is heard is the rumble of Harleys. Clay motions everyone to move out, with him and Jax leading the line.

The ride to the cemetery was fairly short. Katrina parked her bike next to the others, then removed her helmet. She watched as the same group of guys that put the coffin in the hearse removed it, carrying it over to the burial spot. She took a deep breath then walked over to the group that was gathering. Gemma approaches her and then draws her into an embrace.

“I know it’s hard baby, but we’re all here for you.” Gemma reassures her.

Katrina slowly backs out of the hug, and wipes the moisture from her eyes. “Thank you, Gemma.”

Gemma leads her to a row of chairs near the coffin and motions Katrina to sit, taking the seat next to her. Jax and Clay take the seats next to Gemma, and everyone else gathers near. A preacher starts speaking once everything settles down. Katrina wasn’t entirely sure her father would have approved, given they never went to church or even practiced any sort of religion. She couldn’t help but wish she knew more about her father’s people and their customs. Even though her father left his family, she was sure some of their traditions and beliefs were engrained in him. Hopefully he’ll find peace on the other side.

After what felt like an eternity, listening to words she wasn’t sure even she believed, the preacher finishes his speech. A couple of men she didn’t recognize started folding up the flag that laid on the coffin. Once they finished, one of the men placed the flag on her lap. She thanks them, before rising from her chair, and approaching the coffin. She picks up a rose from a pile on a nearby table, and gently places it on top of the coffin.

Katrina turns around and faces the group of people watching her, wanting to say something. “I want to thank you all of coming. It means a lot to me, and I’m sure him as well. My father led a troubled life after my mom’s passing. I can only hope that he’s able to find some peace, and they are both together now.”

Katrina could feel moisture gathering in her eyes again at the thought of her mom. She starts walking towards her bike, ready to close this chapter in her life. Once she gets to her bike she sits on the seat and watches everyone else put a flower on her father’s coffin before heading to their bikes or cars. After Jax finishes talking to a couple of his friends he starts walking towards her.

“Hey, are you ok?” The concern is evident on Jax’s face.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s still weird to think that he’s gone.” Katrina tries to wipe the tears from her eyes.

“We’re all going to head over to mom’s. You’re still coming, right?” Jax asks.

Katrina really doesn’t want to. She’d rather go home and bury herself in some blankets, and maybe a bottle of Jack. But she also doesn't want to upset Gemma. It wouldn't be a good idea to get on her bad side, especially after all she did to help plan her father’s funeral. “Yes, of course. It’ll be nice to see everyone again.”

Jax gives her a reassuring pat on her arm, then heads to his bike. Katrina places the flag that she was holding in her small backpack. She then cinches on her helmet before starting her bike. She waits until some of the other guests leave before taking off herself. The ride to Gemma and Clay’s house brought back memories of times she went over there to hang out with Jax. Instead of being on the back of Jax’s bike, she was on her own. 

When Katrina pulls up to the driveway of the house, there is already quite a few bikes parked. She parks her bike and then takes off her helmet. Hanging the helmet from her handlebars, she sits there for a moment. Contemplating whether she should go inside and hang out with everyone or tell Gemma she’s not feeling well so she can go home. Just as she dismounts from her bike, Jax pulls his bike next hers. She waits for him to get off his bike before she starts walking to the front door.

“Mom will be happy that you’re here….it’s been a long time.” Jax reassures her.

Katrina gives Jax a small smile to reassure him that she’s glad to be there, even though she’s really not. It takes everything in her to not turn around and go back to her bike. She tries to remind herself that it will be nice to see everyone.

As soon as they enter the house, it seems everyone rushes to her to offer condolences about her loss.

“Hey doll, sorry about your dad.” Tig gives her a hug and quick peck on the cheek, before standing back for the others to follow suit.

“Lass, if you need help with anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” Chibs gives her an embrace as well.

“Thank you guys.” Katrina responds sincerely.

Bobby approaches her next. “Been a long time kid. The shop’s not going to be the same without your dad there running things.”

Katrina nods to Bobby in agreement, even though she was never around her dad when he worked at the shop. She tried to stay out of his way to avoid his wrath.

Off to the side Katrina spots Opie, standing with a woman, that looks vaguely familiar, and two kids. She didn’t realize how much she missed him until she felt the happiness in her heart at the site of him. Like Jax, Opie has changed since the last time she’s seen him. He was always a little bigger than Jax, but now he was like a bear. Quite a bit taller, and a little more broad in the chest. His hair is a little longer and he sports a full beard now. Katrina walks towards him, and Opie smiles at her when she gets close. Before she realizes it, he has her in a big bear hug, practically lifting her from the floor.

“Damn, I’ve missed you.” Opie whispers in her ear, as he squeezes her tight.

“I’ve missed you, too.” Katrina replies, savoring the feeling of her best friend hugging her.

Opie finally releases his hold on her, and takes a small step back. “I want to introduce you to my wife and kids.” Opie gestures to the woman. “This is my wife, Donna. You might remember her from school. And these are my kids Ellie and Kenny.” Opie gestures to the kids standing in front of their mother.

“It’s nice to meet you. Your dad and I were best friends when we were kids.” Katrina smiles at the kids and then Donna. “Thank you for coming to the funeral, it means a lot.” She glances at Opie, and he gives her a reassuring nod.

Everyone starts gathering in the dining room and taking seats at the long table. The food is already laid out. Katrina spots Gemma and Clay sitting at the head of the table. She approaches them while the everyone else is dishing up their food. “Clay. Gemma. I just want to thank you for everything you did for my father. The funeral was perfect.”

Clay stands up from his seat and draws Katrina into an embrace “Hey kid, no problem. You and Daniel are family, and we take care of family.” Clay smiles at Katrina while Gemma nods in agreement. “It’s good that you’re here.”

“Thanks. It’s good to be here.” Katrina smiles in return.

Katrina finds a seat towards the end of the long dining room table, between Chibs and a prospect she’s not familiar with. Jax is sitting across from his mom near the head of the table, far from her. She wasn’t very hungry so she doesn’t put very much food on her plate, even though it all looks good. Everyone is talking. She could hear bits and pieces of various conversations going on around her, most of which consist of stories about her father.

Everyone that spoke about her dad, referred to him as Chief. She almost forgot about that nickname. If she remembers correctly, it was Clay that started calling him that due to his Native American heritage. If it would have been anyone else, they probably would have ended up with a black eye. The nickname stuck and soon everyone around the shop and club started calling him that.

“Remember that tom cat that used to hang around the shop?” Bobby asks the group, which results in nods and smiles from most of the guys. “I remember this old lady came in driving a grandma car. An old Buick I think. She said the car was acting funny and making a weird sounds. Chief popped the hood and found a tom cat stuck in the engine bay. A tuff of fur missing from its tail and a skinned up ear. Chief pried it out of the engine and offered it to the old lady. She said it wasn’t her cat and she didn’t want it. So Chief let it loose out back of the shop and it ran off. Next thing you know, the cat was hanging around the shop. Chief was constantly yelling at it to piss off, but the cat still hung around. Then one day I saw Chief sitting out behind the shop eating his lunch, and giving pieces to the cat. Couldn’t help but get a chuckle out of it. At least one good thing was, we never had a mouse problem.” Bobby chuckles after telling his story.

Hearing that story brings up feelings of resentment and hurt in Katrina. The fact that her dad would show more caring towards an animal than his own daughter crushes her. Katrina can feel a knot starting in her throat and tears gathering in her eyes. She feels like she can’t breathe.

Katrina pushes out her chair away from the table “Excuse me, I need to get some air.” She says before rushing out the front door to the porch.

As soon as she is outside, she breathes in deep gulps of air trying to calm the emotions raging through her. She wants to smash her fist through a wall, instead she slams it against one of the wood beams holding up the awning of the porch. The momentary flash of pain in her hand distracts her from the pain she feels in her heart. She flexes her fingers and shakes her hand, before reaching into her pocket to grab her pack of cigarettes. She hasn’t smoked in a long time, but she knew its calming effects would help her manage this stressful time. She pulls a cigarette from the pack, puts it to her lips and lights it using the lighter she bought at the gas station when she got the pack. She inhales the smoke deeply then slowly releases it from her lungs. The racing of her heart gradually slows as the nicotine works its magic. She takes another drag off the cigarette, focusing on the gathering ash at the tip of it before she flicks it off. Katrina sits down on the steps of the front porch. She closes her eyes and focuses on the sounds around her. Birds chirping, bees buzzing, the rustle of the breeze through the trees. She is so focused on everything else around her that it takes her a moment to realize that she’s not alone. She opens her eyes and looks up to see Jax standing beside her.

“Are you doing ok?” Jax asks, the concern evident in his voice.

“Sorry, it was hard hearing the stories about my father, I needed to get some fresh air. It’s still hard to believe he’s gone.” Katrina responds, thinking that at least it wasn’t a complete lie. She then takes another drag off her cigarette.

Jax lights a smoke of his own then joins her on the step. “We’re here for you Kat. Anything you need, just ask. I remember when I lost my father. It was rough for awhile.”

Katrina remembers Jax’s father, John. He was a good man, who loved his family. Jax was devastated when he passed away. She remembers being there for Jax while he grieved the loss. Helping him through the anger and tears. She knows that’s what Jax is trying to do for her now, but she doesn’t need it. Or want it. She worries that it’ll bring them closer together, and she just wants a clean break from everything in Charming.

Katrina takes one final drag from her cigarette before snuffing it out on the cement. She stands up, trying to convince herself to go back inside, but she’s tired. She really doesn’t want to listen to anymore stories about how great her dad was to everyone else in his life. “Hey, I think I’m just going to head home now. I’m not feeling well.”

Jax rises from the step he was sitting on. “Are you sure?”

Katrina can hear the disappointment in his voice. “Yeah. I didn’t sleep well last night, and all of this is a bit overwhelming.” She can feel how emotionally and physically draining this day has been. She wants to process this in her own way, without everyone watching her. “Please tell Gemma thanks for everything, and I’m sorry for leaving so quickly. The food was delicious, and it was great seeing everyone again.”

Jax nods his understanding, even though he wants to beg her to stay. He takes her in his embrace. “I’m here for you.” He says softly in her ear.

Katrina gives him a light squeeze, before breaking the hug. “Thank you Jax. I appreciate it.” She says while looking into his eyes. She gives him a light kiss on the cheek, before walking down the path to where the bikes are parked. She gets on her bike, places her backpack over her shoulders and puts on her helmet. She backs out of the driveway then takes off towards home, thankful she can finally breathe.

Jax heads back inside to the dinner. Gemma give him a confused look, after seeing that Katrina isn’t with him. Jax just shrugs his shoulders, and Gemma nods her understanding. Jax takes his seat and finishes his meal, while listening to everyone else talk. He can’t get Katrina off his mind, it takes everything in him not to take off after her. However, he understands the need to process grief in your own way. 

Prologue  Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Tagging: @momc95  @jerseynurse82

[hardkinkbadkink]

I am once again sending you a prompt, which I think is like my third one? Sorry for the spam I guess. Eskel is the love of my life soo... Eskel meeting Jaskier after The Mountain, and quickly falling in love with the charming bard. He knows Jaskier’s heart belongs to Geralt, but his body belongs to Eskel. They get to Kaer Morhen, and ofc Geralt is there. Eskel having to deal with that- but it all ends happily with a big polyamorous fuck pile. Jaskier definitely has enough love for both witchers.

listen. i. Adore eskel. i fucking LOVE that bitch, i love him greatly and i love him fiercely, he is the light of my life & my forever favourite witcher character and not even sweet darling joey batey as jaskier can change that like?? eskel is It for me. i was maybe seven when i played the first game because it is a National Classic and you were legally obliged by law to play it and wee bairn me looked at this four pixels of a man on my screen and thought fuck guess i gotta be gay?? the fucking. quest. where he gets his face ripped open. when i tell you i cried. and then he got even hotter?? impossible. i'll never love a character like that again, it's been too long to change x

my mild obsession aside, did you mean for this to be so angsty? because it is, it's fucking Sad and has Feelings and also a soft threesome that feels firmly out of place on my noncon-bestiality-centric porn blog (so i posted in on ao3 too)

as always i look at canon and i pretend i do not see it lovelies x

send in more eskel prompts if you want him to get fucked in true hard kink fashion & also send in more eskel prompts in general i will never refuse

***

Eskel has no intention to stop in that tavern at all, until he hears the singing.

It's nothing, he tells himself.

It's nothing, and yet he pulls Scorpion to a reluctant halt, pays the stablehand a copper and no mind as he makes his way, ensorcelled, to hover near the entrance. He'd heard the one particular song in so many renditions his head spins with it. Most of them lousy, some of them bearable. This one—

Oh, but this one seems like it'd been torn from the bard's very soul.

Eskel waits until the final, unusually heart-wrenching notes of Toss a coin bleed into a brief silence.

He doesn't enjoy taverns much—the burning glances when he settles at a table, swords at his back and hood pulled low over his eyes. The quiet chorus of gasps when he slips the bastard cloak off and people get a good look at his monstrous, twisted face, averting their gaze quickly but drawn in by morbid curiosity again and again. Their reluctance to serve him, to approach him, to trust him with his own damn job.

Eskel's had decades to get used to it.

Maybe next century.

He pulls the door open with an unsteady hand, eyes falling immediately to the bard, centre stage as he can manage in a wayward tavern not designed for such performances. He's dressed finely, lavishly, with great care and taste and Eskel lets himself admire, just for a moment.

"Oh," the bard breathes on a sharp inhale, and his dazzling blue eyes glitter with a sort of recognition that punches Eskel right in the gut with its intensity.

It's entirely quiet for a few painful heartbeats.

"Oi!" a man hollers to his side, clearly too deep in his cups to try at decency. "Y'heard the bard, toss a fuckin' coin to the witcher."

They don't, and Eskel would never ask that of them—but he's served a decent pint on the house as soon as he sits down in a darkened corner, and his cheeks can't exactly burn, but he feels like they would.

The bard gets through another song, a bawdy drinking tune. Eskel keeps his eyes on him the whole time, though he barely hears the words, mesmerised by the sway of the man's hips and the honey-warm timbre of his voice.

A faint panic rises up in his throat when the bard thanks his audience for their attention, bowing in a manner entirely too exaggerated for this place and time—and makes his way with a strange mix of confidence and reluctance to sit across from Eskel.

"My apologies for presuming," the bard begins, and Eskel watches with bated breath as his long, shapely fingers wrap around Eskel's own mug. He takes a deep drink, eyelashes casting lovely shadows on his cheeks. "Eskel?"

He nearly chokes on his own tongue, but manages to nod curtly.

"It seems that Destiny's playing tricks on me." The bard's lips twitch up in a sad smile. "I'm Jaskier. Pleased to make your acquaintance, after all these years."

Jaskier. Jaskier. Of course it's Geralt's fucking bard, his—

"I must say, I harboured my hopes that you wouldn't be quite as broody and silent as Geralt is."

Eskel manages to shake himself out of it, though only barely.

"Sorry." He clears his throat in an attempt to make his voice less gravely. Less threatening. "Sorry, fuck, just spent so many winters with Geralt talking my ear off about you, I'd half-expected the bastard to've made you up."

He tries for light-heartedness. A flash of poorly-disguised pain passes through Jaskier's face, and Eskel realises it was decidedly not the way to go.

"Ah, you won't have to worry about that anymore, darling. Geralt and I are no longer companionable, in any way."

Perhaps it's the darling that does him in. Perhaps it's the overwhelming desire to never see this brilliant man sad or hurt again. Perhaps it's Eskel's own harrowing loneliness.

It doesn't matter much, because he downs the rest of his ale in three gulps, and then there are warm fingers around his wrist, pulling him away and up the stairs, pushing him into a room and onto a bed with a lapful of bard.

"Goddess," Jaskier says quietly, almost privately, except that his lips hover temptingly close to Eskel's. "You do look just like him, if it wasn't for—"

"The disfigured maw?" Eskel adds helpfully, out of habit if nothing else.

Jaskier puts a gentle hand on his cheek—the scarred one, gods save his soul—and Eskel leans into the touch involuntarily, like a dog starved for affection.

"I was going to say the hair," Jaskier finishes with a hint of kind amusement, and winks.

Eskel knows, with that first hungry kiss, that he's absolutely and utterly gone for the bard.

"Beautiful, darling—gods, you're stunning," Jaskier whispers later, hands roaming Eskel's broad chest, and fuck, he hadn't been touched like this in months, so he hides against the smooth column of Jaskier's throat—sucks a vivid bruise there like he has any fucking right—and desperately ignores the praise that isn't meant for him.

He sucks Jaskier's cock to make him shut up, and gets called lovely and breathtaking and darling angel for his efforts. He opens Jaskier up—mouth latched to the pale insides of his thighs, littering them with bruises—on four fingers and so much chamomile oil the smell makes him lightheaded, and Jaskier tells him he's a treasure, fuck, so good to me. He gets pushed backwards onto the bed, his wrists guided above his head in a soft suggestion of restraint as Jaskier rides his cock with determined fervour, and he's divine, gorgeous, my sweet, darling witcher.

Jaskier arches beautifully when he comes, spills all over them both, his eyes heavy-lidded, still holding Eskel's gaze, and Eskel knows he's only looking for an echo of Geralt in his yellow irises—but he flips them over, takes his pleasure in Jaskier's body, and he can live with being a second choice when he's used to being no choice at all.

***

"I've been—fuck, awfully lonely on the road, gods, darling—"

Eskel's quickly found out Jaskier is quite keen on being held, suspended in the air with only Eskel's hands underneath his thighs and a cock driving into him with haste and despair.

Especially out in the open, on the side of a well-traversed road. Eskel licks absently at the raised imprint of his teeth above Jaskier's collar and yearns to deepen it, have it stay there forever.

Jaskier pulls at his hair, panting harshly, brings their lips together in a searing kiss. He whines at the back of his throat and his sinful hole flutters around Eskel's cock, milking him into completion faster than anyone ever could, whispering low into his ear, that's it, that's it, love, fill me up 'til I can't hold anymore, fuck, so good like nobody ever did.

And if they're never quite alone in their passions, if Jaskier still searches his eyes for a ghost of someone else—Eskel can pretend he doesn't see, because he's the one who gets to fall asleep with the bard pressed up against him, soft and warm and kind.

***

Inkeepers take him in more willingly, when he's got Jaskier at his side, flashing them a smile full of promise.

He doesn't need for brothels, when he wakes up to Jaskier lapping at the head of his cock like it's the sweetest treat. When Jaskier's unable to keep his hands to himself. When he stays nice and loose and ready for Eskel to pound him into the ground at any moment.

"I'm not a young man anymore," Jaskier always says after, struggling to catch his breath, even if he were the one palming Eskel's cock through his breeches.

"You don't look a day over seventy," Eskel offers in return, and Jaskier slaps him upside the head in mock offense.

Eskel's never been happier than he is with Jaskier trudging the Path with him.

Which is why the frost crunching under their boots fills him with a hollow aching. A single snowflake lands pointedly at the very tip of Jaskier's reddened nose, and Eskel glares at the sky.

He lets Jaskier fuck him, then. They get a room for the night, light the hearth and feed the flames. Share a bottle of wine, of which Eskel takes the brunt. Stretch out leisurely on the furs, and Eskel's insides tie in knots when he watches the silver hairs on Jaskier's dark head glimmer in the firelight.

Jaskier takes his time, as Eskel thought he would. Lavishes him with kisses and praise and adoration and Eskel still doesn't think it's all his to have, but he melts under Jaskier's touches anyway.

I love you, he aches to say, to scream at the top of his lungs when Jaskier pushes into him, jaw slack and eyes squeezed shut in rapture.

"Come away with me," he begs instead, on the verge of release and at mercy of the insistent snap of Jaskier's hips. "To Kaer Morhen."

Jaskier shushes him with a kiss and a gentle hand in his hair.

"I don't want to leave without you."

Don't leave me alone, I can't bear it again.

He tips Jaskier's chin up, the bard's pretty eyes brimming with unshed tears as he nods—and this time, just for a second, Eskel doesn't feel like a shoddy replacement.

***

They beat Lambert to the keep by three days.

Three days spent reacquainting with the concept of heat and the feeling in their fingers after weeks traversing increasingly higher snowcaps.

Three glorious, uninterrupted days of having Jaskier share his bed in the only place Eskel could ever call home.

When he gets there, Lambert asks when he's going to get a turn on the bard, and if Eskel beats his insufferable arse in training a little harder than he normally would on the first day—well. It's what brothers do.

He makes sure to keep the ever-present mark at Jaskier's throat a vibrant purple when it fades into yellow, and Jaskier begs him for it as sweetly as he begs for his cock, just within Lambert's earshot.

Geralt doesn't show for a full fortnight, and then some. The snow piles higher with each day. They all collectively agree that their last wolf won't show this year, like he did so many years before.

Perhaps it is because Eskel thanks his Lady Destiny too soon, that Geralt staggers into the hall in the midst of a snowstorm, his cloak frozen stiff, frost melting on his silver hair.

They fall into each other's arms, because they always do; because they're brothers, because they'd been through hell together, because they love each other fiercely even if Eskel can't think of a single person he'd rather avoid more than Geralt, right now. They stand there in the hall, the snow on Geralt's collar a shock of cold against Eskel's neck. And then Geralt stiffens, suddenly, rigid in Eskel's embrace in a way that has nothing to do with the chill.

"You smell—" Geralt begins, seemingly perplexed, and inhales deeply at the juncture of Eskel's shoulder.

They fall away from each other abruptly, Eskel's chest tight with a muffled pull of dread.

"Let's get you warmed up, yeah? I'll get Lambert to see to your mare. He might not be too happy to see you, though. You lost him a bet."

Geralt follows him, almost reluctantly, and Eskel wants just one more night before it all goes to shit. Just the one.

***

Jaskier is sleep-warm and perfect and doesn't appreciate the chill of Eskel's skin once he finally gets back into bed.

Eskel takes him too roughly for the time of night, bites at his freckled shoulders and sharp collarbones, has Jaskier trembling and begging for it twice before he lets the bard come.

He muffles his own release against Jaskier's lips, all too aware of Geralt in a room not a hallway away.

***

The door creaks when it's pushed open. Faintly, but enough to rouse Eskel awake. He tightens an arm reflexively around Jaskier's sleeping form, and the bard nuzzles up against the side of his chest.

Yellow eyes stare at them intently, Geralt's expression unreadable, though the nod he gives can mean only one thing.

Eskel is careful as he untangles their limbs, and his heart decidedly doesn't pound quicker for a beat when Jaskier reaches out after him and mumbles a sleepy Eskel.

Their footsteps are nearly soundless on the stone floor. Geralt is equally quiet, rigid as a bowstring. They walk for a long time, until they come to a place Jaskier didn't yet get a chance to explore. Neutral ground. As neutral as can be, with Eskel still drenched in Jaskier's scent.

"I'm not sorry," Eskel says finally, and Geralt flinches.

They don't look at each other.

"Why," Geralt forces out. Eskel can hear the bones in his jaw click. "Why bring him here."

Wind howls outside the walls, the storm unrelenting.

I didn't want to be alone, he almost says, but bites his tongue. Instead,

"You broke him, Geralt. You left and he—he used to call out for you at night, you know? He'd have nightmares and wake up shaking. And I couldn't help."

They rarely talk like this, heart to heart under the guise of night.

"Why?" Geralt asks, softer this time. Kinder.

It doesn't feel right, but it's what's going to make things right.

"I'm just a substitute. A lousy one at that. He still—he wants you. Loves you."

And it's the truth, when he finally admits it out loud. Eskel is more at peace with that than he thought he would.

"Please don't take it from me," he whispers, overwhelmed in a way that he was assured the mutagens were supposed to eliminate. "It's all I have."

Geralt doesn't respond, though he does place a hand on Eskel's shoulder, in comfort or understanding, he couldn't know.

***

Jaskier keeps his head high.

"Geralt," the bard greets him, in a manner far too cold and collected.

He doesn't flinch under Geralt's gaze, doesn't look away before Geralt, but when he does—Eskel catches his expression shatter, fall into a million pieces that he desperately wants to collect and put back together. They slip through his fingers.

At night, Jaskier jolts awake clawing at his own throat, crying that he can't breathe, asking Geralt to help him, please help him. Eskel holds him until the tremors subside. Neither of them sleeps well.

All the good evaporates from Eskel's life.

The silly marks of faux ownership fade from Jaskier's skin, eventually, and Eskel's heart aches.

He kisses Jaskier deeply, puts all his horrible feelings behind it, and then just holds the bard close. For the last time. Eskel knows he isn't meant to cry—but the trials merely took away his ability to shed tears, not this overpowering fucking desire to do so.

"Eskel?" Jaskier says, gently, the question of what's wrong implied.

Eskel shakes his head and holds Jaskier tighter.

***

"You. Apologise."

Geralt seems startled by the development. As does Jaskier, to be fair, shifting nervously where he's gripping Eskel's arm.

"I don't want his apology," Jaskier says weakly. "We've had our words, and they were very—pointed. Very definite. Eskel—"

Jaskier looks to him with wide, terrified eyes.

And it wouldn't be enough that he has to give up the one good thing in his life, would it? It wouldn't be enough that every time they fucked Jaskier looked beyond him and for someone else. It wouldn't be fucking enough that he was madly, unreasonably in love with a man whose affections laid firmly elsewhere.

No, it wouldn't, because now he has to—

He takes a deep breath and listens to the staccato of Jaskier's quickened heartbeat.

"I wouldn't make you do this, except you do want his fucking apology, and Geralt wants to give it to you, because you love him and he loves you and I'm—" useless, disposable, unwanted, "I'm done. I'm done. Figure it out. Please."

Jaskier's hands fall away from around his arm, and Eskel takes off.

He doesn't really have anywhere to go, when every place he'd grown to love in the keep knows Jaskier's presence, wears his mark and his scent.

The corridors are still and silent. Grey and imposing. Cold is seeping through the thick stone—cold from this winter and the hundreds before it, and Eskel thinks the walls had never truly known warmth. It's all terribly dull, Jaskier had said when they'd walked the halls that first time, hand in hand with not a worry between them.

He'd been stupid to grow so attached when Jaskier was never his to keep. He'd been stupid to bring him here and expect everything to stay the same in blissful ignorance. He'd been stupid, and he didn't want to be lonely again, even for just a few months—and now he's going to be lonely until some merciful beast cuts his suffering short like it was always meant to.

It is, perhaps, too early in the day to drink, but Lambert's eyes light up when Eskel goes to him with the offer.

Later, out of habit, he almost stumbles into his room before his drunken brain screams at him to keep going. Eskel falls asleep in an abandoned bedroom that smells of dust and time instead of his bard.

***

"You didn't come to bed."

Eskel hears Jaskier approaching, of course he does—but he doesn't turn to face him, eyes firmly fixed on the window, even if it is just snow there. He does feel quite dramatic, sat in a windowsill like a maiden awaiting her beloved to come and whisk her away. Eskel awaits only peace and for his heart to feel whole again.

"Smells like you," he says, too honest.

Jaskier shuffles closer.

"I waited up for you."

A hand falls gently to his shoulder, and Eskel shivers at the touch.

"Thought you'd be staying with Geralt. You—you can keep the room, if you want." Eskel couldn't ever be comfortable there, anyway, not after everything.

"Darling—"

The hand moves from his shoulder to his cheek, soft and tender and Eskel meets the incredible blue of Jaskier's eyes easily.

"I never meant to make you feel unwanted," Jaskier begins. Eskel wishes only to shrink under his gaze. "I want you so, so much."

Jaskier settles next to him, their thighs pressed together, the black of his trousers startling against wine-red silk. Eskel feels fucking dumb.

"I know it wasn't about me, I—you should go be with your wolf. I'll be fine."

The scars pull tightly when he smiles, aiming for reassuring; it comes out tired and helpless.

Jaskier leans in impossibly close, the ghost of his breath on Eskel's lips.

"You're my wolf, too."

They kiss before he knows it—desperately, hungrily, until Eskel's head spins and Jaskier's hands tug at the collar of his shirt.

Eskel pulls away with a deep, burning hatred of himself.

"Just go, Jaskier." When did his voice grow so cold? He never wants to speak to Jaskier like this, never, and yet— "I don't need your pity."

He expects Jaskier to do just that. Go, and avoid him for the rest of winter, and walk around with Geralt's scent all over him and a mark to the side of his neck and—

"No. Nuh-uh. Not happening. Eskel, gods, I—I'm sorry, yeah? That you couldn't trust my affection was all for you, and perhaps it wasn't, not always—"

Fuck, but it does hurt to hear it, just a bit.

"—but then you had to go and be the most splendid creature under the sun and I, well."

The gold of Jaskier's rings glitters enticingly in the sparse sunlight when he reaches for Eskel's hand.

"I do love Geralt, but Eskel, darling. I love you just as much."

Eskel could fall to his knees if he were the praying sort.

Fuck, he might anyway.

Jaskier kisses him, and Eskel carries the bard all the way to bed to show his worship in a different way.

***

It's easy to kiss Geralt.

It's not the first time he'd kissed Geralt.

"Fuck, look at you," Jaskier moans, somewhere to their side.

Geralt arches his neck beautifully when Eskel grabs a fistful of silver hair and tugs his head backwards.

It is, possibly, the first time he'd kissed Geralt without the hushed secrecy of darkness and a hard scrubbing to get the scent of release off each other.

Jaskier leans over his shoulder to capture Geralt's lips for himself, chest pressed tightly to Eskel's back.

He'd thought the jealousy would smother him, when Jaskier first brought it up. He'd thought he would choke on the image of Jaskier laid bare before anyone else. He'd thought—

But it's Geralt, isn't it? It's Geralt, and they'd already shared so much with each other, their joys and their pain and their lives, and—

"Eskel," Geralt breathes like he used to so many lifetimes ago, except he doesn't bite his tongue, now, and Eskel leans in to bite instead at the soft skin below his jaw, to leave his mark there, twin to the one he'd left on Jaskier.

They fall softly to the mattress, him and Geralt, with Jaskier crawling over them swiftly, a sun-warm smile on his pretty face.

"Gods. Gods, you're stunning."

Eskel turns his head slowly, lazily, and finds Geralt's eyes heavy and sparkling. Not just yellow, anymore, no longer the colour of a beast's—rather, the exact shade of sunlight caught in honey. Of morning dew on dandelions.

Fuck, he'd grown mellow.

Jaskier comes to straddle him, all pale skin and gorgeous hair and bruises from his hips to his throat. He settles heavily over Eskel's cock, the bastard tease.

"Jaskier," Eskel near-hisses, because suddenly the head of his cock dips inside Jaskier's oil-slick hole. "Fuck, you—"

"Of course I got ready for my wolves, darling," Jaskier breathes, and laughs, and seats himself completely in Eskel's lap like it's nothing. "In fact, you might be partial to know—I had to employ the use of my other hand, to prepare for what I have planned."

Eskel's head spins, thick with the promise that he doesn't dare dwell on. His eyes slip shut; Jaskier coaxes them open with nought but a soft word.

He can feel Geralt stir next to him, watching with a tight grip on himself as Jaskier moves easily, like he'd been made only for this, his one divine purpose.

"Geralt," Eskel hears himself call out weakly. "Geralt, Geralt—"

Words seem only a silly hindrance, so he doesn't bother, grabbing instead at the thick muscle of Geralt's thighs, guiding him to sit astride Eskel's chest, crush him with all that glorious weight—stuff his cock in Eskel's greedy mouth, fuck.

Eskel thinks he might combust, go up in flames as he's caught between the agonising pleasure of being buried to the hilt in Jaskier's slack hole and the heavy satisfaction of having Geralt's cock glide wetly on his tongue, further and further as Geralt stares at him, bewildered.

It's a wonder he doesn't come as soon as the length of it slides seamlessly down his throat, so deep he can feel it when he wraps a hand around his own neck. He squeezes, just to make sure Geralt feels it, too, and the rumble of a groan from above him makes Eskel thrust wildly into the clutch of Jaskier's maddeningly hot body.

"O-oh, you were made for each other, weren't you?" Jaskier's hand is petting gentle circles up Eskel's heaving stomach. "Fuck, darling, next time I'll watch you bounce on Geralt's cock till you sob with it."

He reaches blindly to grab Jaskier's hand, entwine their fingers together. With heavy-lidded eyes, he watches Geralt's head get pulled back for a messy kiss. The bruise on the elegant column of his throat stands dark and proud and Eskel's chest swells with it, even if it'll fade in hours. He'll just have to try very hard to keep it vivid.

Geralt rolls his hips, knees tightening around Eskel's shoulders, ragged moans filling the air, mingling with the sinful noises dripping from Jaskier's lips. Eskel's vision spots, air suddenly hard to come by, and yet it doesn't cause him distress; fuck, of all the ways to die, being smothered between Geralt's thighs with Jaskier tight and lovely around his cock is Eskel's preferred demise, if given a choice. His heartbeat quickens, though, and Geralt stops his delicious rutting, moves away with a tender look and a touch to his swollen lip. He leans down to steal another kiss, but Eskel's too floaty, too hazy to do anything more than open his sloppy mouth--for Geralt, and then for Jaskier, when he collapses on Eskel's chest.

"Desperation really is becoming on you, darling."

Feeling Geralt's tongue lapping at his cock when it's still moving in and out of Jaskier—

Feeling a finger press in alongside him, joined quickly by another and another, until the fit is so tight it seems like he's suffocating—

Feeling the torturously slow drag of Geralt's cock against his, contained so closely in the heaven of Jaskier's body—

"Fuck," Eskel and Geralt groan in perfect harmony, Jaskier trembling wildly in their arms.

"Gods, gods, fuck, I love you, love you both so much—"

Eskel can't speak, can't move, can't do anything but suck in desperate breaths and look as Jaskier's face morphs from pain into rapture, his brow smoothing out, his bitten-red lips coming apart in a perfect o.

Geralt roars, withdraws his hips just a little, and it jostles Eskel's very soul.

Fuck, he can't imagine what it's like for Jaskier.

He wonders if—

"Move," Jaskier says in a broken voice. "You can move, you can fuck me, a-ah."

Eskel wishes he could Axii himself into not coming. He wishes—gods, but he can't, he can't, and when Geralt starts moving with purpose, Eskel feels the crackle of release at the base of his spine, coiling tighter and tighter until—

"Fuck, Eskel—" Geralt moans, and it's torture, when Eskel can feel his cock throbbing against Geralt's, and then he's coming and coming and coming, a shockwave of sensation.

His ears feel like they're stuffed with thick wool.

Jaskier kisses him, quick and filthy and needy.

"You're perfect, perfect, my darling—" he says against Eskel's lips.

Eskel whines at the back of his throat, his hands trembling where they grab Geralt's hair and tug him to lean down.

The raw, painful pleasure of his oversensitive cock still trapped within the suffocating heat of Jaskier's body threatens to undo him completely. He claws blindly at any skin he can reach, to ground himself, to settle against the unrelenting drag of Geralt against him. He can feel his seed dripping out of Jaskier and down his balls. It's fucking filthy.

He kisses Jaskier and he kisses Geralt and his lips go numb before Jaskier finally tips into a shaking release that rips a hoarse scream from his throat.

The bed is barely big enough for two people, but they make it work. They'll make it all work, somehow.

Before sleep takes him, Eskel hears Lambert yell, I'm moving the fuck out from down the hall.

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Guilty As Charged

One Shot for @thatfanficstuff​ ‘s Band New U challenge.

My Prompt was “Lawyer AU”

Pairing- Bucky Barnes X (sort of…) Reader Insert. This is my first Reader Insert so hopefully it works out as well as my OFC seems to have done.

Warnings- Bad language words. **my knowledge on US law is limited so humour me**

“We find the defendant not guilty”

You let out a sigh and rub at your temple. Looking over at your colleague, Sam, you shake your head in utter disbelief.

“Y/N this wasn’t your fault…” he begins in a low voice but you simply sigh again and shrug.

“I was sure they’d see through his lies” you glance over to your right where the defence team, headed up by James Buchanan Barnes of Barnes & Rogers Law are shaking hands. Barnes’ face is arranged in the usual smug look that you want to slap right off it. His partner, Steve glances over at you and gives you a genuine, sympathetic smile. He is always the most courteous out of the two.

“He fucking did it Y/N” Sam’s voice is almost a growl “I know he did.”

“Well in the eyes of the law he didn’t…” you state, standing up “Come on, let’s get out of here before he starts…”

You hastily shuffle your papers back into their respective files and pack your briefcase up. Picking up your jacket, you shrug it on, smooth down your pencil skirt and make to leave the courtroom before Barnes can pipe up with his usual smart ass quips. But you’re not quite fast enough. “Commiserations Miss Y/LN, can’t win ‘em all…” the familiar Brooklyn drawl hits your ears “mind you, winning some would be a start.” “Buck…” Steve sighs “c'mon pal…”

You grit your teeth. You know you shouldn’t rise to it, but you just can’t help it. The man is an utter jack ass. Spinning to face him you shoot him your best contemptuous glare, the one you always reserve for those people you really cannot stand, and look at him like he is something you’ve just trodden in.

“You know Barnes, there is such a thing as being gracious in victory as well as defeat…” “Defeat” he asked, looking at Steve with a puzzled expression on his face “no, not sure what that is…” “Eat shit” you mumble before turning to Sam who is stood behind you, watching the exchange. You nod to him and the two of you continue up the aisle towards the exit. The victim’s family are congregated outside and all at once the start barraging you with questions.

“How did that happen?”

“What do they mean the confession was under duress…?”

“You said it was a cert he would go down…”

“What about a private prosecution…”

You sigh and turn to look at them, you’re exhausted. “I’m sorry… ” you shake your head “that new evidence that his attorney submitted… it was just threw too much of a doubt into the juries mind…” you hold your hand up to gently silence them “if you’re serious about a private prosecution then I can meet you next week to discuss…” You and Sam head back to your office, dump the files and then decide there’s only one thing for it. Alcohol and lots of it. 

“Hey Y/N, hey Sam.” Clint, the bar tender greets you “I hear it wasn’t a great day in court for you…” You look up and he is pointing to the TV behind the bar. It’s on a news channel showing a report from outside the court earlier that afternoon which isn’t surprising. The case had thrown up huge public interest ever since the body of the teenage girl has been found in the alleyway in Queens. The defendant confessed but new evidence had been submitted that afternoon featuring a recording that the defence had gotten their hands on as proof the confession was taken under duress. Being totally honest, you have to admit that it didn’t sound great, the officer did seem to be leaning heavily on the defendant but the other evidence was, no, IS overwhelming. But all it needed was that little shred of doubt and the jury couldn’t convict. And now thanks to Barnes and Rogers, specifically Barnes, in your mind a dangerous killer is walking free. As you stare at the screen you see Barnes with the defendant, all smiles and Steve at his side. Barnes greets the press with a raised hand. “Clint turn it over man…” Sam almost pleads and Clint shouts you both a sympathetic look before he points the remote at the TV and flicks it over to a mundane afternoon game show. You order 2 beers, and then settle at the bar on one of the tall chairs, crossing your bare, heeled legs as you and Sam begin to dissect the case. You can’t help it, you always do this, analyse where you went wrong or right. The pair of you get that enthralled in your discussions, that before you know it’s an hour later and you’re 4 beers deep… and Sam is getting a phone call from his wife, Natasha. “I gotta go boss…” he says apologetically “it’s the kids dance recital at 7 and if I miss this one Nat’s gonna hang me out to dry!.” You wave his explanation off “It’s fine, go Sam. Oh, and take the morning tomorrow…that case has had us working all hours and I don’t intend on being there till lunch… Clint, gimme a bourbon please?” “Don’t let Barnes get to you” Sam says “you know what he is like” “Smug, arrogant and annoyingly self-righteous.” You nod “got it.” Sam smiles and drops a kiss to your cheek. “See you later” Clint slides the glass of bourbon over to you and you smile before pulling out your phone to check a few emails, social media… you’re just reading through an article you found on Twitter about a Billionaire who owns a Technology company in Malibu who has designed some kind of metal suit that allows him to fly (because that’s gonna end well) when a familiar voice breaks your concentration. “Can I buy you a drink?” You roll your eyes and look up at Bucky Barnes as he leans effortlessly on the bar, still in his suit, although he has dispensed of his tie and opened his top button. This is another thing you hate about him. He is utterly gorgeous. Like GQ cover gorgeous, especially in his sharp suits and silk ties…and he fucking knows it too. “Depends.” You say, throwing back the remainder of your bourbon “Does it come with a side helping of irritating smugness?” He chuckles “I’m off duty Doll so no.”

Doll.

“In that case I’ll have another Monkey Shoulder.” You say, picking the good stuff instead of the house brand, and you slide your empty glass back to Clint. “Take it you’re not driving home?” Barnes asks, eyes running over your bare legs. “Well if I do I’m sure you can get me off any charges…” you reply sharply, shooting him a look that makes it clear you caught him eyeing you up. And it isn’t the first time either. That’s another reason you clash so much in the courtroom. Sexual tension. Fucking jerk. He barks a laugh “You’re really not happy with me are you?” “Not particularly.” You say, thanking Clint as he slides the glass to you, with a small wink. It’s a double you notice. That should set Barnes back a bit. The man in question takes his beer and after a pull he looks directly at you. “Come work for me.” He says and you groan, not this again. “I’m a district attorney ” you roll your eyes. “Not a defence attorney. I told you that last time you asked. And the time before…and the time before that…” “I’m nothing if not persistent.” He winks, turning in his stool so he is facing you. “Besides, I can teach you the ways of the dark side…” “You’d love that wouldn’t you?” You snort. “Oh Sweetheart you have no idea.” He leans forward slightly, his elbow on the bar and this time he is blatantly staring at the flash of skin that shows above the buttons on your blouse. “My face is up here, ass hole.” With a smirk he raises his steel grey eyes and they lock onto you. Despite yourself you feel your breath hitch slightly. Dammed him and his sex appeal. “Where you always this insufferable?” You eventually tear your gaze away and pick up your drink, glancing up at the TV as an excuse not to look at him. “Ah come on Y/N, don’t be like that…” he says, reaching out to squeeze the hand that is resting on the back of the tall chair you’re sat in. “We could make a great team…” You raise an eyebrow and look at him. “Professionally” he adds, his eyes not leaving yours as he takes another large drink of his beer, as you pull your hand away from under his. “I’d kill you within 5 minutes of us being in the same office…” you glare at him as you take another sip from your drink. He chuckles and eyes you again “to be fair I’m not sure Stevie would be able to function with a beautiful dame such as yourself in close proximity…he still clusters around any woman that isn’t his Peggy” “That’s because Steve is a happily married man.” You look at him. “So am I.” He shoots back. Ah yes, Mrs Barnes… “Your wife deserves a medal. She must have the patience of a fucking saint to put up with you.” You say into your glass. “I have other hidden qualities which mean she’s prepared to overlook my slightly less favourable personality traits…” he quips and you look back to see that lopsided grin on his face that flips your stomach. Behave Y/N. “They must be very hidden.” You muse, and he lets out a bark of a laugh. “You’re killing me Doll…” “Good.” You drain your glass. The liquid burns your throat and you can feel the effects of the alcohol from the last few hours as your brain starts to hum. You look at Barnes who is watching you, his eyes are shining with all the cheekiness and suggestiveness of a teenage boy and you know you need to leave before you do something stupid- like snogging his dumb, handsome face off in the middle of the bar. “I think it’s time I got going.” You say simply, standing up. Barnes nods, draining his bottle “Yeah I should be going too. Wife to see to, you know how it is…” You stand and he does the same, and you realise he is holding up your jacket, ready for you to slide your arms into. Narrowing your eyes slightly at his sudden chivalry, with a small smile you turn and shrug it on. His hands drop to your shoulders and he spins you round gently and smiles with those perfect teeth and it lights up his beautiful face, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “Lead the way Mrs Barnes…” he says, dropping a soft kiss to your lips. “You know it’s a good job I love you” you smile, sliding your arms up round his neck. “Although right now I’m struggling to remember why I do.“  “Well, when we get home I’ll just have to show you some of those hidden qualities to jog your memory…” You bite your lip slightly at the dark flash of desire that flits across his eyes and you lean up to brush your lips across his stubbled jawline. “Unanimous verdict…” your voice drops slightly as you pull back and he smirks again “Guilty as charged” You bid Clint good bye, link your hand into your husbands and he walks you outside into the brisk wind and his arm pulls you close, his lips press a soft kiss to your temple. Yeah, James Buchanan Barnes Defence Attorney might be smug, arrogant and annoyingly self-righteous in the courtroom, but outside it he’s simply your Bucky.

Tags

@thatfanficstuff​

@djeniiscorner​

@the-omni-princess​

@jtargaryen18 @navispalace @chuuulip

[ao3porcelainstorm]

poison ivy & stinging nettles 24

On Ao3

Pairing: Sherlock/OFC

Rated: M

Warnings: eventual violence, torture, swears, adult themes (no explicit smut)

Chapter 23 - Chapter 25

Chapter 24- Wildflower

~~~

pick me a wildflower in the morning and i'll hold it with me always where I'm going and when i feel sorrow or death is in my view i'll wear my wildflower perfume

-Wildflower Perfume (The Dead Tongues)

~~~

“Which English chemist and physicist is credited with the discovery of hydrogen?” Amelia challenged on the walk to the museum.

“Easy, Henry Cavendish,” Sherlock answered. “Which artist is credited with starting the impressionist movement?”

“Is that a joke? Claude Monet,” Amelia shot back. “What’s the rarest naturally occurring element in Earth's crust?”

“Astatine,” he furrowed his brow. “What Greek hero was the Statue of David originally one tended to be?”

“Hercules,” she smirked. “What year was Prozac authorized by the FDA for market distribution?”

“I’ll give you a month and year- December of 1987. Though the Belgians approved it a year prior.”

“Could you two cut it out? You both have very big brains, congratulations,” John cut in. “We’re here.”

“How many years ago was this museum established?” Amelia whispered, pointing to the British Museum” entrance sign.

“267,” Sherlock smirked. “Who was credited with its early founding and contributions?”

“Sir Hans Sloane,” she replied. “What was the name of the 17th Century mansion that originally housed the collection?”

“Montagu House, and will you two quit it?” John nodded up toward the museum director and a pair of administrators who were approaching the trio.

“Good morning,” he greeted, shaking everyone’s hands but Sherlock’s, who kept his arms crossed in front of him. “I do hope you have good news.”

“I’ve determined who stole the painting,” Sherlock stated.

“And pray tell, where is it?”

Sherlock eyed the female administrator next to the director.

“Why don’t you tell us, Mrs. Harvey?” he asked and the woman immediately flushed.

Stammering through a lie, she realized the jig was up and sprinted for the exit.

Fortunately, two guards stopped her before she could get very far.

“The police retrieved the painting in her flat this morning,” Sherlock explained curtly, following the director through the main atrium of the building. “I deduced it was her after she mentioned having to pawn a necklace the last time I was here.”

“It was an easy way to make a quick buck with a not so famous painting,” John agreed.

“She was the only one who had access to it, along with two other interns who weren’t scheduled to be here the night it went missing,” Sherlock continued.

“Ironically, they attended an art show at a gallery I knew the owner of,” Amelia added. “He was more than willing to let us confirm their alibis with the security footage.”

“She would have gotten away with it had she not left behind a scuff mark from her broken high heel,” Sherlock noted. “The measurements matched a woman of her height and weight precisely.”

“Incredible,” the director clapped his hands together. “I knew I made the right call in contacting you.”

He thanked the group again, inviting them to luncheon once the painting was returned to the museum, which John and Amelia both accepted enthusiastically.

“Why do I have to go?” Sherlock whined on the way home.

“Because you look good in a suit,” Amelia grinned.

“Because you saved the picture and deserve a little credit,” John added with an eye roll at Amelia’s comment. “Besides, a newspaper story will add a little more validity to the blog, which will bring in more clients.”

“I agree, I do look very nice in a well-cut suit,” Sherlock mused. “I’ll go. Briefly.”

Amelia smirked at John when he realized how easily she’d convinced Sherlock.

“Can you convince him to get rid of the kidneys in the freezer?” he asked quietly.

“I heard that,” Sherlock responded without a look back.

“They are really gross Sherlock,” Amelia cringed. “They’re long past necrotic. There can’t be anything worthwhile left.”

“I didn’t realize the two of you had such pressing business in the freezer,” he scoffed. “I’ll dispose of them tonight.”

“And not in the garbage disposal,” Amelia warned. “Last time you stunk up the apartment for a month because we couldn’t get the liver fully washed out. Walk it out to a bin or give them back to Molly.”

“You’re too high maintenance.”

“And you have gross hobbies, but healthy relationships are about sacrifice,” she threw a bright smile back at him.

“Amazing,” John awed under his breath. Amelia Brenner was a Sherlock-whisperer.

The pair bickered a little about the best way to get rid of human remains, with John citing various medical codes that Sherlock constantly ignored.

“What happens if someone reports a poorly disposed femur to the Yard?” John challenged when they walked through the front door. “There’s a dignity to these things.”

“I try not to empathize with remains,” Sherlock stated.

“That’s a little sad,” came Amelia’s response. “They were people, at one point.”

“And now they’re dead.”

“But they had loved ones,” she continued, smile faltering. “People who probably mourned their passing.”

“These were unclaimed corpses, no one bothered to come to find them,” Sherlock countered, pulling off his jacket and scarf.

“That’s even sadder,” Amelia’s expression fell some more. “What if they couldn’t claim them because they couldn’t afford a funeral? Or someone’s son was missing because of drug addiction or something and they didn’t even know he was dead- but his body was too mangled to be identified and now the family will never have closure?”

The men both stopped and looked at her, standing in the doorway, close to tears.

Turning to Sherlock, John pointed toward her and frowned.

“And that’s why the kidneys do not go down the garbage disposal, have a little respect, won’t you?”

~~~

The luncheon was enjoyable, even with Sherlock’s general attitude about the whole thing.

“Diamond cufflinks,” he commented when the director handed him a small package. “Mine are held with buttons…”

“He means 'thank you',” John cut in, glaring at Sherlock when he took the package.

Amelia was busy chatting with some of the museum docents, asking about some of the artifacts the massive museum held. She clapped enthusiastically, balancing a champagne flute between her fingers when Sherlock and John posed with the painting.

“How come we haven’t started a scrapbook?” Amelia teased once the boys were free from their press obligations. “I’m betting that was a great picture.”

“The blog is a scrapbook,” John noted and Amelia nodded.

“You’re right,” she hummed, sipping her drink. “We should upload newspaper clippings. The validity of the blog and such…”

“You’re unemployed, sounds like a fun project for you,” John laughed, clapping a hand on her shoulder.

“Collecting newspaper clippings of my, er,” she paused, looking to Sherlock listening to one of the donors gush about his success. “Sherlock.”

“Boyfriend?” John tried, plucking a champagne glass off a passing waiter’s tray.

“Is he?” she asked with a cringe. “Doesn’t act like any I’ve had before.”

“Haven’t you two talked about it?” he asked.

“Not explicitly,” she mumbled, holding the glass up and finishing the rest of her drink in a swallow. “Is that an explicit conversation we should have?”

“Are you exclusive?” he rephrased.

“That…” she frowned, her brows knitting together. “I’m assuming? We both end up in a bed together at the end of the day.”

“You should probably clarify that,” John hummed, grabbing another glass of champagne for his friend. She took it gratefully, downing it in a single sip.

“It sounds so dumb when you say it out loud though,” she grumbled, bringing a hand to her cheek and making a mocking face. “Oh, Sherlock will you be my boyfriend?”

“I thought I was the one who was supposed to ask,” Sherlock commented over her shoulder.

“Why do you always do that?” Amelia set her glass aside, turning to adjust the collar on his shirt. He tried to push her hands away, but after a glare, he let her continue fussing with the unwieldy clothing.

“He’s very sneaky, Mia,” John tipped his glass in her direction.

“It is my job to be discreet,” Sherlock countered, watching Amelia’s expression until she seemed satisfied with the fold in the shirt.

“So, what do you think?” she asked.

“I think I should have worn a tie,” he touched the collar.

“I agree, but I wasn’t talking about that,” she snorted. “Are we… going steady?”

“Going… steady…?” he asked, biting back a laugh, sharing an amused smirk with John. “I didn’t realize you wanted me to ask you to the big homecoming dance.”

“Fine, if we were dating, we’re now broken up,” Amelia smacked his chest, causing him and John to erupt into a fit of giggles.

Giggles.

The two grown-ass men were snickering like a couple of children at an art exhibition for a stolen painting they found.

“Amelia,” Sherlock caught her by the arm, pulling together the most sincere expression she’d seen on the detective. “Will you… go steady with me…?”

His voice broke at the end, another round of chuckles overcoming the pair.

“Nope, you two are being mean at my cultural inconsistencies and I no longer wish to be your friend, goodbye forever,” she turned on her heel and started for the exit.

“Oh thank god,” John muttered, following hurriedly after her. “Throw a bigger scene and get us out of here.”

“Something like this?” she grabbed a random drink off a nearby table and threw it at his chest. A hand over her head, she spun around and moved swiftly to the door. “Goodbye John Watson, you’ve broken my heart for the very last time.”

“I think I’m in love,” Sherlock stared after her, absently handing his friend a fabric napkin.

“She ruined my favorite shirt!” John sputtered, dabbing at the cloth.

“-Still caused a pretty good scene,” Sherlock gestured to the perplexed looks from partygoers around them. “Time to follow through, old chum.”

~~~

“I promise, I’ll get it cleaned,” Amelia repeated for the hundredth time once they’d returned to Baker Street.

“You have absolutely no impulse control,” John grumbled, though he had long forgiven the auburn-haired florist.

“It’s a personal flaw I’ve been trying to work on,” she countered through a sigh.

“You should start with trying not to challenge people to shoot you,” Sherlock mused from the top of the stairs. “Someone is actually going to shoot you one day.”

“Or me,” John muttered, distinctly recalling the exact scene the day her uncle shot him.

“That was not my fault,” she pointed toward him. “You jumped in the way. I was fully prepared to take that bullet.”

“It was aimed at your head, you idiot,” John sighed.

“It’s not my fault neither of you has sufficiently taught me the appropriate life skills required to be your friend,” she reasoned. “You’re a soldier, and you’re… you. I’m just a nerd who is really into plants. What can I do? Throw flower petals at the bad guys?”

“You did throw a potted peony at your uncle,” John reminded her. “That did knock him out.”

“Thanks, John,” she huffed.

Sherlock listened to the conversation, dropping into his chair and considering Amelia’s words, fingers steepled in front of him.

She wasn’t wrong. Compared to him or John, she was a positive pushover. If she got into a fight, she might have an upper and because of her height, but against a skilled fighter? She stood no chance.

Not to mention her tendency to throw insults and punches first, and ask questions later, she was bound to end up in some dire situation without him or John to help her.

And after Sherlock was gone-

“-I’ve shot a gun once,” Amelia was bickering with John.

“How is that possible? You’re American,” he gaped back at her.

“We don’t fire our 44’s at breakfast time,” she blinked back at him. “Did you think we all are given an assigned firearm at birth?”

“We’re going to teach you how to fight,” Sherlock stated, cutting into the conversation. “Properly.”

“But what other excuses will I have to bring you with me to the toilet?” she asked sarcastically.

“If you two shagged, that’d be a good excuse,” John murmured, earning a punch in the arm from his female friend. He scowled at her, holding his arm. “You didn’t even do that right. Don’t tuck the thumb, you’ll break it.”

“You’re too preoccupied with our sex life,” she snapped back.

“You two need to get it out of your system,” he said, pointing between Amelia and Sherlock. “It’s messing with the energy of the flat.”

“You’re a butt,” Amelia grumbled, going in for another (proper) punch and being blocked by the now smug doctor. “You can’t do that. I’m learning.”

“Ha, ha,” John rolled his eyes, pointing to the nearby bookshelves and television. “Not near anything of value, you aren’t.”

“We should go to the recreation center,” Sherlock voiced. “Amelia, change into something more practical.”

“The one you stole a pass to?” John asked when Amelia looked down at her dress sadly.

“I barely got to wear it for an hour,” she mumbled, retreating to her room when Sherlock just stared in response. “You’re impossible. Saturdays are for rest.”

“You started it,” John smirked after her. “Do you need my help?”

“I think I’m going to need as much help as possible,” Sherlock replied after the pair heard Amelia stumble down the final steps to the basement and call up that she was fine.

~~~

tomorrow'll be leaving before nightfall my captain has now heard sirens call and as the ships sail the ocean so blue ill bathe in wildflower perfume still picks two wild flowers every morning and waits in wake of love still returning and calls for post-run every afternoon to send me wildflower perfume

Chapter 25

[hcngsang]

   hello   beautiful   people,   it’s   me,   kiki,   coming   to   you   with   an   unfinished   character   and   messy   intro   !   i’m   twenty   one   yrs   old   uhhh   i’m   from   the   gmt   timezone   and   currently   dying   bc   of   school   ! anyways   this   is   jaesun,   a   human   who   despises   androids   or   well   at   least   the   android   who   basically   stole   his   life   kind   of   jlksdfjlskdj   !   he’s   annoying   ,   doesn’t   rlly   care   much   about   the   feelings   of   others   and   wishes   he   was   born   in   the   90s   or   something   like   that....  

 omg   also   i’ve   never   played   the   game   before   and   i   checked   some   wikias   n   vid   of   it   and   it   looked   so   cool   that   i   went   to   a   game   store   and   saw   it   was   like   20   euros   !!   but   i   couldnt   buy   it   yet   and   when   i   looked   on   the   site   just   now   it   was   back   to   65   euros   ...............   im   so   stupid   :c   but   okay   carrying   on   JFDSLKJFD   underneath   is   some   more   info   about   him   so   please   take   a   lookie   and   give   a   heart   pls   if   u   wanna   plot   !!

tw: uhhh none that are very heavy, there’s a mentioned death but nothing too graphic

CHOI   JAESUN.       don’t   sit   on   my   dick   if   you’re   afraid   of   heights   !        

000.   QUICK   STATS.

NAME:   choi   jaesun

AGE:   twenty   three

DATE OF BIRTH:   11   march   2026

GENDER:   male

NATIONALITY:   japanese... right fdjskl? 

OCCUPATION:   currently   unemployed

001.    BACKSTORY.

he’s   one   half   of   a   pair   or   well,   he   was   one   half   of   a   pair.   jaesun   lost   his   twin   sister   to   a   sudden   heart   attack,   something   that   to   this   day   still   doesn’t   make   sense   to   him   because   she   was   so   healthy   and   everything   good   but   it   only   shows   that   death   doesn’t   discriminate.   it   wasn’t   until   two   years   after   her   death   that   his   mom   bought   someone   new   into   their   house,   an   android   to   be   exact   one   that   looked   eerily   similar   to   his   dead   twin.

jaesun   had   always   been   fascinated   by   androids   and   how   they   worked   so   he   was   very   excited   to   witness   with   his   two   eyes   what   this   android   could   do.   he   wasn’t   bothered   by   the   appearance   in   the   slightest,   if   anything,   it   somehow   calmed   him.   because   it   looked   almost   identical   to   his   sister   jisun.   her   death   certainly   affected   him   a   lot,   because   she   was   not   only   his   sister   but   also   his   best   friend.   

at   first   jaesun   loved   to   have   the   android   around,   someone   who   was   willing   to   do   chores   around   the   house   and   who   would   cook   but   when   he   noticed   his   mother   paying   more   and   more   attention   to   the   android   than   him   he   started   to   despise   the   android.  

now,   he   was   never   the   favorite   child   that   much   he   knew   when   jisun   was   still   alive.   but   there   was   something   hurtful   about   his   mother   favoring   a   fucking   android   more   than   her   only   child.

so   not   only   he   felt   like   he   was   less   than   the   android,   he   and   his   mom   started   to   fight   more   with   his   mom   blaming   his   lazy   ass   for   not   doing   shit   in   the   house   before   and   after   jisun’s   death   and   with   jaesun   blaming   her   for   always   comparing   him   to   his   sister   and   taking   better   care   of   the   android   more   than   her   own   son.

002.    PRESENT.

WELL   he   moved   out   of  the   house   and   it   was   very   dramatic   and   he   got   into   a   huge   fight   right,   said   “   i   don’t   ever   wanna   see   ur   face   ever   again   !   ”   but   probably   saw   his   mom   a   week   later   when   he   entered   the   apartment   building.........   since   they   uhhh   all   live   in   the   same   building   i   guess

anyway   yeah   the   experience   really   gave   him   a   bad   outlook   on   androids,   especially   when   he   was   also   laid   off   of   work   soon   after   bc   they   were   gonna   hire   androids   instead   bc   the   wages   were   a   lot   cheaper   ...   uhhhh   okay

so   now   he’s   just   breezing   through   life   with   no   real   purpose   and   spends   most   of   his   time   in   rapture

003.    PERSONALITY.

basically,   he   thinks   he’s   better   than   everyone   else   and   isn’t   afraid   to   show  it   ?   i   wouldn’t   say   he’s   mean   mean   but   he’s   not   kind   either   ??   for   the   most   part   he   just   doesn’t   know   why   you,   a   zero,   is   talking   to   him,   a   10.   lmao   !   he’s   pretty   indifferent   if   he   hurts   people   bc   he   cares   about   him   and   him   only   !   basically,   he’s   like   ...   confident   to   the   point   where   he’s   conceited,   bc   he   knows   he’s   hot   shit   jsdflkdfj  

oh   yeah,   so,   negative   traits:   conceited,   candid positive   traits:    audacious,   independent

basically,   my   whole   damn   inspo   was   singularity   and   watching   20   fancams   of   singularity

004.   EXTRAS.

jesus   i   spent   way   too   much   time   thinking   about   how   he   looks   like...   ugh..   why   does   tae   have   so   many   gr8   looks....   okay..   well   hair   ?   black   ?   i   think   during   fake   love   era   ???   omg   im   going   through   it..   uhhh   what   do   i   add   more,   oh   yeah   !   buys   expensive   black   /   white   basic   shirts   because   he   can   n   he   likes   the   way   he   looks   like   a   normal   non-rich   person   when   he   wears   an   overpriced   270k   yen (   ??   is   there   a   diff   currency   )   black   shirt   lol   but   also   wears   dress   shirts   and   trousers   and   nice   shoes   n   a   tie   just   because   he   wants   everyone   to   now   that   he   is   a  god   amongst   all   of   these   humans   n   androids  

can’t   really....   keep   relationships   and   is   more   into   casual   hookups   /   fwbs   etc   so   he   usually   yeets   the   fuck   out   when   someone   catches   feelings   for   him   (   or   if   he   caught   feelings   for   someone   else   omg   rip..   )

Choi   Jaesun   is   Bad   at   Feelings

005.    WANTED PLOTS.

all   of   these   are   open   for   further   plotting   of   course   !!

a   best   friend   who   put   up   with   his   shit    &   feed   his   ego  !!   has   to   be...   human...   

childhood   friends   someone   who   prolly   still   has   embarrassing   pics   of   him

someone   he   dislikes   /   can’t   stand   

unlikely   friend   /   polar   opposites

an   android   that   he   could   consider   a   friend   maybe   ?

fwbs   /   casual   hook   ups

someone   who   he   leads   on   owo

bad   influence   on   someone

anything   angsty   of   COURSE !!!!

i   will   maybe   make   a   proper   connection   page   butdfjsodklsjf   these   r   a   few   i’d   have   and   ofc   i’m   open   to   anything   else   !