#it only effects a few sides and the wine choice really…

[sergeantpixie]

could not sleep because i hadn’t finished planning my thanksgiving menu, is this adulthood?

[giamee]

CHAPTER VI! just like in the movies

<- prev masterlist next ->

the feeling of a finger poking at your cheek is what made your eyes finally reopen on the flight. the first thing you saw was dehya, leaning slightly over you with a grin on her face as you batted away her hand groggily.

"morning, sunshine. it's time to get up," she cooed, and you did a quick stretch before unbuckling your belt. peering out of the window next to you, nothing really seemed different to sumeru yet. but then again, this was an airport.

the blur of getting your luggage sorted and going through security went by surprisingly quick, and you said a what you hoped was sweet "thank you" to the man who had stamped your passport. he wore a metal chestplate of armour, your first real indication that mondstadt was different to where you lived. you vaguely recalled thoma telling you about the favonius knights who patrolled the main city - where you would be headed for the first few days of the trip.

getting a bus wasn't too hard, and neither was getting your luggage into your room after checking in to the hostel room you would all be sharing (cyno had taken the heavy bag from you without a word, not giving any room for you to oppose).

even though it was evening, the city still seemed to be bustling with life, a fact that had you fighting the urge to whip out your phone and start taking pictures like a damn tourist instead of focusing on getting yourself to the hostel and then being able to sightsee.

the room itself wasn't bad, with the beds piled up on each opposing wall and a narrow path set out between them. since there were so many of you there weren't any spare beds, effectively making the room your own.

kaveh was quick to call dibs on one of the beds closest to the door, with alhaitham taking the other, flopping down before anybody else had the chance. it wasn't lost on you that cyno took the bed directly across from alhaitham's. you, on the other hand, noticed the large window at the end of the room, opting to pick a bed closer to that.

and before you even had a chance to open your suitcase, kveh was clapping his hands together with glee, asking if anyone else wanted to go out for a drink.

it was a fairly unanimous decision made by the group, you included, that left only tighnari, layla, and nilou to rest in the room as you all began a search for the nearest bar.

the goth grand hotel was placed a convenient few minutes away from a local tavern, one that the sign outside assured was "mondstadt's finest" considering the fact that you had spent all of two hours in the city, you weren't exactly qualified to be the judge of that.

but if the warm bustling atmosphere as soon as you stepped through the doors was anything to go off of, maybe the sign was right. you managed to snag an empty table near the back of the tavern, before leaving to go to the bar and order some drinks.

you had decided to go for one of the local specials, some flavourful dandelion wine that you had remembered thoma recommended to you. dehya decided to join you in drink choice, though the guys had all opted for a round of shots.

a bad choice on kaveh's part, you thought to yourself. it would be entertaining, however, to see just how tipsy the resident lightweight would get over the course of the night.

sinking back down into your seat had never felt so good, and you couldn't help the little sigh as you felt yourself truly start to relax after the plane landing.

"here's to having a good summer, guys," kaveh grins, raising his shot glass brimming with liquid. you laugh at his antics, raising your own glass to tap against his and everyone else's, before you all drink. you don't miss the way kaveh winces at the spirit, though you and dehya both hummed in approval at the dandelion wine.

you turned to alhaitham who was sat on your other side, offering him a sip of the wine. he eyed it warily like you were making an attempt on his life, before gingerly taking the glass and trying some.

his nose wrinkled in a sinilar fashion to kaveh's earlier, muttering how it was "way too sweet," making you roll your eyes at the man.

you turned back to face everyone else, surprised to see a pair of carnelian eyes already trained of you, a hint of a frown on his face. you let your gaze sweep past cyno, instead laughing at the joke dehya just told, jumping at the wheeze kaveh let out as he hit the table, cheeks already dusted pink. a bad choice on his part, indeed.

and of course, it wasn't too many more drinks between the table before the resident lightweight was nearing a state where he had to be helped back to the hotel room. dehya, arguably the most sober out of everyone, stood up and wrapped one of kaveh's arms around her shoulders.

"guys, i know i'm strong but kaveh's a lot heavier than he looks," dehya huffed, looking expectantly at the three of you. you paused to look at alhaitham and cyno, both were definitely stronger than you, and if the way your head spun when you stood were to get any worse, you would probably have to get carried home by someone as well.

there was a moment of silence before cyno volunteered, slipping kaveh's other arm around his own shoulders before glancing back at you and alhaitham.

"are you two gonna be okay on your own?" even in your less than sober state, you could see just how hesitant cyno was to leave with dehya and kaveh. but in your mind, there was no worse pairing to be wandering around drunk with than your ex and your friend who looked a little too good, so you waved off cyno, insisting that you'd be fine.

the man still didn't look convinced, but an assured "they'll be fine" from dehya and a sly wink thrown your way told you all that you needed to know about her half-baked plan.

you didn't immediately turn to alhaitham after they left the bar, only risking a glance at the man after he cleared his throat a little awkwardly.

"should we go as well?" you let your head rest against your palm as you pretended to deliberate his question.

"and where exactly are we going to go, haitham?" his already pink cheeks seemed to darken a touch at the nickname, but his eyes didn't shy away from yours.

"you wanted to sightsee, didn't you? we might as well." you hummed in agreement, taking a moment to finish your third? fifth? drink before leaving the tavern finally.

some time had passed by now, with the sky no longer bearing the warmth of a sunset, but giving way to the clear and bright moonlight and its accompanying stars. you let your head tip back to admire them, and how they looked so different compared to sumeru, with the clouds often remaining too thick for you to properly stargaze like this.

you felt the familiar giddy headrush as you faced forward again, almost stumbling if it weren't for alhaitham's hand shooting out to grab your arm, steadying you.

"you should be more careful. you're clumsy when you're drunk." you roll your eyes at him, shrugging off his grip and spinning on your heel to point at him.

"i'm not drunk." alhaitham looks unconvinced, and you point accusatorily at his flushed cheeks. "if either of us can't handle their alcohol, it's you."

you ignored his scoff, instead focusing on the decorations that were up. you vaguely recalled layla mentioning how you were coming to mondstadt near the end of their summer festival, and you beamed at the colourful balloons that were strung so neatly along the main street.

there was no particular direction that you and alhaitham took, mostly you wandering off and alhaitham following closely behind, and you marvelled at the city in the privacy that the empty streets offered late at night.

every time that you turned to look back at alhaitham, he seemed to be paying no mind to mondstadt like you were doing, instead focusing on you with his pink-tainted face that your tipsy brain thought was pretty.

at some point, him following you had turned into you clutching his arm for support as you got wobblier, though the way he stayed closer to your side than was necessary made you think that he didn't mind this all too much.

you seemed to be full of good ideas tonight, and when you rounded the corner to see a large square with a centerpiece fountain and accompanying sprinklers, you looked at alhaitham with a gleam of mischief.

"want to run through them?"

alhaitham sighed, though you didn't miss the slight quirk of his lips at the suggestion.

"if you insist..."

you let your hand slip from his, dashing ahead of him to let the cool water spray against you and your clothes, a giddy laugh erupting from your lips as it cooled you down from the warm summer air.

alhaitham wasn't so far behind either, in pursuit of the warmth of you that had been ripped so suddenly from his skin, grimacing at the cold sensation that met him instead.

but no matter, as he was by your side again soon enough.

now dripping wet, you and alhaitham flopped down onto a nearby bench, both of your chests still heaving from the laughter lingering on your lips and the shock of the cold.

your head spun as you let yourself fall backwards, your head ending up flopping onto alhaitham's lap. he was surprisingly warm, even through the later of his wet clothes, and you felt yourself quiet down as you stared up at him and the stars above.

he has gone quiet too, you didn't fail to notice, and you forced yourself to look past his eyes so intently staring at you, and focusing on the beautifully clear mondstadt night sky.

"hey, haitham, the moon looks pretty from here."

he's still silent, unmoving, something churning behind his pretty eyes. you pause now too, focus back on the man you were lying on. you weren't sure what to say, if you should say anything at all and break this moment, but any words died on your tongue as he shifted forwards, quicker than your tipsy self could comprehend, and brushed his lips against yours.

✦ ⠂⠂୨୧ trivia :: as the notorious lightweight of the group, kaveh was tipsy off of only one full glass of mondstadt's dandelion wine after having that first shot

✦ ⠂⠂୨୧ gia's notes :: a little gift of plot progression to say thanks for waiting for this series to continue!! even tho this chapter is kinda dookie cos i was forcing myself back into the rhythm of writing this series oop

✦ ⠂⠂୨୧ taglist :: @makimakimi @aeongiies @sukunasrealgf @ssoliva @sakiimeo @eggn0gcookie @yxcade @fiona782 @heartswonder @eunchaeluvr @clumsyphuq @pinksodacan @aelxr @themusingsofmany @obervation-subject-753 @kittycasie @aimno256 @maxineshearts @mafuyuslover @meigalaxy @mintydump @v4lerixxq @artwitchh @geo-hew-hew @imkaaayy @c4tsfr0mh3ll @kokoscutie @erzarq @eu-la @ddiluc @ichikaisflowers @rahhhmen @esmetrees @rain-and-a-nice-nap ( let me know if you would like to be added / your username has changed !! )

[arthuluart]

Hiii - wanted to say first thing first I love your art style, it's so dynamic and fun and those color palettes? Stunning ^^

And second thing second, just some food for thought if you ever want to get angsty about Jerry and Dean, coffee by Chappell Roan sounds like it was written about their break up specifically and I can't stop thinking abt it dndnden

*Cue me losing my mind*

Hiii- they say flattery gets you everywhere and turns out with me, it gets you animatics- jkjk but I do appreciate the kind comments ^^

I’ll put up the animatic separately and take the opportunity to leave the preamble here to keep the video post neat bc until someone tells me to shut up and just post art- I’m gonna ramble… So here’s the commentary you didn’t ask for along with my favourite panels:

First off- You turned me into a big time Chappell Roan listener which is great bc I need music recs to fix my listening habits before Spotify wrapped drops. My roundup last year was shameful… Red Wine Supernova is my new dish washing song.

Even tho it’s not the song’s vibe I kept the content as silly as I could for my own sanity. I don’t love getting too deep into the serious/sad side of M+L for a few reasons but I do find it all very interesting. Point being this song was too good to pass up doing something a bit bigger for.

Ngl tho- this did have me pulling out hair at multiple points. I never colour animatics, rarely even tone them- but you mentioned colour palettes and I was determined to deliver so pardon the messy colouring but (that was the tradeoff) I did not have it in me to stay in the lines. I’m choosing to be kind to myself and opt to call it an artistic choice and not midway burnout. And nothing was gonna get me to open after effects/premiere not even the janky ass golf ball OML this only makes sense if u watch the video.

There are parts of this I’m SO happy with and others I hate. I think it’s really obvious which sections I started losing steam on but overall I lowkey like the end product. Nothing I make will ever be good/perfect- this was one hell of a practice in accepting that lmao- but I can still be ok with the work problems and all yknow? I very nearly shelved this completely bc I got so worked up about the maybe 5 panels I dislike out of 106 total. Counting them was eye opening to ask myself: you’re gonna let that small a ratio stop you from sharing this after putting in days and days of effort? The insecurity goes deep and TBH getting asks has been a nice way of working through it since I post the art I make for answers no matter what only bc I KNOW someone out there wants to see it. It might not sound it but it’s actually quite positive.

Also, although I feel I’ve done my fair share of reading, I’m no expert. So if anything is really off point- sorry my bad (I won’t fix it tho bc I cannot physically stand to look at this another second lol)

I tried to stick to real things found in articles/books/photos/interviews etc bc outside of obviously fictional AUs I’m not super into making stuff up about them (and who needs to I mean the legit stuff is already insane enough) Sure I framed the events in specific ways to suit the song and some aspects are fictionalized (mainly bc the referenced written accounts lacked detail to draw 100% faithfully from anyhow) but otherwise I got my sources cited.

ANYWAYS… sorry for hijacking this answer I need to learn to chill out. Irl I’m a pretty reserved talker so you can tell I’m in a comfy place when I let loose and blather on endlessly lmao brevity is not a skill I possess.

You were probably expecting illustrations or smth but I hope what I came up with is still somewhat alright AND please don’t let my complaining fool you, I genuinely loved making this.

One FINAL Relevant Note: the line “nowhere else is safe every place leads back to your place” is gut wrenching. You’re so right about this song perfectly describing the break up. They always came back to each other and there’s something so devastating about that kind of haunting human connection.

OkAY I’m done promise- I thought I’d implode if I didn’t get all that out

[stylographic-blue-rhapsody]

good morning it is again blorbos-from-my-game hours

.

729 PD, Rosohna. Luminata Eve

Espen’s hands twitched behind her back, held in a stiff soldier’s attention to keep from picking anxiously at her hakama. She had attended Luminata Eve celebrations with nobility in years past, hosted by Den Beltune, but this was the first time she had been brought as a guest-companion to a ruling Den’s party. She had objected at first when Fyrna invited her along, but eventually gave in to the teasing requests and agreed. She regretted this lapse in resolve.

“And anyway,” Fyrna said with a grin, “That’s why I told him he should pick up a glaive instead. I know your Den’s traditional choice is the longsword, but you should see how he wields a polearm. It was a really clever use of an echo in combination with the weapon reach. Naturally talented, aren’t you, Lieutenant Thelyss?”

Verin Thelyss, eldest son of Den Mother Deirta Thelyss, blushed faintly over his stoic expression and demurred politely as his mother looked at him appraisingly. Espen’s nerves over being included in conversation with an Umavi had been soothed as soon as Fyrna had started talking: the Moonsage seemed perfectly content to be swept up in complimentary stories of her son by his martial mentor and ignore her entirely. Fyrna’s casual charm and self assured gregariousness made it easy to linger silently in the periphery.

A sudden crash and snarled insult in the center of the room interrupted the first words of Den Mother Thelyss’ reply. From Espen’s side, a thrumming burst of dunamis raised the hair along her arms and at the back of her neck like standing in an electrical storm. Espen stuttered, first towards the noise and then jerking back to look at her wife, only to find Fyrna absent: beside her was instead a shimmering, tangible shadow bearing an impression of Fyrna’s likeness.

A dunamantic echo. Espen’s hand flew instinctively to her unbelted hip in search of a sword that wasn’t there. Fyrna would not generate an echo without the presence of a real threat. Espen whirled back towards the commotion at the center of the room, seeking the source of the trouble.

The spectacle she found was not one of the sort of danger that had her heart racing in anticipation, but perilous nonetheless. At the center of the tableau stood Fyrna, grip tight on the wrist of a noblewoman whose palm was raised in a striking gesture. Usola Omrifar, Espen’s thinking brain recalled helpfully—politically powerful and friendly with the Moonsage. Behind Fyrna, an adolescent half-Kryn server was cradled in the arms of a second dunamantic echo, apparently having prevented him from falling into the mess of wine and shattered glass on the floor from a dropped tray. Belatedly, Espen noticed the dark, wet splash across Lady Omrifar’s kimono: a collision between the noblewoman and the server.

The room was still for a few heartbeats, the crowd collectively frozen with tension. In the hush, Espen couldn’t help the awe that surged in her chest and buzzed along her skin.

Taskhand Fyrna Beltune, heir to Den Beltune and Espen’s beloved wife, was so fucking beautiful. The demonstration of power via fine-tuned control of not one but two echoes was radiant and all-consuming. The shadow beside Espen was so dense with dunamis that her vision warped at the edges, creating a duplicating effect that made her feel as though she could see into the alternate timeline it came from if she could just focus hard enough. A pressure began to build in her sinuses, uncomfortable magical resonance flaring outwards along her Luxonmark.

Taskhand Fyrna Beltune was a legion of one, and resplendent.

Time seemed to jerk back into motion when Fyrna tipped her chin at Usola and said lowly, “Cool off. You dishonor your station, Lady.”

However quietly she spoke, the calm command carried easily to the outskirts of the room. The guests in immediate proximity to the scene stepped back, and if the mood weren’t so tense Espen might have laughed at the pair of Den guards at the entrance of the hall as they straightened unconsciously.

Lady Omrifar snarled and tried to wrench her hand away. Fyrna’s grip held fast, letting the older woman struggle futilely for a beat longer than necessary before letting go. Usola spat, “That clumsy, half breed brat spilled the whole tray on me! It’s ruined the silk!”

“The drink is easily removed by simple prestidigitation.” Drily, she added, “If you’d like proof of this, we can find another tray of drinks and dump it down my uniform as well. I am confident someone here will help us out.”

Lady Omrifar’s cheeks, which Espen noted were already flushed with drink and rage, grew darker. Her voice pitched upwards, and she said, “All that glass is dangerous! He could have hurt me!”

Fyrna’s even expression broke, mouth twisting in contempt. “But you were not hurt, and in fact, it was you who ran into him. If there is any redress to be made, it is to the kid.”

Did she run into the server? Espen hadn’t known anything was happening until the crash, but wasn’t surprised that Fyrna had had eyes on what happened. Her reaction speed made that clear enough. As Lady Omrifar sputtered, Fyrna glanced over her shoulder at the boy, now steady on his feet but looking as if he might throw up. “What’s your name?”

The boy jumped, hands fisting at the edge of his uniform, gaze darting between Fyrna and her echo beside him. “Um, it’s R-Rhiah, Taskhand. Rhiah Thalphen.”

Fyrna said coolly, “Lady Omrifar, you should apologize or take your leave. If you do neither, I pledge myself to Rhiah Thalphen to act as his sword, voice, or hand, should he demand an honor challenge.”

Behind her, Rhiah stammered a protest, but neither woman paid him any mind.

“This is not your home, Beltune. You are not an authority here,” Lady Omrifar hissed.

“I agree with Taskhand Beltune.”

Espen turned, surprised to see Verin Thelyss step forward. He glanced at his mother, and Espen could not parse the expression on her face, but Verin clearly could. He continued, “Den Thelyss does not endure abuse of our hands.”

“But she—”

“Come with me, Lady Usola.”

The murmurings around the room hushed completely in the wake of the Moonsage’s gentle, gravel-voiced command. Omrifar’s face paled to a sickly grey. She bowed stiffly, and the crowd parted to allow her to trail after Deirta Thelyss’ graceful, unhurried stride from the hall. She gave Fyrna a poisonous look over her shoulder before vanishing through the doorway.

Chatter resumed like a thunderclap once the two noblewomen were out of sight, but the crowd maintained a wide berth from Fyrna and the server. Verin strode to them, nodded at Fyrna and then offered a bow to Rhiah. The boy scrambled to bow back, stammering ungracefully through whatever formal apologies Verin was making to him, and fled as soon as he was given a dismissal.

As Fyrna and her protégé leaned in to speak together in hushed tones, Espen let out the breath she was holding. That could have gone much worse, if Verin and his mother had not backed Fyrna in the escalation of the conflict.

[Oh, the Moonsage is not happy about any of this.] Espen jumped at the voice ringing with laughter in her head. It took her a few scans, but eventually she found him—Jinoire Olios, beloved friend and traitor, wiggled bejeweled fingers at her in greeting from sixty paces across from her in an alcove at the edge of the hall.

[You read the Moonsage’s thoughts? Are you daft?] Espen thought back furiously as she pushed her way through the crowd to his hiding spot.

[Of course not, she has some sort of nondetection up. I got that from baby Thelyss.]

[Do not call him that, he’s your coworker.]

“I will call him whatever I please until he outranks me,” Jin said cheerfully when Espen reached speaking distance. “Which will be never, because the day he surpasses me is the day I retire.”

“You are not going to reach retirement, Olios, because I am going to kill you for telling me you were not coming and that I would have to attend this awful party alone, then showing up anyway.”

Jin scoffed, tugging her into a brief embrace and kissing her cheek. Up close, she could see the soft shimmer of cosmetic glitter on his skin and smell his peony perfume. “You weren’t alone, Beltune is here! And the party is quite nice. Have you tried the octopus? Apparently they had it magicked to keep it fresh all the way from the Emerald.”

“Like Hells, I ‘wasn’t alone.’ I have not spoken to a single person since I got here because Fyrna was occupied doing the Den Heir thing.” Espen pulled away more quickly than usual and straightened her haori. She knew the focus wasn’t on the two of them, uninteresting in comparison to the Heirs still at the center of the room, but it was instinctual: too many unkind things could be said—had been said—about her overt displays of physical affection. “Where’s Trestilya?”

“Khith has a stronger backbone than you or me,” Jin informed her. “They didn’t cave to Beltune. They’re spending tonight in the Coronas with Bas.”

“Bastard.”

“We should join them after this! I can’t imagine staying much longer, not after that display.”

The warmth Espen felt at discovering Jin at the party faded slightly as she glanced back towards Fyrna and Verin. “What did you overhear?”

“A bit of this and that. Enough to paint a picture.” He hummed and performatively inspected his fingernails, lacquered in sapphire blue. Disconcertingly, his voice once again echoed in her head, but there was no movement of his lips, or somatic gesture made with his hands, or even a telltale pulse of arcane energy. Espen would never get used to his ability to manipulate the Weave with nothing but force of will. [Thelyss thinks his mother would have preferred that to have been handled more subtly, but I imagine that would have been difficult, considering how intent Omrifar was on making a scene.]

“Elaborate, please.”

“Well,” Jin murmured, still picking at his manicure, “She was drunk, obviously. But just this month her sister was named successor to their mother as Den matriarch instead of her like she’d expected. Needed to take all that frustration out on someone inconsequential, I suppose.”

Espen’s mouth twisted with disgust. She said, “What else?”

[The Moonsage doesn’t like drama in her own home. She cares about subtlety. Probably would have preferred to have coaxed Omrifar outside first and made apologies to the kid later.] Jin raised a hand to cover his satisfied smirk with his fingers. “But Beltune decided to make sure Omrifar was properly, publicly shamed for it. Light, that was so sexy of her.” He peered out from the alcove to scan the room. “Where did she run off to? I need to propose marriage.”

Even as she worried for the social consequences, Espen couldn’t agree more. That Fyrna would fight this battle in someone else’s home—an Umavi’s, no less—without knowing whether or not she would be supported by the hosting Den made her so damn proud. And Verin! Espen was sure that his support had tipped the scales in her favor, forcing his mother to either show a united front with her beloved son or openly suggest friction within her Den. She might still reprimand Fyrna for it later, but for now, at least, they were on the same side.

“Taskhand, my precious demagogue!” Jin laughed as Fyrna found them at the edge of the crowd, bowing dramatically low over clasped hands when she approached. “Please reconsider the offer for my hand in marriage. I have so many relatives I would love for you to correct the way you corrected that hag.”

Fyrna grinned in reply. “You know, Olios, I don’t have to be married to you to be introduced to them.”

“But the sting would be so much sharper if it came from my wife,” Jin sighed wistfully.

She chuckled, and then her amusement turned softer as she looked at Espen. “Hello, starshine.”

Espen smiled. Light, she loved her. “Hello.”

“Khith is with Bas in the Coronas. Want to finish the night out at a party that’s actually fun?” Jin asked Fyrna.

“Will there be orc-stuff?”

He snorted. “Don’t ask stupid questions. Bas’s sister is hosting, obviously there will be orc-stuff.”

“Fuck yes.” Fyrna glanced over her shoulder. “I should probably wait to leave until Den Mother Thelyss returns, at least. Make my proper goodbyes and all that. Meet you both at Neref’s in an hour or two?”

“You got it, boss.”

Espen reached out to squeeze Fyrna’s hand before following Jin towards the foyer. “Good work.”

“Hush. Love you, too.”

[thegirloffans]

My WF Heavy/Lightweight HC's

Alright, I have Wakanda Forever brain rot especially with my concept of my new Found Family Hyperfixation and the Wakandans wanting to show the Talokan Trio the ways of surface dwellers.

This is my idea of them under the influence 🙂

Riri❤️: Starting off, I know in the movie Riri is 19 but come on you guys, we all had a drink or two in college bffr..., the point is to not get caught.... That being said, M'Baku, Okoye, and Nakia would most definitely be on little girl duty and watch Riri like a hawk to make sure she's not drinking behind their backs. (of course she is, and Shuri and Aneka are the ones slipping her a shot or two here and there 🤭she appreciates their bravery and sacrifice). She would get herself into trouble by masking her intoxication as best as she can, but her dead giveaway would be the goofy grin on her face and her never-ending chatter. She would just talktalktalktalktalktalktalktalkTALK and then Okoye would pull her to herself and smell the liquor on her breath, leading to her AND Shuri being cut off for the night...

Shuri🐈‍⬛: I can see her not really liking drinking because she always likes to be focused and aware. Even when she's hanging out with friends, she doesn't necessarily need a drink to have a good time but bc everyone else is having a glass or two, she doesn't see the harm in it. WRONG. Princess Shuri of Wakanda is a lightweight to the fullest. Give her a White Claw or two and she'll be out like a light. She would definitely be a flirty drunk, like we all already know she has a sense of superiority and pride, so her being under the influence would definitely bring out her cocky side, and she would shock everyone at how she equally goes after both men and women. and the kicker is that she would only do like little playful flirtatious teasing with her friends, and they all know not to take her seriously, but she seems to do it with everyone BUT Namor. He's sick about it lol it really hurts his feelings...

Okoye👩🏾‍🦲: Again, not really a drinker but due to experience and life in general, Okoye is actually quite the heavyweight. She prefers a nice sparkling wine or maybe a merlot, or red wine bc it definitely mellows her out. She can be sedated on about 3-4 glasses but when she's had a rough day, that woman can take an entire bottle to the head and still be asking for more. Now when going out, especially with Aneka, Okoye doesn't really have much of a choice but to take a few shots to get the party going (and to keep up with her energetic friend). Wine never really has the effect on her like straight liquor does, but when she's well inebriated, the woman is a TALKER. She's the kind of drunk where if you were ever wondering what she really thought about you, give her a few shots and she'll tell you. That's why she never messes with the stuff! She gets all sentimental and emotional, telling her closest friends just how much they mean to her in a way that makes her subconscious self squirm! And Bast forbid Attuma is around bc then things start to get interesting...

Nakia💚: She's actually quite in the middle! Depending on the alcohol content and ingredients is a huge factor on when the spy chooses to cut herself off. She's had tastings of different mixtures from all around the world and sometimes can be alright from a single cup or will find herself pouring up all night long. How she knows that she's proper drunk is when she starts to slur her words and stumble. It takes a while for it to travel through her body so Nakia always finds herself having her drunkenness sneak up on her. And when it hits, it HITS. She finds it hard to keep her body upright and when she tries to speak, it sounds like alphabet soup to her ears, so she mainly just stays quiet and only reacts with facial expressions or laughter. Usually, M'Baku or Okoye are the ones to carry her back home 😅

Ayo😶: Ah yes, the quiet one out of the group. Well give this lady a few drinks and watch that cold exterior melt away! Just like Nakia, she has a pretty average tolerance, only needing about a good number of drinks, whatever they may be, to get her wasted. She still remains pretty quiet when she's drunk, but everyone will start to notice that when she is, she gets really touchy. Aneka notices as soon as she feels her wife's body pressed against her backside, warm hands sliding around her stomach to hold her close. Ayo is all strict and expressionless, but when she's drunk, it seems like her entire being has been cracked open and is exposed for Aneka and Aneka only to see. She never has eyes for anyone but her beloved as she hangs herself over her lover the entire night, never taking her hands off of her.

Aneka😁: Quite the opposite of her wife in every aspect, Aneka is the Leader of The Lightweights. She's a delusional one too, because if it wasn't for her wife or Okoye, she would drink herself into a coma. She thinks she's a heavyweight but gets a heated blush across her brown skin after just 2 shots. Get her started off the Henny and this woman becomes a personified Energizer Bunny; dancing, talking, socializing with just about everyone in the club, eating everything in sight, taking more shots- she's just the grind that won't stop! She knows it's time to wind down when she feels her wife's hands on her more than usual, leaning into the woman's touch and letting her lover's presence calm her down. A few touches and kisses later and they're definitely the couple who leaves early to go fuck.✌🏾

Namora🧡: Oh man...first of all, in Talokan, Namora is considered a heavyweight. She can even outdrink Ku'Kul'Kan which is a fact that burns the older man up... but surface world liquor puts her on her ASS. The first time they went out with the Wakandans, they shared some kind of alcohol containing "sugar cane" as they called it and Namora was expecting it to taste sweet, but not only did it not, but it seemed to have no flavor at all. The next thing she knew, she was singing pop songs at the TOP of her lungs, hanging out the window of Riri's very red and loud vehicle as they sat in the parking lot together. She laughed along with the young girl and enjoyed the feeling of fuzzy emptiness in her mind. All she was focused on was having a good time and concentrating on not throwing up in her new friend's pretty car...

Namor🐉: The Feathered Serpent God of Talokan...can't hold his liquor for shit lol. Not in Talokan and definitely not on the surface. He actually doesn't even like the taste of alcohol; it burns going down and always leaves him with a nasty hangover the next day, so he usually stays away from the stuff. But of course...not being one to show weakness (and also trying to impress the Princess) he takes each shot or drink handed to him to the head. He's actually good at masking his inebriation, his only dead giveaway being the rosy red tips of his ears and wide blush across his cheeks. It's also super cute to everyone how he will just get fed up with fumbling around walking and start to hover around instead. He's also an honorary member of the Chaos Clan along with Aneka, Riri, M'Baku, and Attuma so more than likely if everyone starts drinking and hears something break, you will see those little winged feet getting tf out of there.

Attuma🦈: If anybody's the heavyweight champion of the group, it's good ol' Sharkboy himself. He's the same as Namora in Talokan, being deemed a very heavy drinker, but where they differ is that he can also hold his own against surface world concoctions. Liquor, wine, spirits, seltzers- it almost seems like you have to drown this man in a tub of alcohol before he starts feeling the effects. Literally the only person out of the group that can rival him, is M'Baku and they have many drinking contests between themselves to see who is the one and only true Heavyweight Drinking Champion of them all. They always end up tied up 🙂Now even if Attuma does find himself pretty under the influence, he is definitely a flirt just like Shuri. He's actually almost gotten close to getting the shit beat out of him because the Princess would come up to him and start playfully flirting with the man and he would simply match her energy! But one look from his God King from across the room has him deterring the Princesses' teasing (that TikTok sound: "let me stop playing around before I get my ass delt with" 💀) but that only makes her call over Okoye, the Talokanilian warrior growing rigid as his crush glides her way over to him...

M'Baku🦍: This man is definitely one to hold his liquor down, okay? He can keep going all night long (👀...) and almost seems to have no stopping point. We've all seen how this man acts on a regular day, just know that when he starts drinking, that boisterous, prideful, enthusiasm gets cranked up to 100. Just like Aneka, he is a force that can't be stopped, dancing with all the pretty ladies on the dance floor and letting them marvel and gush at his outstanding display of raw masculinity. I don't care what anybody says, I know for a fact this man is leaving the club with at least two beautiful women on each arm by the end of the night.

Ross🕶️: You know we gotta include our token white boy! This man worked for the CIA, I think by now he would work up quite a tolerance for alcohol (especially after being married to that witch...). It actually surprises the group that after watching their tiny friend down drink after drink, he's still standing! The girls would be cheering him on to keep going and take as many shots as he can and not wanting to be the one to disappoint, he keeps throwing back shots like it's nothing. Now out of everybody in their group, no one has the cutest drunk blush like Ross. He's white lol so of course his entire face all the way down to his neck is flushed. He definitely seems like a silly drunk to me, cracking jokes and telling stories to everyone and even though he tries to keep the Chaos Clan from doing any further damage, someway somehow he finds himself in the midst of their misdeeds lol.

So those are my headcannons of my WF Friend Group when they're loaded!

Thanks!✌🏾🙂

[the-kipsabian]

god this got so much longer than i intended im so sorry oof

i am admittedly very fascinated by kips gear design (so much so in fact that i straight up asked him if we could ever hear process or design notes about it lmao), so i had some of my own thoughts honestly

im gonna make this in chronological order cause its easier to explain the reasoning that way, so i hope it makes sense but

so we have to go back to the last of the superbad designs first

i cannot for the life of me find a photo of the backside of the gear, but i literally rewatched arcade anarchy for research for this as thats one match i can name from the top of my head where he wears this, and it holds no relevancy (apart from the 'superbad' text on the ass) to what im gonna talk about later, so

but yeah.. i have no explanation for this design choice tbh lol. im pretty sure most of this was just "because he liked the colors and it looked cool", its mostly an aesthetic choice afaik. which, admittedly, it is. its really fucking pretty. the only thing i can say from the top of my head is the drip effect on the top of the tights, as that was in some previous superbad shorts, so thats a recycled thing (and will continue to be, so its good to point out here). likewise the non-matching kneepads, tho interestingly enough the side of the one with images changes as we move on, which. i'll talk about a bit later

i just wanted to point this one out cause it has some elements that keep on appearing later, and also cause its pretty. longboy supremacy 💜

moving onto the return/boxman gear

the boxman gear holds up some of the old design choices - the different kneepads, the drip effect, at this point he also had mismatching kickpads which i found extremely interesting (especially after realizing this was a repeat design choice. like if you look at them, the right one has a light pattern on it but the left one doesnt. and then compare those to the superbad kickpads. same thing). and yeah the superbad text still remains on the ass, which i find kinda funky considering he literally right up to the reveal of this new look went around ripping into his old self so. hmm. tho this is a point im gonna bring up in the collective thoughts later, so put a pin on it

but. theres a few things i wanna focus on here. mainly the clearly toned down color scheme - the more wine red, black and white is clearly toned down from whatever that aesthetic mess was before. but it works, especially later with the colored hair. i dont know the significance of it apart from him just really liking those colors so he wanted to use them (which i believe he has mentioned off-hand before so im just pulling this from my memory idk), but im mentioning them now to talk about it later a bit more when we get to the current design

also the big head on the side. this is more relevant later, again, with how it changes from design to design, but its interesting to see that despite moving on from his "previous self", hes still carrying that image with him. sure its a bit more updated, but the base for the superbad is there and used for it. like i get it that its a logo thing, but still. it sure is a choice

and thennnnn the kneepads. cause this is where i feel like the interesting shit starts (before we move on to current look which is what really prompted this whole thought process). see, there used to be a kip head there. now its a question mark. which has been imagery he used a lot during the boxman era both before and after his return, even to the point where there was a question mark on the back of the box (with the word 'back', yes, but the question mark was still very much there. omnipresent, if you will, as was the boxman himself). it feels like a nod about forgetting, abandoning to your old self and searching for something new, searching for yourself again. to me this looks like a sign of 'who am i/who was i' type of deal, like its such a deliberate choice of where its put - and yes i know the knees change between this and the previous design, but i feel like the point still stands. even more so with the swapped knee tbh, being so lost trying to find yourself you make mistakes. i know this is a reach but bear with me lmao

I ALSO ACTUALLY HAVE TO TALK ABOUT THE KICKPADS CAUSE I JUST REALIZED SOMETHING

look at this. look at it. so i mentioned before that the different patterning on the kickpads, right? well its only on the right side. which is also the only side with the drip effect on it. and look at the kickpad. the pattern shows better in the ddt photo lighting, but what does that look like? its kinda like a blood splatter. and knowing at this point in time, for this character, kip was doing character studies and consuming media etc. about characters that were most often serial killers or otherwise similarly deranged... yeah baby this is a nod to that you cant tell me otherwise!!

and then some choices i just wanna mention cause i think they're interesting but i have no fucking idea what they mean or why they are there lmao. apart from the 'time changes us all' text on the right side, thats pretty obvious (and plays to everything else ive pointed out so far actually) as well as the fact that instead of a few selected fingers, he started taping almost all of them (wedding band my beloved). that one i know he has mentioned was an aesthetic choice cause he liked it (also it might have something to do with him previously having dislocated a finger mid match sssooooo)

but anyways

i just really wanna talk about the lacing of the kickpad. yeah, just the one. cause i really dont know why, but im completely in love with the asymmetry of this design choice, its very similar to the one patterned kneepad. its also made into a more obvious one as time goes on i think, cause its barely visible in the return match at all in zero hour, but just few months down the line its fully visible and you can even see it in the promo pictures, the bow end of it just dangling about. i just honestly think its really cute, but also relevant to, again, the current design so im gonna talk about it more later

..and then i just offhand wanted to mention. this. cause i dont know what the fuck this is or why its a choice in this design but. it is. so here you go have fun lmao

(like in speculation i had a quick thought that MAYBE its trying to match pennys new gears garter belt style, as its just about the same spot, and since they did kinda matching styled gear? but thats literally all i got. i got so distracted by this fucking thing and i have no idea what it is. i hate it now, thats all i know lmao) anyways, moving on! current design yay!!

so what i find the most interesting here, compared to the two others, is lack of color. honestly i think the grayscale works wonderfully with the rest of the design choices as well as his current look, but seeing him go from the previously colored design to this just sparked a thought in me.. tho idk how much of that actually plays into this design choice, considering this was done before he started the transition more away from what the boxman had become with the 'underrated and over it' gimmick and hes moving towards a much more confident version of himself again (sex idol, anyone?), but hes trying to prove something here. less flash in design, more flash in character, if that makes sense. also, classic villain look, black and white and cheesy blond 80s hair. i love him

the drips are also to the minimum now for some reason, and the splat pattern on the kickpad is gone. which is sad cause i really loved that detail, but again, minimalism, more classical and clean look. it still works, but i miss it. i also just like it how all the text is easier to look now, while that font just has the creep vibes. this whole set up feels like a homage to old black and white horror movies tbh, now that i think about it which i absolutely would not put past him

whichhhhh leads us to the first big point i wanted to make with this one - the mask on the side that now entirely replaces the previous kip heads. he very briefly brought it up as part of the two episode stint they did in ddt in february this year with penny, and there was like a single photoshoot in aew with it

and then it was never brought up again. which i believe is cause kip said once that he was waiting for a good opportunity and a longer storyline to bring it out for its full potential. which, sadly never happened as i believe he has now plans to move on from it (and possibly return to the box? we shall see, but thats what he said he wanted to do, so), but i find it interesting that its chosen as the new logo to replace the original kip head on the tights, but yet the box logo design remains on both the front and the back of the jacket (which i didnt bring up here as while i love the design, it holds no relevancy in these cases im talking about here, apart from this one) and the actual mask is never seen on screen

the second thing i wanna talk about is the text on the back. previous two designs have said 'superbad', this one says 'the gallery' - for uninformed, this was(/is?) the unofficial team name of kip, butcher, blade, bunny and penelope. although i believe they are more or less now coining the name 'deadly alliance', but since neither is official... anyways, i just wanna point it out that hes moving on from singling and acknowledging himself only, and moving more into team territory here, which is an interesting touch. especially for someone who can often be viewed as a mastermind behind the things he makes his little henchmen do. hmmm (i could talk about this alliance forever but im gonna spare you, let it just be known that i dont think they are on as equal standings within this group as they might let you believe or think themselves lmao. like kip is obviously leading this bunch of killers but thats a whole another tangent. its just an interesting thought in the relation to him now having a team name on the gear [especially when in the meantime both butcher and blade i believe just have their names SO])

and finally! the actual thing that made me wanna write this whole four fucking hours long operation!! the color splash details!!!

these. the lacing. its the only colorful thing in these pants and it has sparkled so many thoughts in me god. like i obviously see how these were easy to recycle from the previous design (although they are different laces so. theres also that. which makes this an even more deliberate choice), and keeping the colors consistent by making the two similar pieces the same color. this also can be tied together to the horror movie theme still, as while we lack blood splatters overall, we do have these here. in red. which i feel like is an important detail

i do want to, however, talk about why i thought this was so important and what it sparked in me. now, this might be the part where im fucking reaching and reading too much into this, but.. in this transition towards something new and something else, few former pieces remain, although they change along the way. the kneepads are still similar, the pants are still pinstriped, the red laces are there, the kickpads are similar, minor changes to some of the designs, etc.. the basics are the same, but it swaps to new things over time, as we move on

whats the saying thats hes using as a catchphrase and a hashtag everywhere again?

embrace the change

so you see. hes embracing it. hes moving on. hes changing. little by little, things are different, but hes making the active role in accepting it and making them happen. hes still the same old underneath, just the perception to outside and how its viewed is different. the patterns change. the colors change. the names, the phrases, the looks. they all change, hes embracing it, but it all comes down to the same old, because thats the thing; even if youre moving on, you cant forget your roots. cause whats the other, a bit lesser known saying?

time doesnt heal; it changes you

thank you for coming to my tedtalk

[taldigi]

Out of curiosity, and if you don’t mind me asking, what’s everyone’s favorite food and drinks in ladybug classic and the fashion club au?

ohh thats a big one, and one I havent put too much thought into.Its a little hard to like, parse "what french kids actually eat" from "what journalists want to sell you on what the french eat because french is fancy" from my research.

Marinette is a busy girl who likes quick snacks instead of full meals. Eating is a chore that gets in the way of her STUFF TO DO. I think she'd be fond of easy-to-grab easy-to-eat stuff like bread rolls, croissants, stuffed pastries (a side effect of being raised in a bakery) but in general is the kind of kid to just.. grab a bowl of rice (her mom has a rice cooker always packed with fresh rice on all the time) and/or throw whatever is leftovers on top (anything, ANYTHING.) Drinks on the other hand, she seems the type to be super into sparkling waters (strawberry) but also really likes boba teas, because the drink has an interactive element (chewy tapioca!) and it's sweet.

Felix is an odd one, he's raised on this.. plain, minimalist diet that's pretty high in protien because his dad expects him to excel in sports (boxing) so it's a lot of like.. chicken, and greens (no salt, no dressing or fluff) so he gets a little weird when given like.. spices, or flavor- in the "where have you BEEN all my life" sort of way. I really like to imagine he settles into curry as a food he likes- since it's pretty versatile, has lots of variants from savory to spicy, and it's easy to make. His drink of choice? Frilly, seasonal coffee drinks. I'm talking the raspberry-dark chocolate valentines, the pumpkin spices, the peppermints- his vice, his bribe. He gets reward money from placing well in some of his boxing tournaments (the few times his father gifts him anything) and that usually goes directly toward these drinks.

Flora kinda eats everything, even when one might not consider it edible: but she's pretty into fast food, because her family usually makes her eat really fancy foods in fancy ways (I always eat the food wrong, and mother gets mad at me.) Most times she'll just order out, with a preference for thicker deli-style sandwiches and pizza (excuse to invite friends over!) HOWEVER her drink of choice is tea! tea tea tea. She knows everything about all teas ever. She has every tea, foreign and domestic. Iced teas, hot teas, blended teas- she grows some of her own teas. She has special tea instruments, imported tea cake/preh boxes decorate her walls, several custom-made tea sets, and enough matcha to kill a man.

I dont know enough about Malagasy Cuisine to make claims for Alina, but she likes a few dishes from there- because her parents passed it down to her and Theo.. even though both were born and raised in France. Shes super chill though and tends to go with the flow on what others eat or what is offered to her, leaning towards spiced (read, not spiCY, spicED) foods rather than fatty or sweet. (i actually see her being really into like.. mexican [i'm explicitly thinking of those chamoy/chili powdered candies] or indian dishes). Almost as if she values the smell over the taste (saying this as if the two senses aren't intricately related LOL) as for drinks? I think she's someone who prefers bitter, like straight tea... maybe wine too? Iced coffee as a treat, but with only a splash of cream.

Alix is a mystery, but they seem to subsist off caffine and energy drinks. Food? Unknown. Kagami is a lot like Felix where her diet is very strict. But she probably likes fast food when nobody is looking. She adopts a craving for energy drinks from Alix.

[independence1776]

19 Questions Meme

Supposed to be 20 questions, but one seems to have vanished along the way. Thank you to @spiced-wine-fic for tagging me.

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 120, though some of those are moodboards instead of fic.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 492,336 words. I'm not prolific.

3. What fandoms do you write for? Star Wars, in the Kanan comics niche of the Rebels subfandom but I also work in rather a lot of Prequels-related material and I love the JFO/Survivor era. I also wrote a lot in the Tolkien fandom, Silmarillion side, but I'm only dipping my toes into the fandom at the moment and I'm not sure I'll return in depth.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? 

I am not the world's biggest fan of sorting by kudos; kudos doesn't mean best, it simply means popular. And often in the case of AO3, it means "in a popular fandom" so it skews results. There are plenty of fantastic fics that don't have a lot of kudos. And just because they're in the top-5 doesn't mean the author thinks they're their best works.

I'll step off my soapbox now. In order from most to least: To Remake the Universe (MCU), In Deep or In Darkness (MCU-Young Wizards crossover), Never Discussed But Silently Acknowledged (Star Wars), An Unexpected Welcome (Tolkien), Evolving Roles (Star Wars).

5. Do you respond to comments? Always. On one level, it's simply polite to say "thank you" to compliments. On an entirely different level, commenting on fics was how I found fandom friends, especially in my early years in fandom.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? The one where I killed (BBC) Merlin.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? *shrugs* I mostly write happy endings. Readers' choice of which is the happiest. 

8. Do you get hate on fics? A few times. I'm generally able to laugh about it now. There are a couple of hate comments I find truly hilarious.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Nope.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? Love 'em. I write a lot of Star Wars-Tolkien crossovers. I have no idea which one people would think is the most out there.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes. The two I know of are on AO3 but there have been a handful of others over the years that people asked if they could translate and I have no idea if they ever were, where they were posted, or (at this end of time) even what stories they were.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before? A fic, no, but for a bit, I co-wrote a short-lived series.

13. What’s your all time favorite ship? Elrond/Celebrían for Tolkien. For Star Wars, Han/Leia and Padme/Anakin. Favorite noncanon Star Wars is Owen/Beru/Obi-Wan.

14. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? ...So I posted a WIP a couple of weeks ago. It is the only WIP I've posted because my policy is to only post completed fics. I'd hoped that I'd get some encouragement to write more but I'm honestly not sure anyone realized it was a WIP because I didn't get encouragement to continue or a single "looking forward to more!" type of comment. I lost the little bit of enthusiasm I had because I'd been stalled on the fic for a while (I began writing it in fall 2020!) and it really feels like I could walk away from it and no one would care.

15. What are your writing strengths? I am sadly the type of writer who has a hard time seeing her strengths.

16. What are your writing weaknesses? Description is my go-too weakness. You can probably add writing romance to this.

17. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I prefer not to except for dramatic effect. I'm, for better or worse, monolingual. And I refuse to learn conlangs just to read a fic. If there's too much dialogue in a conlang, I'll hit the back button.

18. First fandom you wrote for? Mutant X.

19. Favourite fic you’ve written? I don't have an answer for that. Or at least a permanent one; there's a handful of fics that rotate through that position depending on mood, time of day, opinion toward the fandom, etc.

[sapphic-scylla]

Wanted to do a full write up of Petra Naverrian. There is a lot of things stories can’t always explain fully that I really wanna talk about with her and the only way I can is through a full breakdown. So I hope you enjoy. She is my pride and joy. @ebevkisk

PETRA NAVERRIAN

Basic Info(Aasimar Form):

Height: 5’7”

Weight: 150 lbs.

Hair: Bright Red

Eyes: Heterochromic Lavender and Red

Skin Color: Pale White with dapples of freckles across her body

Gender: Transfeminine Non-binary Girl

Pronouns: She/They

Sexual Orientation: Prefers not to label herself, but leans towards bisexual and polyamorous

Basic Info(Nephalem form):

Height: 5’7”

Weight: 160 lbs.

Hair: Bright Red

Eyes: None

Skin Color: Onyx rock with Pink, glowing etchings in the stone and wings of blood and shadow

Gender: Your worst fucking nightmare

Pronouns: You/Will/Suffer (She/They still)

Sexual Orientation: If you see this form, the last thing you should be worrying about is who she’s dating.

Abilities:

Weapon Choice: Song of the Myriad-A weapon built for a true Jack of all trades that can shift into any weapon. The possibilities are endless, but Petra prefers a few different forms. Her main favorite is a Rapier with a dagger embedded in the hilt (think Rakuyo from Bloodborne) that she is an expert with. She also tends to use a chained kunai, katana, twinblade, bo staff, and warhammer quite often.

Magical Capabilities: She is a fully realized blood wizard and blood cleric, so any feasible spell that exists in the world is at her disposal. She is very control oriented and a lot of her spells are used to put opponents at a disadvantage or help her teammates, but she can exercise deadly force if she needs to.

Nephalem Domain and Abilities: Blood and Shadow. Can also access some of these abilities as an aasimar. Her Nephalem form emits a wave of Divine Terror, that only other gods (and allies) are immune to. She also has absolute control of blood , visible or other wise, and can shift through and between dark shadows like a wraith. Can exsanguinate mortal beings with a flick of her hand.

Interests:

Personality: She has two sides to her personality. One is the everyday Petra that most people see. She’s an introvert and an ADHD wreck, but she’s kind and loving and gets really clingy when she wants attention. Her other side is the one enemies see. Cold, merciless, demonic. Very no nonsense when she is in business and her focus cannot break

Hobbies: Book collector, singer, works part time at a XXX club in Icoriin as a performer, magical innovator, and a truly fierce plushie collector, mostly of dangerous creatures.

Pet Peeves: Ego. Would NEVER miss an opportunity to cut someone down a peg or several. She also has a profound distaste for necromancy, but she’s working on that.

Secrets: She has a big one. Even @ebevkisk doesn’t know this one ;)

Food and Drink: She loves cherry wine and anything with meat or sugar in it. The way to her heart is chicken pasta with white sauce.

Her Strengths (According to her): She knows her butt as well as her “equipment” are extremely gifted (yes, she kept it). She also know herself to be a very adaptable and perceptive fighter while still being ferocious. She also knows how good of a listener she can be and is well aware that she has a calming effect on the people around her.

Her Weaknesses (according to me): She’s reckless more often than she thinks she is and her emotions drive more of her actions than logic does. Also, she is incredibly stubborn to a fault. She also struggles with the weight of the world, which isn’t her fault, but she takes losses incredibly hard and feels like she’s failed those closest to her if she isn’t perfect. Also, the necromancy thing.

Kinks (I’m not apologizing): Massive praise kink as well as an exhibitionist kink. She’s also VERY much a brat. She says she’s a top (she’s lying), but she likes commanding positive attention and, despite her fantastic sexual stamina, she will crumble under the effects of a sweet talker SO easily. She also likes spankings, but will never tell anyone that.

Insecurities: She often worries about her freckles in public spaces and affectionate company. She has a LOT of them and often feels like they make her unattractive (they don’t). She also gets nervous that she’s too much for most people and that her special interests ramblings go on for way too long. She worries a lot about whether she’s doing enough and her success rate.

[twistedtummies2]

The Price May Be Right - Number 20

Welcome to “The Price May Be Right!” I’m counting down My Top 31 Favorite Vincent Price Performances & Appearances! The countdown will cover movies, TV productions, and many more forms of media. Today we move into the Top 20 for this countdown! The time has come to focus on my choice for Number 20: Egghead, from the 60s Batman Series.

In recent years, the 1960s Batman TV Series – starring Adam West & Burt Ward as the Caped Crusader and the Boy Wonder – has been making a bit of a comeback. This pleases me, because I’ve always loved the series, but for many years, the show was treated in a very backhanded and dismissive manner: people believed it ruined the world of comics, since for a long time it was blamed for the perception of comics as silly kid’s stuff and campy nonsense. Ironically, with so many comics and their adaptations nowadays growing darker and more “edgy” as time has gone on, especially on DC’s side of the market, this has led to a resurgence of popularity with the goofiness of the Silly Sixties. The 60s Batman show featured many great villains from the comics, all portrayed excellently for the time (and sometimes for ALL time) by fine actors of the period. However, it also had its fair share of original villains made just for the series itself. Most of these characters – such as Shame, the Minstrel, and Zelda the Great – never really caught on or went anywhere. A few of these original villains, however, were pretty popular, and often proved to be antagonists just as effective as such famous rogues as the Joker or the Penguin. One of the most well-known of these original villains was Vincent Price’s memorable mastermind, Egghead. His true name unknown (which was the case for most of the villains in the show, to be fair), Egghead was a supervillain who claimed to be the second smartest man in the world. His intelligence was attributed to his unusually oversized and incredibly bald cranium, which was the cause of his alias. Garbed in a dapper cream-and-gold suit, he was one of the slickest sleazebags the Dynamic Duo ever faced. Egghead lived up to his name well: not only was Price’s dialogue littered with egg puns in just about every line, but the character apparently ate nothing but eggs and bacon, and used a variety of explosive gadgets hidden inside of eggshells. From tear gas grenades to pressure-based bombs, his egg-scruciating weapons were no yolk! Of course, he’d always be caught at the end of each story, proving that the life of an outlaw was not all it was cracked up to be. …I am SO sorry, I won’t make any more egg puns, I swear. XD Anywho…Vincent always claimed that playing Egghead was one of the most fun jobs he had, and the character remains iconic, as well as one of Price’s most lauded performances. My only issue with Egghead is that, as the show went on, it felt like the character went through a sort of de-evolution: in his first two-parter appearance, Egghead basically worked alone, barring the usual band of hired mooks and his personal biographer, Miss Bacon. However, later appearances teamed him up with another original villain – Olga, Queen of the Cossacks – and it often felt like the two stepped on each other’s toes. In some episodes, Olga seemed like little more than an overblown moll; in other episodes, it seemed like Egghead had gone from being a crafty crook in his own right to just becoming a bumbling stooge for the Queen of the Cossacks. Still, the character was fun no matter how smart he actually seemed. Fun fact: not so long before his sad departure, Adam West visited my hometown for our local ComicCon. I sadly did not get the opportunity to meet him, but a friend of mine did, and agreed to ask a question for me. They asked Adam West what it was like working with Vincent Price. West apparently answered: “Well, it was exactly what you would imagine it would be like, working with a man who loved his wine, loved his art, and loved his work. In that order.” How I wish I could have heard those golden words firsthand. Tomorrow, the countdown continues with Number 19!

[brehaaorgana]

Yeah this question is too vague and encompasses too many wildly different kinds of drinks to be useful. And I say that as someone who Does Not Drink At All.

Actually specifically I never really drank more than a single (equivalent) glass within the space of a few hours. Like I have previously tried a variety of alcoholic drinks but was never really going out of my way in order to do so, and I'm a pretty small person so I never drank in any quantity bc it wouldn't go well for me.

I don't drink (like zero alcoholic beverages at all/at most only a perfunctory sip of wine for religious purposes) currently because:

1) my father is an alcoholic and so I generally find drinking uncomfortable / unappealing

2) I upped my SSRI dosage and now literally just go straight to feeling the side effects of a hangover if I try to drink at all. Before I was cautious bc I assumed I would have a very low tolerance limit, but now if I try to drink more than a literal sip I start feeling gross lol.

3) I have a phobia of vomiting and avoid situations that might cause me to vomit (such as drinking alcohol too much or that disagrees with you)

4) it's also stupid expensive to drink and i'd rather spend that dumb money on coffee. I also don't like the taste of black coffee, but I can get a nice vanilla latte and it tastes great.

BUT all that said, drinks are wildly varied in flavor and taste. Do I LIKE the taste of everclear? Fuck no. It's vile. Did I enjoy the everclear screwdrivers or jungle juice my college friends would make? Yeah. Not as much as the Cosmopolitan cocktail they would serve up though.

Mead (honey sweet) doesn't taste anything like red wine (which I hate because I can taste tannins like crazy and I don't like bitterness/acidity, and also it's my father's drink of choice).

I don't like rum, but enjoy rum-soaked Rum Cake. I hated the beers I tried, but have enjoyed a hot hard apple cider in the cold. These things just...all taste vastly differently in ways that aren't really comparable. Tequila doesn't taste like vodka. Red wine doesn't taste like a White Russian cocktail. Whiskey doesn't taste like Sangria.

My mother is pretty similar to me and maybe has 1 peach Bellini in a single year (if that!) because she hasn't liked the taste of most alcoholic drinks she's tried.

I don't drink and I don't really enjoy drinking but this is like asking "do you enjoy juice for the flavor?" Idk?? What kind of juice?? I feel very differently about prune juice or orange juice than I do like, apple juice and grape juice, you feel me?

I put I don't drink for other reasons, BUT because I've tried drinks that tasted perfectly fine/were enjoyable although generally speaking I don't love straight/unmixed alcohol of any variety (wines or liquors). Rosé/blush wine was the only kind of plain drink I ever enjoyed on its own. Whiskey just tastes like fire and doesn't count.

tell me in the tags either the worse drink you've ever had or what you do to alcohol to make it palatable

[sukirichi]

sweet angel

With a heart of gold, sweet lips, and white lace all over your body — he’s pretty sure you’re his sweet angel.

REQUEST. lingerie under his white button up shirt for gojo + somnophilia + established relationship + oblivious reader

CONTENT/WARNINGS. smut, somnophilia, mentions of insecurity, very slight angst, creampie, cockwarming, body marking, UNEDITED

NOTES. I haven’t written Gojo for a while but I sure do missed it! We’re gonna have more Gojo content this week too! if i finish my wips anyway lmao

next

The clock blinks back a painful three am to you, the time way past what Gojo’s promised. You don’t stop the sigh leaving your cherry red lips as you stare at the mirror, jaw clenching at the sight. Today’s supposed to be your second anniversary with Gojo, and instead of spending it on a skyscraper dinner like last year’s, you both insisted on staying at home for a more romantic date instead.

Him being the strongest sorcerer, it’s only a given that he’ll be busy, even to this day. He’s unable to take a day off, but he promised to come home on time.

The dinner’s gone cold, the candles melted and aroma of roses sticking hard to the walls. You’re wearing his favourite black dress paired with ankle boots, wrists clinking from the bangles and makeup done to perfection. Today’s supposed to be simple, quiet, and romantic – especially with your surprise for him – but he’s still not home.

Washing your face in the sink and covering the dishes, you blow out the candles, heading back to your shared room to call it a day. You swipe your dress with Gojo’s white button, wanting to feel that he’s still with you even with just his scent.

A blaring red that reads three forty-five is the last thing you see as you burrow deep into the covers, trying your best to ignore the panging in your heart.

He promised he’d be home soon.

“Honey! I’m ho—” Gojo blinks at the darkness of your penthouse, hands patting the walls before flicking on the lights. He’s not surprised to see that it’s neat as usual, but then his gaze lands on the dining table, and that’s when he realizes he’s fucked up.

The candles are already melted halfway, one wine glass still and the other already washed in the sink. You must’ve taken a few sips as you waited for him; an image he can imagine already. He’s admired you long before dating you that Gojo’s used to your habits, like how you’d rotate the drink in your glass three times before you drink, tongue darting out to taste the wine mixing in with your lips.

He knows all this, mostly because it always drives him crazy when you do that, and he’s lost count of the times he’s pushed you up against the counter, shoving his tongue between your lips to find out what it is about wine and flavoured lipsticks you liked so much.

It’s a little hellish to him the more he thinks about it, even more so because you’re completely unaware of your effect on him.

But he’s not the only one, since no matter how perceptive Gojo could be, he’s scatterbrained more often than he likes to admit. And of fucking course he forgot tonight was your anniversary. He never set dates on his calendars, waving his hand and confidently stating he had an ultra memory and didn’t need reminders.

Well, now that ultra memory is reminding him of the last time he’s forgot to attend your work event, a time you needed him more than anything else, and you didn’t talk to him for a week straight.

He wishes you would shout at him, push or shove him even, call him names and tell him he’s horrible, but you’ve always been a sweet, little thing – you’re timid even in your frustration. You never glared at him, never scolded him, and it’s even more terrifying because you’re still so sweet to him – preparing him meals, giving him a kiss before he leaves for work – but Gojo isn’t entirely dumb. He notices how you turn away from him in your sleep, your arms that would usually be wrapped around his torso now hugging yourself in an attempt to make yourself small and invisible.

That’s how you felt every time Gojo doesn’t keep to his word.

Unseen. Unloved. Unheard. Unimportant. He’s no mind reader, but it’d be pushing it if he can’t even turn to your thoughts like that.

And even in your slumber, it’s written all over your face, evident in the way tears are staining your cheeks under the sheets. Gojo sighs upon seeing your crumpled form on the bed, your dress hanging neatly from the closet and your heels placed beneath it. He crouches down in front of the shoe, his hands crumpled into fists. This wasn’t just any shoe – it’s the one he made you get during that time you were debating whether you could pull it off, but he encouraged you that you looked gorgeous in anything. Despite having bought it a long time ago, you never wore it, only on this day because you trust your comfort and safety around him; one he’s so effortlessly crushed.

Gojo quickly changes into his pyjamas not long afterwards, sliding himself next to your body in slow, careful movements to not wake you up. Aside from a slight stir, you remain deep asleep, the frown permanent and deep on your face.

It breaks his heart to see you like this, especially because he knows he’s the one who caused it.

Gojo runs his hand across the apple of your cheeks, caressing your precious face on his palm before leaning forward to kiss your head. You smell amazing too, and yet, you’re uncomfortable with whatever’s playing in your head. He could take a good guess and assume it’s him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your skin, sliding his arm over your body to pull you close to him. “I didn’t mean to forget, I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

He knows he should apologize when you’re awake, but he wants to say it now before his guilt eats up at him. Gojo’s eyes flutter close when his hands come into contact with something...lacey, and he pauses, lifting the sheets to inspect the material. He doesn’t really know what he’s expecting, but his breath stutters anyway, his aquamarine eyes zeroed in on his shirt draped over your form, the top three buttons left open and you’re not wearing shorts.

Gojo curses under his breath. His reaction is immediate; blood rushing to his groin and legs nudging yours apart. He doesn’t bother hiding under the sheets not anymore as he runs his hand over your body, his touch suddenly so cold in contrast to your warmth.

He’s fucked you a lot of times in different places and angles, so he shouldn’t be so nervous, yet he is, and his hands are fucking shaking.

His head snaps to your one more time, revelling in the way you open your legs just as he pries them apart. Even in your sleep, you’re still so trusting, so wanting – so perfect for him. Gojo situates himself between your thighs as he unbuttons your shirt one by one, his teeth clenched so hard it wouldn’t be anything surprising if he actually cracked his jaw.

You’re nothing short of looking like an angel; the thigh straps squeezing the flesh of your thighs and exuding such heavenly beauty he’s stunned.

You let out a sigh at his erection rubbing you through his boxers, completely unaware that Gojo’s fallen back on his thighs, eyes wide at the white lingerie set clad in your body. He licks at his lips, debating which land he should trudge on first.

The thigh straps he wants to rip with his fingers, the white lace panty that’s already nearly transparent with your arousal, or the frilly cups holding your breasts in place?

This is the first time Gojo’s gotten close to losing his mind, and lose his mind he did. Thoughts of making it up to you flies out the window, his emotions running turbulent with anger and regret in place. If he’d just gotten home, if he’d just killed the curses faster, he could’ve kissed you and heard you beg for him in your awakened state; he’d have the pleasure of seeing you squirm under him while he rips this pretty set apart.

His dick throbs harder at the fact you wore this for him, but you must’ve been so tired and sad to wear proper pyjamas. Should he be thankful? Angry at himself for making you feel this way?

He doesn’t fucking now, his mind is nothing but a mess as he sucks a wet spot into the juncture of your neck, large hands groping your breast. You mewl a little at the contact, neck arching to the side while you sigh, that slight dip in your brow a telltale you must be still in a sleepy daze.

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters through pants as he cups your mound, only to be met with such astounding wetness. You look so innocent right now in comparison to your soft moans that it ruins him. You’re a good girl, such a sweet lover for him that you’re always letting him take in charge under the trust he’ll make you feel good. This trust is extended even in your wildest dreams, but you don’t need to worry about that. He’ll soon make it a reality.

Gojo is too needy that he doesn’t bother pulling your thong off anymore, pulling it to the side with two fingers before his thumb flicks at your clit. He’s rewarded with a sharp inhale, cheeks planted to the pillows and you look so pretty, so hauntingly oblivious that the only thing able to pull the strongest sorcerer limb by limb apart is through your needy wet cunt.

He aligns himself with your entrance, groaning when his tip is coated with your slick, the warmth of your pussy radiating off of him. It’s fucking stupid that Gojo shivers, and he knows it’s pathetic because he chuckles, lifting both your legs up before he hugs them to his chest.

You’re so wet that Gojo no longer finds the need to prepare you, his eyes falling down to where your bodies connect, breath taken away at how your lips eagerly spread apart to take him in. He’s a little too big for your tiny, sweet pussy that your lips pinch into a flat line, chest rasping up and down.

He wants to apologize, wants to caress your face and look you in the eyes as usual to tell you that you’re doing good, just breathe and the pain will be gone soon.

The situation deprives him of that privilege, so he’s left with no choice but to kiss your ankles affectionately before thrusting all the way in. A loud moan echoes around the room the moment he’s seated in, dick throbbing inside your heated pussy that’s so tight it’s nearly suffocating.

“Oh, my baby,” he thrusts in slowly, not wanting to completely wake you up despite the fact you’re unconsciously grabbing the sheets already. “My sweet, pretty angel – I’m so sorry daddy couldn’t fuck you tonight but look at you, you’re so wet,” he bites your calf at the last word to muffle his groans, the tight sucking in of your pussy to his length making his cock throb. “Did you touch yourself when I was gone, hm? You must be so unsatisfied, but I’m here now, I’ll take care of you.”

Gojo’s unable to keep his promise to you before, but he’ll definitely keep this promise now. He leaves little love marks at your skin, reaching forward to tug the cups of your bra down. He’s rewarded with the intoxicating luxury of watching your breasts bounce at his pace, your nipples the only thing stopping the material from completely falling.

You mewl at the pleasure he’s giving you, the constant friction of your hardened buds against the cups must be so heavenly by now, and you’re tightening around him, walls clamped down over his dick that Gojo never wants to let go.

He thrusts harder this time in response to your greedy sucking, his tip kissing your cervix. You throw your head back deeper into the pillows, hands patting every spot beside you. He knows that look all too well – mouth falling open, eyes shut tight, brows pinched together and that angelic little pant – it’s the face you always wear when you’re about to cum and Gojo wants to make it up to you, pushing your legs to the side before heaving his weight forward.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, “Coming already?”

The sudden stretch in your body only has your walls sucking him harder, his hips stuttering in its pace. Gojo kisses you flat on the lips as his hands thread to yours, squeezing it momentarily just as pleasure washes over him too. You come first, the spasms of your cunt similar to that one time you’ve accidentally gripped him too hard in your hand that Gojo’s cum suddenly landed on your eye. It’s tight, too fucking tight, that Gojo actually loses the ability to breathe.

His hips snap harder, dick driving deeper into your hole that’s already leaking out with cum. Your precious lingerie set is ruined, guaranteed to get him another pout that Gojo shakes his head, gripping hard at your hips while he chases his own high.

“I’ll get you another one, angel, I’ll buy you – fuck! – all the sets you need if it means dressing pretty for me like this,” he stutters in one breath, mouth latching around your nipple. He tugs at it in his need to reach his breaking point, no longer caring that you’ll wake up anytime soon, not when he’s so close and the squelching of your pussy sounds like heavenly music to his ears. Gojo thrusts in one last time hard enough that his balls make a loud slapping sound against your ass, but he doesn’t slide out, keeping himself right deep into your cunt in his orgasm.

Breathing heavily, Gojo falls on top of you, thankfully still strong enough to not crush you with his weight. He’s leaving fluttering kisses all over your face, your sweat slicking his skin.

He wants to pull out from the sensitivity, but you feel so warm and comfortable that Gojo plops down to the side, hugging your back and kissing your shoulder with panted breaths. You’re still recovering from the tremors of your orgasm that’s most likely still a dream to you, body trembling in his arms. Gojo does you a favour by throwing your bra to the side, his hands acting as a replacement for the missing piece.

He sighs onto your neck, barely managing to properly cover the both of your bodies in his exhaustion after a long day. He holds you close and tight in his arms, an I love you merely audible from his lips, followed by a regretful I’m sorry.

Gojo dreads tomorrow morning, in all honesty. There’s no easy way to explain that he “simply forgot” after all your efforts, his heart already darkening with the fear of seeing you pull away like you did the last time. His eyes droop down as he makes a mental note to just do whatever he can, but you’re stirring in his arms, lips puckered at the edge of his jaw.

“Satoru,” you whisper, hands tracing patterns on his chest. “You’re home. I’m glad.”

Soft snores follow after that, but Satoru is wide awake just as you’ve fallen asleep once more. He’s left speechless, and he doesn’t hold back in hugging you closer to his chest as a silent promise of never leaving you alone again. Even now, you’re still such a sweet angel, and how lucky is he to find someone like that?

[captains-simp]

Can I get a request where Yelena's dating R and has been for a while because things are going great but Natasha (being the protective big sister she is) realllllyyyy doesn't like R and R keeps making things worse because Nat intimidates her and all bdaksnakwk😭 and she finally accepts R when she gets caught up in a mission somehow and almost dies for Yelena🥺

Nat simps: Nat doesn't like the relationship because she's jealous

Me: n-no

Nat simps: she actually loves R😃

Me: guys no-

Nat simps: but-

Me: N O

(You guys are getting a big Natasha fic after this, calm your tits🙄)

3.6k words

Warnings: graphic injury description, implied torture and murder

[ masterlist ]

Buy me a coffee ☕

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"My sister does not hate you." Yelena chuckled as she opened the car door and stepped out. You stayed put for a second, staring up at the Avenger's tower as you chewed your lower lip.

"She definitely does." You mumbled as you stepped out of the car yourself. Yelena held her hand out for you to take, marginally helping your nerves when she gave it a reassuring squeeze. She noticed your silence and tried again.

"Okay maybe she's not your biggest fan right now but she'll warm up to you. I did." The blonde winked. You bit back a smile and rolled your eyes. "The others sure as hell love you." You hummed in response, you couldn't argue with that. You got on with the other heroes like a house on fire. "And I love you." Yelena said earnestly as you stopped outside the main door for your girlfriend to plant a soft, quick, kiss on your lips.

"I love you too." You said with a smile.

"There she is." She grinned back as she stroked your cheek with her index finger. "Now come on, I'm starving."

"You ate that bag of M&Ms in the car." You laughed as Yelena led you through the building. The blonde scoffed.

"They only half fill them, y/n." She complained. "So it was half a bag." It was hard to argue with that logic. 

You made your way through to the top floor of the building, all while holding onto the expensive wine bottle you bought. Your hands were sweating so much so you held onto the bottle with both hands, not trusting your grip. The last thing you needed was to smash it on any of Tony's expensive carpets. You were met with a round of laughter when the elevator doors opened, presenting the Avengers all sat around the living area. Their eyes turned to you and Yelena with wide smiles and they all shouted hellos across the room. Wanda gave you a warm hug as Yelena high fived Bucky and you felt your nerves soften. 

"She's just finishing up." Wanda said knowingly. You wondered for a brief second if she had taken a peek into your mind but when you looked at the redhead she was smiling reassuringly at you and you realized it must have been obvious that you were anxious to see her again. Unlike Yelena, everyone else could tell you were Natasha's least favourite person. "For what it's worth she seems to be in a pretty good mood tonight." Wanda assured.

"Whose in a pretty good mood tonight?" Came the voice you had been dreading to hear. Natasha strolled into the living room with a content smile on her face but halted in her tracks once she saw you. You locked eyes for longer than you were comfortable with but you were determined not to look away. Sometimes you thought that if you asserted yourself more then maybe Natasha would at least respect you. Today wasn't the day for that because you looked away quicker than you would have hoped to. In your defence, it was really hard to maintain eye contact with the Black Widow. 

"What's she doing here?" Natasha spat. Oh. You winced as you rubbed the back of your neck, clearly the Russian wasn't aware that you were attending the dinner too. 

"I told you she was coming." Yelena said as she strolled towards her sister and gave her a bear hug. Natasha continued to glare at you from over her sister's shoulder. 

"I thought you were meant to be on a mission."

"Luckily it was over by lunch." You smiled weakly. "Meant there was still brownie left in the cafeteria." You laughed awkwardly but Natasha didn't respond. 

"If you want, I could give you the recipe for my brownies." Wanda said in an attempt to ease the overwhelming tension in the room. The Sokovian was always the best at that and you were sure it was entirely down to her calm demeanour.

"Really?" You asked hopefully as you all made your way to the dinner table. You avoided Natasha's eyes the whole time but consequently ended up taking a seat opposite her. You froze when you sat down, already under her heated gaze once again. You gulped thickly and turned to Yelena while you tried to ignore the pair of emerald eyes burning holes into the side of your head.

The rest of the dinner wasn't altogether awkward but it wasn't the most comfortable you'd ever been. Natasha didn't acknowledge you, though it was rare that she did, and you both engaged in separate conversations with the rest of the team. You had never known if there was a particular reason the redhead didn't like you. You guessed it was down to her being protective of her little sister, something you could understand given all they had been through. But you would never hurt your girlfriend, in fact you would do anything to avoid that. So it bothered you that there was nothing you could do to sway Natasha's opinion of you, because you had literally tried everything. You had been dating her sister for six months. Surely if she was going to accept you it would have happened already. 

When dinner was finished Natasha excused herself as Yelena picked up some plates and took them to the kitchen. You were hooked on a story Sam was telling when they left, both your elbows on the table as your face rested in your hands, eagerly waiting for Sam to reveal how he was able to escape a whole squadron of planes with a malfunctioning suit. As a S.H.I.E.L.D agent, you didn’t get to experience half the things the Avengers did. Sure, you had had some crazy missions and your fair share of close calls, but their stories always won. 

Once Sam dramatically finished his story with some over the top sound effects, you noticed Yelena had missed a few plates and still wasn’t back. With the dishes in your hands, you made your way to the kitchen, soon hearing the strong accent of your girlfriend. “You're being unfair.” She scolded with a hushed aggression. 

“I’m trying to protect you, Lena.” Natasha’s voice fired back. Your ears pricked up at the verb and you were unsure of whether or not to leave the plates on a near table and go or stay to hear about the apparent threat your girlfriend was facing. “She’s going to get herself killed.”

“Oh and you’ve never done something reckless?” Reckless. That was a word you had seen in your S.H.I.E.L.D assessment reports enough times to get a vague idea of who the pair were talking about. Natasha being on the opposing side proved the point more. “When will you drop this?”

“You couldn’t have just dated a normal civilian? Or at least an agent that manages to not get themselves in harm's way on the way to the paper copier.” Well that was hardly accurate. S.H.I.E.L.D didn’t use paper copiers. 

“You know maybe if you spent less time being a bitch to her and more time actually getting to know her you would understand why I love her.” Yelena said in a more disappointed tone, most of the frustration drained away from exhaustion. You wondered how long they had been talking about this. Or if they had before. Yelena always acted like there wasn’t any tension between you and her sister. Maybe she thought if she ignored it things would sort themselves out. 

There was a heavy silence over the room so with a pang of guilt, you stepped out from behind the wall with the plates still in your hands, fauxing mild surprise when you saw them both, like you didn’t even know they were still there. If they saw through your act, they didn’t say anything. “Thanks, just put them there.” The blonde smiled and pointed at the counter near her. Natasha stayed silent as she watched you from the other side of the room. It always felt like she was studying you for any sign of a weakness when she looked at you, waiting to spot something she could use to strike. 

“You need a hand?” You asked as you spied the excessive bubbles in the sink that coaxed your girlfriend’s forearms. “Before you break something.” You joked and watched as Yelena’s cheeks tinted pink as she remembered the shattered glass in the bin at home. 

“She’s capable.” Natasha interrupted with stone cold glare. 

“That’s okay, detka (babe).” Yelena mumbled and kissed your cheek. “I’m just finishing up.” She said before looking briefly at her sister. “Then we’re going.”

*

To no surprise of your own, Natasha didn’t get any friendly towards you after what you could only assume wasn’t the first discussion the sister’s had had about you. In fact it got considerably worse; not straight away though, that came a few weeks after when the pair came rushing into the cafeteria. Yelena marched in the room with her eyes set on you as the redhead followed by her side, exclaiming something wildly with her hands. 

“This is insane. Yelena!” Unfortunately for Natasha, her sister’s stubbornness fiercely rivaled her own. 

“Hey, detka.” Yelena smiled as she sat down on the seat in front of you. You gave a small wave as you finished chewing your sandwich, eyeing the pair cautiously. Natasha continued to stand with her arms crossed, mumbling under her breath in Russian. “You busy now?” 

“Not really.” You shrugged and brushed the crumbs off your hands.

“Yelena, no.”

“Zamolchi (shut up)!” The blonde fired back. “That’s great,I could really use a hand on a mission.”

“I will go with you.” Natasha insisted but Yelena shooed her away distractedly. “They know who you are, it won’t work.” She hissed.

“That’s why disguises exist!” Natasha yelled, gaining the attention of every other S.H.I.E.L.D agent in the room. 

“It won’t work.” Your girlfriend said firmly, her choice was already made and set in stone. 

“Okay.” You shrugged and immediately fell under Natasha’s most heated glare. 

“Don’t you dare.” She gritted. “There are thousands of agents in this base alone and you’re picking the single most reckless one who will get you killed.” The redhead continued but Yelena, unlike you, wasn’t fazed. 

“Great, go pack your stuff.” Yelena cheered.

“Right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t fucking move.” Your body betrayed you, keeping you glued to your seat in fear of what method, of the hundreds the widow knew, she would choose to kill you if you stood up. 

“I don’t trust anyone else to do this.” Yelena said earnestly to her sister. Natasha considered her sister carefully but still looked unconvinced when her younger sister gave a frustrated huff and took you by the hand to drag you to your feet and past her sister who surprisingly didn’t follow after you both. 

As your girlfriend led you down the halls she explained the basis of the mission, telling you how you were to set up a last minute buy with a high profile weapons smuggler. Annoyingly, that was how he worked, telling buyers the location and time of a deal at the last minute. Beneficially, he was a smug prick who only believed in carrying out deals on his own. While he would be armed, there would be no one else with him, making yours and Yelena’s job easier. Yelena was the sniper, shooting to kill. S.H.I.E.L.D had tried apprehending the guy alive but it always ended in casualties and they were finally done with going easy. 

You considered it all when you were changing into the outfit Yelena had given you, planning what exactly you could say to the dealer to get him to the specific part of the warehouse that Yelena could shoot at. You were buttoning up your white blouse when the door swung open and Natasha stepped through. “You sure you can handle this?” She asked right off the bat. 

“I’ve been through my training just like everyone else here, Natasha. I know you don’t think I’m capable but I’ve been on my fair share of missions and I know protocol and-”

“Just keep her safe.” The Russian said. You blinked and opened your mouth to speak but couldn’t find the words.

“I don’t care if Baros comes out of there in a body bag or in a limo.” You blinked again and continued with your shirt as you decided to just listen to Natasha. “But if one hair on Yelena’s head is harmed I will make you live to regret it for the remainder of your long and very painful days.��� She said darkly and you could only nod dumbly. Natasha studied you for a long moment before turning around to head out of the room far less dramatically as she had entered. 

“She trusts me for a reason.” You couldn’t help but call out as the redhead opened the door. She glanced at you for a second and left as she called over her shoulder to you. 

“I don’t.”

*

“Do you want to get take out tonight? I was thinking that new Chinese place around the corner.” Yelena spoke clearly but she might as well have been thinking aloud because you couldn’t respond. She knew that of course. She knew that you speaking would ruin your cover if Baros had cameras set up around you. “So that’s a yes on the Chinese?” She continued. Okay she was definitely doing it because she knew you couldn’t respond. “Detka there’s no need for you to insist on paying. I owe you one right now.” You bit back a smile until the warehouse doors opened and Baros stepped through, watching you eagerly. 

“So nice of you to join me.” You deadpanned. You couldn’t help it. The guy literally chose the time and he was still half an hour late.

“Yes, my apologies.” Baros said in a very unapologetic tone. “Something came up.” He muttered as he placed a large box on the table and unlocked it with an 8 digit code although you were sure there was a lot more to it than that. Not that you cared about his weapons right now. “Now I hear I have something you’re interested in.” 

With that, the sale began. At first you thought you were in luck. Baros made a habit of strolling around the room as he explained various weapons that you pretended to be interested in, but he never went to the spot Yelena could shoot. It became irritating very quickly. You walked around too in an attempt to lead him to wear you needed him but he always backed off at the last second. You heard Yelena groan into the earpiece a few times too. 

“Is there anything here that’s of interest to you? Or are you more concerned with listening to whoever’s on the other end of that earpiece?” Your eyes snapped to Baros as he watched you curiously. “Where is she?” He asked coldly. Your earpiece wasn’t meant to be visible and the thought that Baros had found a way to get around S.H.I.E.L.D’s technology concerned you greatly. 

“I don’t know who you’re talking about, I’m here alone.” You swallowed thickly. Baros gave a throaty laugh in response, some primal hunting impulse starting up. 

“I’ve killed every S.H.I.E.L.D agent that has come after me, you and your friend will be no different. Now where is she?”

You wanted to charge at Baros. To knock him to the ground and wrap your hands tightly around his throat and squeeze long and tight enough to make him regret ever threatening your girlfriend. Except you couldn’t move. It wasn’t a fear induced freeze up like you had gotten from Natasha’s glares a few times. There was a much larger and more dangerous obstacle that stopped you moving. Something toxic. Baros gave another manic laugh as he watched that realisation dawn on you. But really, what was panicking you most was that Yelena had been silent for a long time. 

“You see, Agent l/n, while you were trying your hardest to get me to play your game, I was beating you at my own. I’ve grown immune to the toxin that’s been circulating the room since your arrival.” You trembled as you dropped to your knees and fell onto your side, only able to watch and listen. “And what your friend sees is a mere projection of us continuing business, audio included of course, so she won’t be coming to get you anytime soon.” You exhaled as heavily as you could in relief at the knowledge that Yelena was safe.

“Now where were we?” Baros asked as he knelt down besides you and lifted your head up, placing the flat of a blade against your cheek. “Oh yes, you were just about to tell me about the other one.”

“Go...to...hell.” You grimace, every word spoken feeling like one of the hardest things you had ever done. 

“I’m sure you’ll feel as though you’re there very shortly.” He muttered as the knife very slowly started to dig into your skin.

*

You had no idea how long you were with Baros, how long since he had first started slicing your skin, how long your bones had been broken or even how long since you had first started to cough up blood, most of it staying in your mouth because of your weak diaphragm. You had exceeded your limit long ago, only using your energy to make the occasional snarky comment that made the next attack harsher. You couldn’t seem to stop yourself. It made you feel like you had some control, as did the fact that you never said a word about Yelena.

A gargled scream was ripped from you when Baros pressed the burning hot knife against your latest stab wound, cauterising it to stop you bleeding out and keep you alive for as long as he needed you. A sickening smile crept onto his lips as he watched your eyes fill with tears once again and leant back once he was done. Much to your long awaited relief, that smile was wiped from his face when a spray of red erupted in front of you, shortly followed by Baros dropping to the ground next to you, dead on the spot he had accidentally stood in. 

You didn’t trust your relief, you didn’t trust yourself not to be hallucinated after the endless hours of torture, even when a heavily armed S.H.I.E.L.D team flooded into the room. A few gathered around you, asking questions you couldn’t quite understand as bright white lights filled your vision. Then you were being lifted into the air, not aware of the fabric of the stretcher beneath you until the back of your hand dropped onto it. You managed a small trace of a smile before you passed out. 

*

There was an arm draped across your stomach when you woke up. It was the first thing you felt, a fact that you were extremely grateful for. You blinked frantically a few times before you turned to look at your girlfriend sleeping by your side on the hospital bed. You smiled at the sight of her peaceful form and tucked some stray hairs behind her ear softly, careful not to wake her. You were glad you cherished that moment of peace and relief, because it wasn’t long before you had more company.

You took your hand away from Yelena’s face when Natasha walked in, settling to keep it by your side, although there was nothing you could do about the arm that was squished between yours and your girlfriend’s body. “I tried my best-” you started but Natasha shook her head. 

“You...you did great, y/n.” You smiled sheepishly, sure there were some drugs in your system. “No one could have done any better.” She said as her eyes flickered to the cuts on your face. “So thank you.”

“It was no trouble at all.” You shrugged. Natasha rolled her eyes but smiled faintly, something you never thought you would see directed at you. “I’d never let anything happen to her.” You said honestly. The redhead nodded as she looked at her sister.

“I know that now. I was just scared, I can’t loose her again and you have to admit you’re not the most reliable person on the planet.” You blushed and looked away. “But I trust you now and I’m sorry I doubted you.” She apologised sincerely.

“No harm, no foul.” You joked again, truly not knowing how you were meant to act around the Russian now that you were finally in her good books.

“Don’t make me regret this.” Natasha warned with a smirk. You chuckled lightly and watched as she made to leave. “You should get some rest.” She advised and you nodded but frowned when she was nearly out the door.

“How’d she know?” You asked, making Natasha turn back to you with a quirk of her brow. “That something wasn’t right.” The redhead smiled and shook her head.

“You hadn’t made a smart ass comment in ten minutes.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Taglist: @bxngbxngintothewomb @gayarchnemessis @caroldanvers2 @marvelwomenslut @marvelwomen-simp @likefirenrain @grxvitye @emilyprentisslittlewhore @lostandsearching @firenrain13 @horcruxhunter90 @nightingalxx @sky-kim-00 @yeeterthekeeper @didujustcallmedumb

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[jetblackknight]

⚔ ────▪ ❛ 𝙰 𝙱𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝙱𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙺𝙴𝚃 ? ❜

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ Familiarity and softness began to bloom across Vergil's features ; he took his place beside Nero and made a note to return after his son was gone to offer to replace the brick he had destroyed. His toes began to throb ; his head ever the more as he saw his own son battling 𝙵𝙸𝙴𝚁𝙲𝙴𝙻𝚈 with his own mind. What destruction he had caused, and so indirectly. A familiar sensation, an intoxicating one, began to bubble upward again—how he hated seeing his son so distraught. A side effect of 𝙴𝙼𝙱𝚁𝙰𝙲𝙸𝙽𝙶 his humanity again.

                          ❛ She made it to the manor, then, ❜ Vergil murmured, watching not the baristas and their skillful work, but the people around them. Suddenly, it felt as if every single 𝙴𝚈𝙴 was on the pair, who seemed out of place in such casual manner. Vergil certainly did ; but none of them were really looking, apart from the occasional glance. How often did a human see a Sparda , let alone 𝚃𝚆𝙾 ? ❛ The blanket was mine. It had to have survived the fire. She must have loved you ; and giving you up was her 𝙻𝙰𝚂𝚃 𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙾𝚁𝚃. ❜                           Vergil's face, for a fraction of a second, fell. He straightened out, cleared his throat, and 𝙲𝙻𝙰𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙳 his hands in front of him ; a brick wall, so to speak. He was remembering more, but not much. The exchange of money, the embarrassment of paying for it, The 𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙸𝙻𝙻 of paying for it, knowing it was going to happen and she would not reject him for it. Visibly, Vergil shuddered beside Nero. ❛ That . . . He would have moved Hell and Earth to find any reason to bring 𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙼 to you. He hated Sparda, he hated Dante and I. He would have wanted you 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝙳, too. Your mother— ❜                           Another flash. ❛ 𝙶𝙾𝙳𝙸𝚅𝙰. She called herself Godiva. But. . . that wasn't her name. Not her true name. That was— ❜ He paused, gripping his interlocked fingers tightly. ❛ What was it ? I . . . I had my 𝙲𝙷𝙾𝙸𝙲𝙴, I flashed my father's name and . . . and I had any choice in the. . . broth— ❜                           He paused. This was no story for his son to hear. He sighed, bringing his hand up to rub at his temples ; Vergil would endure a thousand 𝙼𝙸𝙶𝚁𝙰𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚂 if only he could remember—if not for himself, then Nero. The baristas worked quickly, sliding two to-go cups of drinks . They called Nero's name, but it was Vergil who stepped forward and 𝙶𝚁𝙰𝙱𝙱𝙴𝙳 them, embarrassed and ashamed that Nero had to hear such tales.                           It wasn't until they were on the cafe's roof terrace, Vergil sat on one side of a wrought-iron table and Nero the other, that it came to him, causing him to 𝙲𝙷𝙾𝙺𝙴 on his tea mid-sip. He coughed and sputtered, but managed to get it out of his mouth while reaching for his handkerchief.                           ❛ 𝚂𝙴𝚁𝙰𝙵𝙸𝙽𝙰. Dear Father, how could I have forgotten ? My 𝙱𝚄𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴𝙻, that—that was what I called her. It used to make her flush such deep wine across her cheeks. And . . . after the first few times visiting her, I stopped needing to pay. She had. . . she had fallen in 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴 with me, did not want me to pay. ❜ The only gaze Vergil could offer his son was one of deep, deep mortification.  ❛ She gave me a bed while I gave her . . . that, among other things. Trinkets. Jewelry. A 𝚂𝙿𝙰𝚁𝙳𝙰, a son. I . . . I remember, Nero. She didn't 𝙲𝚁𝚈 when I left. And by then, she was . . . she was so round. Nero, I— ❜

The Order.

The mere mention of it has Nero turn away, idly avert his gaze so he can disguise the look of trauma 'pon his expression temporarily. He had fond memories of his time in the Order as a youth, that much was for certain, but those good times were associated with people that were no longer around- people he had witnessed perish before his very eyes to save the Island they called home, and the people upon it.

Sacrifice. It had been everywhere; death smeared before his eyes time and time again as a child, only ever more as he grew older - - and then the incident that had near rendered the island desolate burned itself within his skull, as if it had marred to the depths of his very soul. He didn't like to think about any of it, liked to talk about it even less. It had been a viciously tumultuous time - - especially with the happening of his arm, how it had petrified him to his core, how he'd done his best to hide it constantly... Nobody could ever hope to understand that.

Nero wanted to say that he hadn't seared for his father as a youth, that he hadn't ever thought about it; if you were left behind, then evidently one was unwanted. Would there have ever been any point in trying to seek out a parent that didn't want them-? But it would have been a lie. As a boy, he was just like any other - - who would spend summer evenings and rainy mornings looking out of a window in the hopes to see someone head over the hill, walk up the path and claim them back. Love them. Take them away from where they struggled. Nero had, just as any other, longed for a parent to pick him up; but it had never happened and he had lost his hopes ere he had turned seven.

A heartbeat passed and a decision made; Nero's boots stepping within the café where the familiar scents and sounds offered some variety of comfort to him. When one had learned to rely on themselves for the majority of their life, through stubbornness or circumstance, one learned to find comfort in bizarre places. Familiarity had always helped Nero- and though it had been torn away from him time and time again, he had rediscovered it once he had pushed forward.

The mention of his mother had him pause in formulating just what kind of drink he wanted; an unexpected turn of conversation. He'd paid his mother as much thought as his father, growing up; hopeful they'd turn up, at some point... explain some reason for vanishing and then disappearing together to live as a happy family. That dream, that hope, had died young- and since, Nero simply assumed that he had not been wanted. A natural assumption for an orphan for the other possibilities were that parents had been killed in outbreaks, or something similar... and that was hardly something to cling to as a child. Hope had been all they had...

Now he was being offered answers to questions that had kept him awake as a child, answers that haunted him from the depths of his stomach where he had buried them all those years before. It felt as if his very person was riddled with ... with the haunting of his child self.

Watching, there is something within Nero that doesn't like to see the elder struggle with himself, evidently pushing to remember things just out of his grasp and thus, briefly, he looks away - he hesitates to say anything at all.

"Don't force it." He finally utters, stepping to order the both of them some drinks, entirely guessing on a type of tea for his father to consume while sharing company. Perhaps heading to sit on the little terrace was the best idea, at least then they'd not disturb those having a quiet meal or something of the sort.

"I've... never seen her; never heard anything about her." He admits, quietly; eyes tracing the movement of the staff that worked there while making their drinks. "Once I was old enough to understand, the orphanage staff told me I was left on their doorstep in a box, wrapped in a black blanket, in the middle of a thunderstorm one night. Nobody saw any sights of her, nobody saw me being left. So... I guess I couldn't tell you, either."

[valdomarx]

“Geralt. My dearest friend. My closest companion. Light of my life, fire of my-”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “What do you want, Jaskier?”

“Seeing as how I’ve made you famous, and I flatter myself that this has eased you path somewhat, why, this very inn not only took us in but even offered us a discounted rate-”

“What do you want, Jaskier?” Testier this time.

“Ahh. Well. Let me put it plainly: I’m in need of a favour.”

Geralt raises one eyebrow, in an expression he knows speaks volumes.

“I need you to come with me to Lettenhove this winter and pose as my fiancé.”

Geralt nearly drops the sword he’s sharpening. A million thoughts whip through his mind, but one is most pressing: “Why, for Melitele’s sake?”

Jaskier waves a hand in a vague and non-descriptive gesture. “It’s a court thing, you know how families are, and my mother has made it abundantly clear that it’s time for me to settle down and this year I’m to return affianced or else she’ll select someone for me. And I can’t get hitched to some local lady, Geralt, I simply can’t, it’ll ruin my bardic appeal, not to mention my employment prospects, and of course I won’t be able to travel with you, and it’s-”

Geralt holds up a hand to ward off the wall of words. The idea of no longer travelling with Jaskier is unconscionable, not that he’d ever admit that out loud. And they spend so much time together they’re practically married anyway. How hard could it be to pretend for a few days?

“Fine,” he says gruffly.

“Oh, Geralt, you are wonderful.” Jaskier beams and throws his arms around Geralt’s neck. Geralt growls, but secretly, it’s actually rather nice.

-

“Mother, this is Geralt, my fiancé.”

Cold, clear eyes look him up and down, assessing him, and pinch into an expression suggesting he has been found wanting. Geralt decides against opening his mouth and further cementing that opinion.

“A witcher.” Her voice has the familiar twang of Jaskier’s, but with the flat, expressionless cadence he associates with the higher echelons of the aristocracy.

“A witcher!” Jaskier confirms in a cheery tone. “Isn’t that exciting?”

She sniffs in a manner which makes it clear that exciting would not be her first choice of word. “I see. He will be joining us for this year’s Yuletide?”

“He will.”

Her face draws back into the impassive mask of the well-bred. “Very well. You will stay in the east wing.”

“Thank you, mother.” Jaskier executes a stiff bow which Geralt copies and they beat a hasty retreat.

-

“That went rather well!”

Geralt blinks. “Jaskier, I’m fairly sure your mother means to have me killed in my sleep.”

“Oh, don’t mind her. She’s always like that. She’s actually softened up a lot since dear old dad died, gods rest the grumpy bastard.”

Geralt struggles to imagine how such staid, cold people could possibly have produced a son as bright and warm as Jaskier. They might as well be a different species.

Jaskier pushes open a door to a grand suite, all plush velvets and gold ornamentation, a thick woven rug underfoot. It’s the most opulent room Geralt has ever seen, but Jaskier pays it no mind and throws his bag casually on the bed.

“We’ll have to stay here together,” he says apologetically, not looking Geralt in the eye. “But the bed is plenty big, or I can sleep on the sofa if you’d rather -”

Geralt is still taking it all in: The space, the furnishings, the frankly enormous bed which looks divinely comfortable. And there, through the next room, that looks like-

“Is that a copper bathtub?” he asks, eyes wide. Such luxuries were a rarity indeed.

Jaskier grinned. “It is. Let me get some food sent up and I’ll wash your hair?”

Geralt grumbles, just for the effect, and decides that putting up with tedious aristocracy might have its benefits after all.

-

Yule festivities in Lettenhove are, mercifully, a mere matter of days. First there is the fitting for formal attire, which Geralt scowls through but Jaskier promises will be made up for with plenty of good food and wine. Then there are several deeply tedious aristocratic parties, which Jaskier sails through and Geralt spends mostly hiding in dark corners, as is his wont.

Occasionally, Jaskier will grab him by the hand and introduce him as, “Geralt, my husband-to-be,” and something funny will flip over in his stomach which will require several drinks to settle. When he returns to his dark corner he’ll find his heart pumping a little faster as his eyes track Jaskier flitting around the room. It’s probably just indigestion from all the rich food.

Then there is the formal family Yuletide dinner, a spectacularly awkward and singly unpleasant evening spent around a long, cold table with Jaskier’s mother and various cousins, who regard Geralt with expressions ranging from bland disinterest to active hostility. The food is heavy beyond measure and the conversation cruel and bland by turns.

They cover the need for raising taxes, the many failings of the servant class, and the petty squabbles over jewels and titles that seems to be the bread and butter of these people. With each hateful line, Geralt feels his blood rising. If it weren’t for Jaskier making pleading eyes at him, he’d take great pleasure in explaining some hard truths to them.

When a cousin begins expounding on useless lazy peasants in the estate, complaining that they can’t work because of plague, but we all know they’re simply idle, Geralt grits his teeth so hard that he swears the sound must be audible.

Beneath the table, Jaskier takes his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Staring down at their joined hands, Geralt detaches from these awful people and their awful conversation and focuses on the simple warmth of Jaskier’s fingers intertwined with his own.

-

They make their escape from dinner as soon as can be considered polite, and Geralt takes a second to lean against the door to their room, breathing deeply.

“You did well not to throttle anyone,” Jaskier says with a reassuring smile. “If we’d had to listen to cousin Edrick for a minute longer, I might have launched over the table with a carving knife myself.”

Geralt reaches for him without thinking, and once again Jaskier’s hand slips into his own. It’s grounding, to feel something genuine in this place surrounded by artifice.

“Come on,” Jaskier says. “Let’s get out of here.”

Geralt doesn’t even ask where they’re going before nodding.

-

They sneak away from the estate out of the servants’ door and follow a winding path toward a cluster of lights in the valley below. The path into Lettenhove town is quiet and calm, and as they walk the snow begins to fall in soft flurries, covering the ground in a peaceful white blanket.

The town looks picture perfect when they arrive, a charming jumble of thatched cottages and a small, cosy inn from which bright light spills out into the snowy night. When they enter the barmaid runs over to hug Jaskier and the proprietor slaps him on the back, and Jaskier has a kind word and a waved greeting for every person in there.

Geralt feels something unwind in his chest, something he hadn’t realised was tight and twisted until now. Seeing Jaskier in his element, among people who love him for who he is, instead of among that cold, hateful family, he feels right in a way he hasn’t for days.

Jaskier is already buying drinks and passing them around, and he excitedly waves Geralt over. “Bree, Geoffrey,” he addresses the couple behind the bar, “This is Geralt.” A shy smile sneaks over his face. “My fiancé.” The couple gasp in delight and congratulate Jaskier, then they’re embracing Geralt like old friends and pushing a drink into his hands.

“Come on, Geralt, join us!” Bree smiles warmly. “It’ll be the ten o’clock bells soon, and we must have Jaskier lead us in a song.”

The evening is a whirl of music and dance and loud, terrible singing, which the entire town seems to join in. For once there is no corner for Geralt to hide in, so he stays by Jaskier’s side, basking in the reflected glow of these people’s clear adoration of his bard.

-

When the midnight bell chimes and Geoffrey turns them all out for the night, the revelers wend their way home still singing and drinking. As the place empties out, Jaskier slides over to Bree to press a kiss to her cheek and a bulging purse into her hand. She tries to wave him off but Jaskier tucks the money behind the counter all the same, and Geralt watches, a deep wave of fondness sweeping through him.

The snow is still falling when they step out into the now-quiet street, soft, fat flakes drifting lazily from the sky and sticking in Jaskier’s hair. His cheeks are flushed pink and his hair falls in an messy sweep over his eyes; without thinking Geralt reaches out to brush it away behind his ear. Jaskier’s blush deepens as he does so, but he shivers in the cold.

“Here.” Geralt unclasps the thick cloak from around his neck and sweeps it over Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier’s mouth forms a little o of surprise and he looks up at Geralt, something tender in his eyes.

Geralt’s gaze is caught by the snow flakes settling on Jaskier’s lashes; he’s so focused that he almost jumps when Jaskier reaches out to take his hand. The sky seems to glow with a soft orange light as the clouds reflect the last few fires in the town below; everything is warm with Jaskier’s hand in his despite the chill in the air.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says softly. “For being here with me.” And leaning in, his breath caressing over Geralt’s face, he touches his lips to Geralt’s cheek in a ghost of a kiss.

Suddenly it occurs to Geralt that this will be it, tomorrow they’ll head back on the path like none of this ever happened, no more holding hands or being close, no more being introduced as Jaskier’s betrothed. And despite the hellish parts of this experience he really doesn’t want it to end. He likes being Jaskier’s person, and he likes Jaskier being his.

They are still standing close together, mere inches between them, and it’s no effort at all to lean in, slowly, cautiously, to find Jaskier’s lips with his own, to place a tentative kiss there. And then Jaskier’s hands are fisting in his shirt and tugging him closer still, and his arms go around his waist and Jaskier is kissing him back like he’s been waiting for it, their mouths slotting together like they were made to fit each other, and everything is blazingly bright like the white of the snow.

When they pull apart they stay with foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air, and Geralt can see a smile cracking wide over Jaskier’s face.

“I like being engaged to you,” Geralt says quietly, unable to keep it in.

Jaskier’s smile widens even further. “I like being engaged to you too,” he says. He kisses him again. “Fiancé.” Another kiss. “Husband to be.” And another. “Partner.” One more. “Beloved.”

“I like the sound of those.” He suspects he may be wearing the same dopey grin as Jaskier is.

“Then let’s make it official.” Jaskier bites his lip. “Marry me?”

Jaskier is a picture of perfection, eyes gleaming and cheeks ruddy, snowflakes in his hair. Geralt’s heart has always been right here.

“I’d be honoured.” He considers for a second. “But not in Lettenhove.”

Jaskier’s laugh sparkles with joy. “Anywhere but here.”

[freddie-weaselbee]

Someone Blue//F.W.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader 

Warnings: Slight language, angst, a lot of confusion, fluffy ending

Summary: Fred spots a familiar face at his brother’s wedding, and has a sinking suspicion about why she’s acting so upset during this time of celebration. 

Prompts: Enemies to Lovers (kind of) and Weddings with the dialogue prompts “you look like you need a hug” and “did you need something?”

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Day 1 of @theweasleyslut‘s 2k writing challenge 

Angelina looked absolutely ethereal, skin glowing in the shimmering lights as she glided across the grass as if it was a ballroom floor. Her white dress was slightly stained, mostly from when her now husband tackled her to the ground after their first kiss as a married couple, and yet it only made her seem all the more angelic. 

George’s feet seemed to never touch the ground. He was moving at record speeds, prancing and hopping and skipping around the dance floor, dragging his wife along with him. It was the most joyful Fred had ever seen him. 

Not when they left Hogwarts, not when they opened their shop, not even when Angelina said yes to the proposal could have compared to the happiness on George’s face. Nor Angelina’s. They were in a pure state of bliss. 

The rest of the wedding-goers seemed to match their energy. Fred couldn’t go anywhere without being bombarded with drunken laughs and horrid dancing, and the occasional congratulations or two from some tipsy guests who didn’t know that the man they were talking to wasn’t the groom. 

All in all, it was an amazing night. The field behind the burrow had become a traditional wedding venue for the growing Weasley children, so far hosting Bill, Percy, Ron, and now George’s days to remember. The tents and lights were all set up as they were with Bill and Fleur’s wedding, except this time there was no risk of Death Eaters ruining the event. Hopefully. 

However, while making his way around to talk to (and flirt with) the guests, Fred happened to notice one person who did not fit the overzealous tone. Well, he didn’t really happen to notice. Rather he’d been staring at her throughout the entire night, watching her somber mood break through her happy façade. Not that he’d ever admit that to anyone. 

You were standing by yourself, but you weren’t secluded from the action. Rather, you were right in the middle of things, on the very edge of the dance floor, staring out at the masses of bodies swinging their partners around. Your arms were crossed over your chest, a defensive position that Fred had seen so many times in you before. 

He turned away and tried to ignore it. It wasn’t any of his business if you were upset. The two of you were barely even friends anymore. You had cut him out of your life so many years ago and never looked back. To this day, Fred still didn’t know why, and it killed him. 

He wanted to walk away. To go the other direction toward a beautiful guest wearing a flowing red dress, hair done up perfectly. The stranger would be the smart choice. A fun way to spend the evening, dancing around and snogging under moonlit trees. But, against his better judgement, Fred’s heart wouldn't let him leave. 

Sighing, Fred lifted his feet and made his way in the other direction, to the girl who couldn’t care less about him. 

You stood unmoving, except for a subtle sway to the music. People brushed by you, but you paid them no mind. You were too focused on something else. As Fred drew nearer, he was able to follow your line of sight to the people in question. The newlyweds. 

Fred bristled before softening slightly. Of course. This must be about George. Back at Hogwarts, Fred was positive you had the biggest crush on his brother. You were always tagging along with their jokes, even when they got you into huge trouble. You definitely spent more time alone with George than Fred, sharing whispers and stares at the expense of the older twin. He could never get George to break and tell him what you two talked about. George even took you to the Yule Ball in your 6th year. You had never looked as radiant as you did that night, except for maybe this moment. Fred wished he had asked you to dance at the ball, but he never worked up the courage to. He didn’t want you to internally grimace at the thought of dancing with the “lesser” Weasley twin when George was right there. 

In his recollection of memories, Fred hadn’t noticed how close he had gotten to you, and how you were no longer gazing at the couple dancing. You were now staring at him. 

“Did you need something?”

Fred was shaken out of his imagination, met with an annoyed glare but soft smile coming from you. His surprise was immediately replaced with his signature cocky grin, leaning his hand onto one of the wedding tables while keeping his gaze on you. Unfortunately, his hand accidentally dipped into a wine glass, but he quickly pulled it out and hoped you didn’t notice. You did. 

“Well, that’s not a very nice way to greet one of your oldest friends, now is it?” Fred wiped his wine-covered hand on his suit pants and slipped it into his pocket, pretending to be unbothered by his previous mistake. 

You turned your eyes away from him, once again gluing them to the dance floor. “I think it’s fitting, seeing as how you were creepily staring at me for about 5 minutes before I said something.”

Fred’s ears grew pink at the accusation. “I, umm, I didn’t realize it was that long. Or that you noticed. Sorry.” He bashfully rubbed the back of his neck, pretending to glance around at other guests who might interest him more. 

“You still haven’t answered me.”

Fred cocked his head to the side in question. 

“Why’d you come over here? Was there something you needed?”

“Ah, yes well,” Fred began smoothly, “I saw this darling beauty from across the tent and I just could not take my eyes off of her--”

“Fred,” you interrupted. You were looking at him again, your gaze piercing through him, forcing him to tell you the truth, to tell you everything about him. His fears, his hopes and dreams, what he had for breakfast this morning. He wanted to tell you it all. 

“The truth, please.”

Clearing his throat, and his mind of whatever thoughts just plagued him, Fred decided to be honest. You deserved that much. 

“You look like you need a hug,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly. 

Evidently, those were not the words you were expecting to hear. You were prepared with about a dozen quips to say in response to whatever cocky joke Fred was about to make. But he didn’t, and nothing could have prepared you for what he did say. 

“I--I need a what?”

“Sorry, have you lost your hearing or was I not loud enough? It’s definitely not the second; you’ve told me on numerous occasions that I have the biggest mouth of anyone you know.”

There it was. But it still made you giggle, relaxing and gravitating closer to your companion. 

“I heard you,” you said, “just wasn’t expecting that from you, I guess.”

Fred took a half step closer, visibly glad when you didn’t move away. “Wasn’t expecting me to have noticed your behavior, or wasn’t expecting me to care if I did?”

It took you a few seconds to respond. “Both.”

He let out a sound of understanding before you both averted your eyes, looking straight ahead. Occasionally, Fred would try to look at you using his peripheral vision, and you would do the same. It became a kind of game--just an awkward back and forth between two people who used to be so close, and were now so far apart.

You game ended when one of the wedding guests decided to clink their glass, beginning a chorus of high pitched chimes to echo throughout the room. You watched as George turned to find Angelina, running to her to give her a kiss so full of love and passion that it took everything Fred had not to shout out a joke and ruin the moment. He could do that next time. 

He noticed you stiffen at the kiss, presumably because it was just another reminder of what you couldn’t have. George. 

“You know, I always wanted to be a Weasley.”

Fred was surprised that you had spoken to him, and even more surprised about the turn the conversation had taken. 

“I grew up with you guys,” you continued, not waiting for Fred to respond. “Molly was like my second mother, even though she always liked Hermione and Harry a bit more than me.”

“Join the club,” said Fred, causing you to laugh loudly, a sound he hadn’t heard from you in ages. Godric, how he had missed it.

“It’s just…” you trailed off, not knowing if you wanted to be open with Fred, someone you hadn’t spoken to in years. Chances were, you wouldn’t keep in touch much after the wedding, so you might as well. What was there to lose? “It’s just...seeing Angelina, one of my best friends, dance around, wearing that ring, getting to be an actual Weasley. It’s...it’s making me a wee bit jealous.”

Fred watched you fidget with a bracelet on your wrist and decided to push his luck just a bit more. “And you’re wishing that it could be you wearing the ring, married to a certain Weasley gentleman?”

The shock was evident in your expression. “No, no, it’s not--I mean I never…” Sighing, you decided to come clean. “Yeah, I’ve maybe been harboring feelings for a certain twin for, oh I don’t know, my entire life. No biggie though, it’s totally fine that he never asked me out.”

The ginger beside you threw an arm around your shoulder, handing you a glass of wine in the process. “Drink. It makes everything better.”

You glared at him, but took the glass anyways, chugging it down in a few large gulps. “Another, please,” you demanded, and Fred obliged. 

You started to ease into Fred’s side, as soft and comforting as you remembered it to be, before realizing exactly what it was you were doing. “Fred, can I ask you something?”

“‘Course. You can ask me anything.” The absolute last thing Fred wanted to be doing at the moment was talking about your undying love for his twin brother, at his wedding no less, but he didn’t want to leave you alone. Not seeing you for so long had had a harsher effect on him than he thought, and he didn’t want to leave your side. 

Taking a deep breath and gathering your courage, you asked him the question that had been plaguing your mind for years. The one that ate you from the inside out and kept you tossing and turning at night. The reason you had to separate yourself from your love in the first place. “Why am I not good enough?”

Your voice broke a tiny bit, but a lot less than you had been expecting. A tear did happen to slip out, and Fred quickly wiped it away, his fingertip resting on your cheek for a moment too long. 

“Y/N, love, come here.” Fred pulled you into that hug he had talked about earlier, holding you closely to his chest. If he thought you were going to appreciate the gesture, he was wrong. You pushed him away softly, refusing to let any more tears fall. 

“I’m serious, Fred. W-Why am I not good enough? I’ve made it clear for years and yet...nothing. And not even a simple rejection. I could’ve handled that, y’know. If I got a simple no, I could’ve handled it and moved on. But I never did, and it’s killing me. Why am I not good enough?”

It killed Fred to see you this upset, and it hurt him even more to see that the anger was directed at him and not at George. It was his brother that broke your heart after all, not him. “You are good enough!” Fred said, with enough truth and force that a little part of you believed it. “You’re, you’re too good! You’ve been by our side from the beginning and haven’t left it since. Well, we haven’t seen you in years, but that’s probably because of--”

You nodded, confirming what he thought. Your heartbreak had driven you away. 

“But other than that,” he continued, “you’ve been like my third arm. Any guy would be crazy to give you up, you know that?”

 A tiny smile grew on your face, but was gone as soon as it had arrived. “The timing...the timing was just all wrong, wasn’t it?” you asked. 

Fred nodded, watching his brother and his wife greet guests and take pictures that were sure to be on the mantle in the burrow as soon as the wedding was over. “Yeah, I guess so. The prick should’ve asked you out sooner.”

“Oh I agree wholeheartedly, he is a prick,” you said, poking his arm, a gesture that slightly confused him. “So, I’m guessing there’s no chance of anything happening now? No sliver of hope that maybe this could work out?”

He hated that he would be the one to crush your dreams, but he couldn’t let you keep living in false hope. “Well,” he said, “the wedding bands are on and they both said ‘I do.’ Kind of hard to come back from that. I’m sorry.”

You froze, now more befuddled than you had been all night. “I...what?”

Before Fred could say anything you reached to grab his left hand, checking his ring finger for something you knew wasn’t there, but you had to be sure. 

“Wedding bands? What in the world do you--” Realization hit you like a brick, and you wanted to slap yourself. Or Fred. Either one. But preferably the latter. 

“Frederick, my dear love, who do you think we have been talking about this whole time?” you asked, voice genuine but also teasing. 

Fred didn’t know what you all of a sudden found so amusing, but he was already doubting himself and he didn’t want you to make fun of him for whatever he had done wrong. 

“Umm, well you said a Weasley, and then you said a Weasley twin. So I thought the answer was obvious.”

“Say it,” you demanded. “Who have we been talking about? Who am I in love with after years of unrequited feelings?”

He felt like he was walking into a trap, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. He hesitated for a few seconds before your searing gaze forced him to answer. “George. We’re talking about my brother George.”

No sooner had his words left his mouth than your hand came up to slap his head. “You idiot! Are you serious right now?”

Fred stood flabbergasted, racking his brain for who else you could have been talking about. George was a Weasley twin. You said you were in love with a Weasley twin. Who else was there?

“It’s you, you big oaf!”

Oh. OH! There were two Weasley twins, and he was one of them. Which meant…

“You’re in love with me?!”

By this point, heads were turned to watch the scene and people were not-so-subtly whispering to their partners. 

You dragged a still surprised Fred through the crowd and out of the tents, finding a secluded enough area where you could talk. 

Fred’s brain had still not been caught up. “It’s me? You’re in love with me? But, but what about George?”

You furrowed your brow, wondering how Fred could have so easily mistaken your feelings for him as those for another. “What about George?”

“You’re in love with him!”

“I most definitely am not!”

“The Yule Ball!” he spat out. “You went to the Yule Ball with him when we were 16!”

“Yes,” you said calmly, “and you went with Angelina, but I don’t see you two getting married. We went as friends and I talked to him about you the entire night. In fact, most of the time when we hung out I was talking about you. Made him swear not to tell though. I was never good about expressing my feelings.”

Fred put a hand to his head, a growing throb threatening to overtake his senses. “But why were you so sad tonight? You wanted to marry George!”

“No,” you said patiently. “I was sad because Angelina and George’s relationship worked out the way I was wishing one between you and I had. They fell in love during school, dated a few years later, and now she’s a part of your family. I wasn’t wishing it was just me out there with your brother. I was wishing that it was our wedding.”

You blushed heavily and buried your face in your hands, embarrassed by your bluntness about your feelings. “Oh, Godric, I shouldn’t have said that, now it’s more awkward. I, umm, I should probably get going.”

Fred grabbed your wrist before you could leave, pulling you into his chest. His eyes were wide, mouth hanging slightly ajar as he gazed down at your muddled expression. 

“It’s me. I’m the one you love.”

He said it as more of a declaration rather than a question, but you could tell that he needed confirmation. 

“Of course, Freddie,” you said. “It’s always been you.”

His hand wasted no time in going to the back of your head, pulling your face into his and melding your lips together in your first kiss with Fred Weasley. After the shock wore off, you were hastily kissing him back, hoping against all hope that he wouldn’t pull back and proclaim what a stupid mistake this all was. But he never did. You kissed and kissed and kissed until you were the one who had to pull back in order to catch your breath. 

It took you both a few seconds to realize what had just happened, and for the first time you both were at a loss for words. “That was, umm…” you mumbled, trying to think of what to say. 

“I love you too.”

Fred’s words were rushed out of his mouth, voice deep ragged. “I mean, when you said it was me, not George, that you loved. I, well, I love you too. Always have. Guess I just thought that you had a thing for George and I had no chance. Pretty silly of me, huh?”

“Downright stupid of you,” you replied, giggling as he pushed you away with a bashful smile gracing his lips. 

“So,” he said quietly, inching closer to you once again, “is there a chance of anything happening now?” Fred repeated the words you had said earlier, making you smile wider than you had all night. 

“Depends,” you said. “Are you gonna get the courage to ask me out?”

Fred waited for a moment before answering. “How about,” he said, offering his arm out for you to link with yours, “we have that dance we never got at the Yule Ball. And then that date we never got after, and then that relationship we never got as well. Oh! And then that wedding, and then a dog, maybe a few kids, a big house in the country--”

“Woahhh, slow down buddy, you haven’t ever properly asked me!”

You took his arm and made your way back to where the music continued to blare and festivities raged on. 

“Y/N, love, may I have this dance?”

You pushed a strand of hair from his face, ruffling it up a little to give it that signature Fred Weasley style. 

“Of course, Freddie. And every dance after that.”

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