#those roaches have decided to take personal offense

[rosesocietyy]

Brilliant people have said everything that needs to be said about this much much better and I don't got anything substantial to add but I just have to get this off my chest cause y'all I'm still in disbelief

like this is a grown ass person btw oh I simply have to laugh😭

this perfectly exemplifies literally everything cringe af and wrong with these "assigned welcomers". this is just my scapegoat but there are way worse I've seen

First of all, get a job. how, at your fossil age, do you have time to spend all day scrolling through every single iwtv related post and arguing with people who say anything even slightly damning about lestat (which mind you, is literally just objective facts about things he did). I'll dm you a McDonald's application hell I'll even put in a referral for you out of the goodness of my heart.

Second, Lestat is not a real person. he's fake, a made up character, the figment of someone's imagine, non-existent, people hating him will not affect your life in anyway shape or form. He didn't assign you as his PR agent I promise you'll live. "They'll never accept him" ok and?!?

Question, and I'm genuinely asking, is this their first time in a fandom? why is someone having a different opinion about a character they love enough to send them into hysterics like?? 13 year olds on anime twitter have a better grasp on reality that y'all do get a grip!

And like the above posts have talked extensively about, I most definitely noticed whose posts a specific bunch of them love to go under to share their dog shit "explanation" that nobody asked for. When a black person sees Louis being brutalized by his white lover what do you expect their reaction to be? oaur wow this white french slut is so pussy cunt slay period queen? "but louis is flawed too" do you hear yourself? do you listen to yourself when you speak? can you activate the barest hint of brain activity to understand why we would react differently to what we're watching than you would and that knowledge of the source material has nothing to do with it? Just because you read those shitty books and posses no empathy for black people in media doesn't mean you gain some higher understanding of "gothic romance ".

"No but the thing is you don't understand this is a gothic romance and they're supposed to be monsters and lestat has suffered saur much and he's also the real main character so you must love him" so now how exactly does that negate their point about him being an abuser? quickly! sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up when black people are sharing their thoughts on the show cause who the fuck are you fr and what convinced you that you have the right to argue with them about THEIR experiences. that tweet that said white people act like God left them in charge, yeah.

Funny enough, half the people that are so gung ho about him now didn't even fw him at all when they only read the first book. wow it's almost like you were allowed to sort out your feelings about him on your own without insects disguised as people in your mentions calling you slow for not licking his feet.

I despise so much in this fandom. From the bottom of my heart I really truly do. I don't know what I was expecting, I guess more common sense and maturity because the average age in the fandom is quite high compared to other fandoms I've been in but nah, just mfs screaming and crying bc ppl don't jump up and down and scream yipee! everytime their white fav commits abhorrent, disgusting crimes.

I was so caught up in the euphoria of an anne rice property finally being given to skilled creators who'll pick it apart and say something poignant with it that for a moment, I forgot I lived in a world where majority of its audience would sadly be the anne rice crowd.

[contemplativepancakes]

a rapscallious rash

2.5k of geralt being disgruntled about a mysterious rash. good thing jaskier can help. read on ao3 here:

When Geralt starts getting uncomfortable from his position on top of Roach, he assumes it’s the rain. It’s been raining for five damn days straight, but Geralt had to leave the inn he was staying at, not being able to stand the smell of fear and disgust from the patrons and owners any longer, and the woods have been too sparse to seek shelter in them. 

He shifts on the saddle, and his pants seem to impossibly get even more soaked. The rain is starting to seep into his saddle, having worn down the water proofing so much, and Geralt’s armor is completely ruined. 

It’s soaked through, but at least he hasn’t been doing so bad on coin lately. He should be able to afford replacing it. He even had enough to stop at a brothel about a week ago. The woman hadn’t even smelled like a hint of dread. Geralt hates when that happens. He’s not going to force someone to fuck him if they don’t want to, because he gets it, he sees a monster every time he looks into a mirror, but he doesn’t like wasting his coin. She was a spectacular fuck, actually. Had barely blinked at Geralt’s cock, and he knows he’s...bigger than most other men. 

Geralt had tipped her extra. 

Roach nickers unhappily, and Geralt pats her neck. He really does need to get somewhere dry, for her sake if nothing else. And for his crotch, which is starting to protest the unrelenting damp, too. 

By the time Geralt finds an inn, he looks so much like a drowned rat that he doesn’t protest when the innkeeper won’t give him a room, just says he can sleep in the stables if he wants. Geralt’s so pleased to just be out of the rain, he even thanks the man. The man looks taken aback at that, and Geralt supposes he is. He’s not exactly sure what tales of witchers they peddle around the continent, but it doesn’t seem like many of them paint him and his brothers in a positive light. 

In the mercifully dry stable, Geralt changes into some clothes that were furled into a ball at the bottom of his saddle bags and are merely damp instead of drenched. He takes a moment to look in dismay at the reddened skin around his crotch. It’s hot to the touch, and it itches. Geralt has never gotten saddle sores before, but he’s not sure what else it could be. 

Geralt loiters in the area for a few days, taking care of a nest of nekkers before he moves on. He had hoped when he didn’t seem to be in a permanent state of damp anymore, the rash would go away, but if anything, it’s only gotten worse. 

Geralt keeps travelling, keeping an eye on… down there, but it’s spread to the soft flesh of his inner thighs. Geralt’s going to have to see a mage. He’d almost rather continue to ache, but there’s no telling how long this is going to last, and he can hear Vesemir in his ear lecturing him about the value of humility.

Geralt suffers four more days in the saddle, wincing at every chafe and wondering what exactly had made him think it would be such a good idea for all his clothes to be leather, before he finds a sorceress. He explains his problem in halting words.

“You have a rash?” the sorceress confirms incredulously. “You did say you’re a witcher, right?”

Geralt nods glumly.

She stifles a laugh. “This doesn’t sound like my kind of problem, honey.”

Geralt scowls and insists, “This doesn’t happen to witchers, so it must be magic.”

“What does your medallion have to say about that?”

Geralt looks down at his chest in surprise, wondering how she knows it vibrates in the presence of magic. “Must be a malfunction,” he growls.

The woman lifts a skeptical eyebrow. “Try the healer,” she suggests before slamming the door shut in Geralt’s face.

Geralt sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. Witchers generally don’t see healers, and certainly not for anything short of life threatening. They die with a sword in their hand, or they heal by themselves, simple as that. Vesemir has sure as hell never mentioned anything like this.

Geralt asks, yes, he asks, he certainly does not demand, directions to the healer from the next person he passes. The man looks vaguely terrified as he points a shaky hand. Geralt stalks off the way the man directed, to a house at the end of the road that gives off a medicinal smell, so Geralt knows he’s in the right place.

He knocks on the door and shifts from foot to foot until finally a man wearing a lavender robe opens the door. Geralt clears his throat uncomfortably, and the man looks down at himself before tying the robe shut. “Oops,” he says cheerily. “I believe that means we’re already on a first name basis, excellent. I’m Jaskier.”

He thrusts a hand out to Geralt, and Geralt takes it warily, introducing himself. Most people don’t even like their fingers brushing his as they exchange coin, so this is...new.

It’s strange, to be certain, but not unwelcome. His hands are soft and underneath his fingernails are clean, in direct contrast to Geralt himself.

“Come in, come in!” Jaskier beckons him across the threshold, and Geralt steps through the door, looking around curiously. Herbs hang drying from the rafters, framed by an assortment of colorful jars, filled with some things Geralt knows from his elixir crafting, and others that he doesn’t recognize at all.

Jaskier takes a seat on a wooden chair and gestures for Geralt to sit down, as well. “What seems to be the problem?”

Geralt’s cheeks warm. “I’m, um.” He squirms in his chair, and Jaskier nods.

“I’m going to have to see it,” he says, looking meaningfully at Geralt’s crotch.

Geralt does not squeak. He is a fully grown man, for gods’ sake, and it’s not like no one has seen it before. Maybe not anyone who’s staring at him as intently as Jaskier is, though. Geralt’s fingers find the laces on his pants and untie them. He growls in frustration when he can’t get the knot undone with his fingers that have suddenly turned into clumsy sausages, and then there’s warm hands over his.

Geralt looks up to see Jaskier has gotten up from his chair while Geralt was struggling with the ties. He swallows hard. “Allow me,” Jaskier says, and his nimble fingers undo the knots easily.

Geralt desperately tries not to think about those fingers in other contexts.

Jaskier tugs Geralt’s breeches down, along with his small clothes, and makes a humming sound as he squints at Geralt’s cock.

Geralt tries not to take offense.

Jaskier trails the tip of his finger over the shaft. “Seems a bit inflamed,” he murmurs, as Geralt wills his cock not to twitch.

Geralt clears his throat. “Yes, I—think it is.”

Jaskier draws back and hums thoughtfully, looking at Geralt carefully. “Interesting. Did you upset any mages recently?”

Geralt huffs. “Not that I know of.”

“Well, I’m going to need a sample.”

Geralt swallows past the lump in his throat. “Of blood?” he asks hesitantly.

“That, too. I’ll leave you alone for a bit; call me back when you’re done.”

Jaskier exits the room with a swish of his robe, leaving Geralt confused and vaguely turned on. He looks at the cup Jaskier had plunked down beside him as he lets a hand drift down to his cock. He takes himself in hand, but now that Jaskier is gone, his arousal has dissipated, and the dry touch is more uncomfortable than anything else.

Geralt licks his hand and tries again, but his cock still refuses to even get a little hard. Geralt bites his lip. Now is really not the most convenient time for his performance difficulties to arise, not that any time is good. It’s just especially unwelcome when he can hear Jaskier puttering around outside the room, tapping his foot as he waits.

Geralt tries in vain for a few more minutes, but he only succeeds in making the skin around his groin even more irritated than it already was. “Jaskier?” he calls.

Quiet footsteps pad to the door, and then the knob turns and Jaskier reappears, looking at Geralt with an expectant eyebrow raised. “I’ll have to do some examinations...” he says, before he looks at the empty cup and trails off.

“I can’t,” Geralt says gruffly.

“Oh. Oh. You know, I’ve heard witchers sometimes have difficulties with blood flow.” He taps a finger on his chin. “This is all fascinating; I’m so pleased you’re here.”

Geralt grunts. “I’m happy this situation is working out for someone.”

Jaskier seems to realize how his statement sounded. “Not that I’m glad that you’ve found yourself in this predicament, of course. You witchers are just so tight lipped about your physiology, and it’s…” his words die again as he registers the bemused look on Geralt’s face. “I’ll be right back,” he says.

Geralt waits for a minute, wondering if he should put his dick away. Before he can decide, Jaskier is back and handing him a foul smelling potion. Geralt wrinkles his nose.

“Drink,” Jaskier urges him.

“What is it?”

“It’ll help you get an erection,” he says matter of factly, and the redness that has been tinging Geralt’s cheeks spreads to his ears.

“Oh.”

Geralt takes the elixir and swirls it, squinting down at the chunky parts that he can’t quite identify. It’s not the most advisable thing for a witcher to take an elixir from someone they don’t know, but there’s also no one else Geralt can go to about this. He can already feel the mortification of having to explain this situation to Vesemir, and honestly, death might be preferable, so he tips his head back and drinks the concoction.

Geralt is on his guard for any unexpected effects, but he doesn’t detect any. Doesn’t detect anything at all, actually. “It’s not working,” Geralt grumbles.

“Well, you still have to get aroused, it doesn’t just make you hard instantly,” Jaskier says in amusement, but then his voice gets huskier and it’s right in Geralt’s ear. “I can help, if you’d like.”

Geralt’s mouth goes dry as he nods. Jaskier dips his fingers into a tub of something beside him before he strokes his slick hand up and down Geralt’s shaft, thumbing at the ridges of a prominent vein.

Geralt clenches his jaw and stifles a groan. He darts a glance at Jaskier, only to find him staring right back. Geralt tilts back his head and closes his eyes, not letting himself think about anything other than Jaskier’s warm hand on his cock.

Geralt’s breathing starts to get labored a few minutes later, and Jaskier speeds his movements, twisting his hand and increasing the friction deliciously. Geralt sucks in a stuttering breath as he comes, and when he opens his eyes, Jaskier has caught it neatly in the cup. Jaskier tucks Geralt back into his pants and deftly laces them up. He stands up and wipes his hand off on his robe, looking unruffled. Geralt is sure he can’t relate, that he looks quite in a state of disarray right now.

Jaskier sets the cup on a table, and Geralt tries not to look at it as Jaskier produces a syringe. “I’ll need some blood, as well,” he says.

Geralt sighs and stretches out his arm. Jaskier pours something that smells sharply of citrus onto a rag before wiping at a small square area on Geralt’s bicep. Geralt barely feels the needle poke into his arm, and he stays relaxed as Jaskier draws the blood.

When Jaskier straightens back up, he turns around to get a bandage, but he stares as the prick on Geralt’s skin disappears. He mumbles something intelligible to himself, looking starstruck, and Geralt would roll his eyes if he wasn’t feeling so sated.

Impossibly, he thinks he’s grown fond of this silly healer.

Jaskier gathers his samples and beckons for Geralt to follow him. Geralt stands up on slightly shaky legs and trails Jaskier out of the room. Jaskier leads him deeper into the house, until they get to a room that makes Geralt falter right outside the doorway, his nose wrinkling in disgust. It smells like decay.

Jaskier turns back to look at him when he realizes Geralt hasn’t followed him over the threshold. Confusion flashes across his face for a second, before understanding dawns, and he looks at Geralt again like he’s the most interesting specimen he’s ever seen.

“It doesn’t exactly smell good to me, so I imagine it’s not very pleasant for you, either. Witchers have enhanced senses, right?”

“That’s right,” Geralt allows as he takes a hesitant step into the room and looks around.

It’s uncomfortably warm, and there’s orbs glowing different colors scattered across the room, strung above tables of laid out bowls where the stench is emanating from. Jaskier pulls out a chair and sits at a desk where there’s what looks like a small telescope.

Jaskier procures a small crystal plate from a drawer that he sets up on a stand underneath a soft white light before spreading a tiny dab of Geralt’s spend on it and adding a drop of water. He brings the tube up to his eye and fiddles with the knobs, making intrigued little hums.

When he’s finally looked his fill, he turns his gaze to Geralt. Geralt feels sympathy for the moths on the displays on the walls; he feels just as pinned. “You’re infected,” Jaskier announces.

Geralt furrows his brow. “Witchers are immune,” he protests.

“That’s what I thought, too.” Jaskier frowns. “I’ll have to do some thinking on that. But there’s definitely something in your semen that’s not sperm. I’ll have to do some tests to determine exactly what it is, and then I can start thinking about a cure.”

He starts to usher Geralt out of the room, back to the front door, chattering aimlessly all the while.

“Odds are it’s going to clear up by itself before I have a cure, but do stop by again if it hasn’t gone away in a month.”

Geralt gapes, his jaw flapping. He can’t imagine being in this discomfort for another month.

Jaskier pats his shoulder. “There, there. It’s not like I didn’t give you a hand.”

The bastard winks at him.

Geralt flushes red, and turns to go with a grunt. The day has already started to take on a hazy quality, and Geralt thinks he’ll be remembering this for a while, even if it’s not exactly what he had expected when the sorceress had directed him here.

He pulls the door open, only to see—Lambert?

“What are you doing here?”

Lambert grumbles and shoots Geralt a scowl. “Fuck off.”

[poguesofthebau]

Idea to write for OBX!!!! The pogues just having a good evening together, like playing truth or dare like 16 year olds before the events of the show take place!!

heyo all, writing is hard for me recently so i decided that i would do something based off what real life is like right now with a lil inspo from this request tossed in :) hope you like it!! (naturally, reader is dating jj in this bc i can’t help myself hehe oops)

summary: jj, y/n, and the rest of the pogues (including sarah) live in the world we’re all currently living in: quarantine. so what happens when the craziest friend group in the obx are trapped inside the Chateau for weeks at a time without any authority figures or outsiders? to put it simply, anarchy happens. (alternate summary: what i wish i was doing during this stupid quarantine instead of sitting in my room to avoid my parents’ hovering.) (alternate, simple summary: a hot ass day in quarantine with the pogues.) word count: 2101

sticky. why the hell were you sticky?

you opened your eyes with a deep groan, peeling yourself from jj with a disgusted look on your face. “jj, get off of me.” you’d both been laying on your stomachs as you slept, but the boy had somehow wound up directly on top of you. it would’ve been kind of endearing, cute almost, to wake up so close to jj, if it wasn’t so fucking hot.

someone across the room laughed lightly, and you slipped out from under jj and flipped onto your back, sitting up and squinting to see who it was. when you saw sarah, kie, and pope staring at you from the table a few feet away from the pull-out couch, you let out an annoyed puff of air, raking a hand through your bedhead to slightly calm it. leaning back on your hands, you glanced back down at your boyfriend. his nose was scrunched up, and his hand started rustling around the sheets until it made contact with your right calf. satisfied, his face relaxed again. before you could look back to your friends, pope was speaking. “i don’t know how the two of you managed to sleep like that all night. with those body temperatures combined, i’m pretty sure you should’ve burst into flames by like, 2am.”

“c’mon, pope,” sarah smirked. “they’re in love. their feelings for each other, they’re hotter than anything. like, hotter than--”

“hotter than the flames in hell!” kie interrupted proudly. “and the obx may feel like it’s hotter than that already, but--”

“nothing compares to their sacred, burning love.” sarah and kie both smiled smugly at their own ability to finish each other’s sentences, fist bumping as pope shook his head. “that was good. i love us.” the girls giggled again, and you couldn’t help but laugh a bit too.

“can you corny fucks shut the hell up? a guy can never get a wink of sleep around here, shit.” with that, jj was rolling over, too, a very unimpressed look plastered on his face as he scolded his friends. not as eager to be awake as you had been, jj groaned as he stretched, flopping into your lap on his back when he was finally done waking himself up. your hands naturally found their way to his hair, scratching at his scalp subconsciously as you looked around at the mess of the Chateau. “where’s jb at? and why is it so fucking hot in here?”

“you can’t really complain about body temps when you’re curled up in your girlfriend’s lap like a cat, bro,” pope pointed out. jj rolled his eyes as pope continued. “but since you asked so nicely, it’s the first heat wave of the year-- you’d know that if you ever listened to anything i say throughout the day. john b’s out trying to get food and water and stuff before it’s all gone.”

jj muttered something under his breath about wishing pope had gone out with their other friend as his eyes closed again at the feeling of your fingertips on his hairline. “you know what we should do today?”

“make out? at least let me brush my teeth first, you animal,” jj interjected. you flicked his nose, ignoring the comment otherwise. “oh, so you don’t wanna make out? alright, y/n, but just remember, it’s your rule!”

“jj, why does everything always have to be about you?”

“i have needs, kie!”

“okay, okay, okay, i think y/n had an idea. let the woman speak!” sarah quickly redirected.

“thank you,” you smiled pointedly at sarah. “i think-- and tell me if there are any objections-- i think, maybe, we should day-drink.”

as soon as the words left your mouth, the door beside you was swinging open with a creak, john b bursting into the room. “did someone say-- DAY-DRINK?” he held up a six pack of beer in each hand, that bright and proud john b grin plastered on his face. the entire group cheered, jumping up to help him bring in the groceries he’d gotten his hands on. “thanks to mr. c’s non-existent credit card limit, we are now loaded. thanks kie!” he tossed her dad’s card back on the table, the curly haired girl laughing at his words. kiara had somehow convinced her parents that spending her quarantine with the pogues at john b’s house was an acceptable idea, and they had even given her an emergency credit line for necessities and necessities only.

beer was an absolute need for the pogues, to be fair.

----

a few hours later, everyone was pretty day-drunk, so to speak.

sarah was currently engaged in a deep conversation with pope about why, exactly, he wanted to be a coroner so badly. you were in the middle of an arm-wrestling tournament against john b, with jj and kie passing the group’s second blunt of the afternoon back and forth. “y/n, your hand is fucking slippery!”

“fuck you, john b! it’s sweaty! haven’t you noticed that it’s a million damn degrees in this place?”

the arm wrestling tourney came to a close soon after, and the group went back to sweating, smoking, and throwing back beers. your feet wound up in jj’s lap as you tried to fan yourself with an empty, folded up cardboard box that one of the six-packs had come in. “hey kie, do you think your dad would mind if we used his credit card to buy a decent air conditioning system for this shithole? no offense, john b.”

“actually, y/n, i kind of take offense to that. just a little, you know?” you stuck your tongue out at your friend, throwing your piece of cardboard at him.

“you know, guys,” sarah spoke up. “me and my sister used to play this game--”

“oh, sarah, please tell me it’s not truth or dare with no dare.” john b’s face twisted into disapproval, and it was sarah’s turn to stick her tongue out at him.

“it is truth or dare with no dare, and i don’t hear any better ideas from anyone else, so we’re playing.”

jj’s hand came down on your ankle as he sat up and looked at the other blonde of the group. “actually, i’m thinking me and y/n will just roll another blunt and go hide in the guest room. that would be a better idea, i think.”

“no way, dumbass! if we have to do it, you two are sticking around for it too. pogues never abandon pogues, remember?” kie and her rules. “so, who starts?”

“well usually when i’ve played before it’s only been two people, so maybe i’ll ask the first question and we can all go around and answer?” jj groaned at this new development, causing you to smile. you flopped around on the futon a bit until your side was pressed against his, and he threw his arm around your shoulders once you’d settled. “okay, first question. um, let’s see... i don’t know. what’s the weirdest dream you’ve ever had?”

----

“weirdest place you’ve ever had sex. three, two, one, go!” jj pointed to john b, and the entire group erupted into laughter. john b was clearly struggling to think of an answer, and jj, who had become strangely invested in hour-long game, was running out of patience. “c’mon, man!”

“jesus christ, jj, i don’t know!” john b choked out through his laughs. “a bell tower, i guess?”

“great! sarah? where’ve ya done it, kook princess?” that one earned a smack on the arm from you, and jj quickly rephrased. “sorry! i meant, uh, where’ve ya-- i don’t know. just-- what’s your answer?”

sarah glanced between john b and jj, hesitating before she answered. “conveniently enough, my answer is also... a bell tower.”

with the ruckus that answer caused, you weren’t expecting the game to end any time soon.

----

“oh, my god. i finally don’t feel like i’m burning alive anymore.” pope threw his arms victoriously above his head as he made the statement, kie smiling at him and wrapping an arm around his waist.

“that’s how fucked the weather’s gonna be forever if humans don’t start taking care of the planet, pope. isn’t that crazy?” pope looked at her and nodded with a slightly terrified look in his eye, not finding the person kie became when drunk completely trustworthy to not flip out on him for his history of littering and excessive plastic use.

“you know, guys,” john b called out, quickly changing the subject. “this is kind of insane.”

“what do you mean, johnny boy? what’s so insane about a heat wave?” your head was pretty much buried in jj’s chest as you spoke, with his hands slowly tracing big circles in your back. the last blunt of the night had just been smoked, and it was hitting you both a little harder than the others had. for the past few minutes, you’d been thinking about you and jj finally making your way to the guest room for the more intimate one-on-one time that the weed had made you crave. as soon as he’d put the roach down, you’d crawled into his lap. the temperature had dropped reasonably, and the sticky feeling you’d experienced that morning was now completely out of the picture. your left hand was wrapped around jj’s neck, your right just hidden under his shirt as your thumb stroked back and forth just above his hip. jj had watched you nuzzle into that position through hooded red eyes with a little amused smile playing his lips, before returning the physical affection by sliding one hand reassuringly onto the back of your neck and letting the other draw shapes into your back.

by the time john b had finished gazing around lovingly at the group before answering, you had almost forgotten about having asked a question to begin with. “not the heat wave, y/n.” his correction reminded you of what the conversation had been, and your tilted your head up to make eye contact with jj. when you locked eyes, you knew jj was thinking the same thing as you: john b’s about to get corny and emotional. and you were both right. “seriously, look at us. isn’t this crazy?” you and jj smiled at each other, and you placed a loving kiss on his jawline before refocusing your sight on john b. “how did we all end up together? i mean, three losers who met in elementary school,” john b listed, looking to you and jj with a bright smile as you felt jj squeeze your neck lightly. “a weird kid who, for some reason, is totally obsessed with dead bodies and shit,” pope looked a john b awkwardly as kie giggled, slipping her hand into pope’s. “and a couple of fucking kooks.” sarah hummed from her spot next to john b, kie sarcastically saluting with her free hand. “you guys, somehow, we all got together, all found each other. what are the odds of that? what are the odds that we found this totally perfect, totally dysfunctional but perfect little family?”

before you could stop yourself, you felt the first tear slip down your face. “fuck you, john b,” you muttered quietly, taking your hand out from under jj’s shirt to swipe at the wetness on your face. scrubbing away the rest of the tears in your eyes before they could escape, you put your hand back down on jj’s arm this time.

“yeah, fuck you, john b. why you makin’ my girl cry, bro?” everyone chuckled softly, admiring each other in the moment. “alright, though, really. since she’s already crying, i guess i should say it now.” your head lifted back up to look at jj, and he looked back down at you as he continued. “i love you.” as you both broke into smiles, he looked back to your friends. “i love all of you guys. you’re all annoying as fuck, and i know i live for giving you all a hard time and stuff. but seriously. this is my family. pogues forever.”

“shit,” kie muttered this time, her thumb swiping under her own eyes as pope looked down at her adoringly. “pogues forever, guys. thank you for taking in us stupid kooks and letting us be who we are. pogues for-fucking-ever.”

“as corny as it sounds, i feel like we’re kind of required to group hug now,” pope added. “everybody up! i love you sickos and psychos, criminal records and all!”

and then, you all hugged the shit out of each other. pogue style.

[clockworkgraystairs]

I just went a read all your pregnant Jurdan hcs and my gosh, they were so amazing!! If you want and can, could you write one where Jude and Cardan tells the court of shadow crew personally about her being pregnant. I feel like they are her second family tbh.

Hi there!! Sorry it took me a long to write this, but it’s finally finished!!

You’re totally right, they are like a second family to her and deserve all the love and respect! 🧡

Also, thank you so so much for your lovely comment!

Scheming great schemes masterlist

Read on AO3 here!

Tags: @thesirenwashere

If I was supposed to tag somebody else PLEASE forgive me and let me know! (it’s like 2 am and I’m not thinking straight rn) 

SCHEMING GREAT SCHEMES:

The Court of Shadows finds out Jude’s pregnant

(aka Cardan is being overprotective again)

Three weeks had passed since Jude learned she was pregnant. Still, they chose not to make the official announcement until the Full Moon festivities, which lasted almost a week. 

Cardan’s wish was to shout it from their balcony the same day his wife had told him, and then throw a revel for two full weeks. But Jude had convinced him to wait, not wanting to make more fuss than the strictly necessary, which being honest, was going to be a lot. 

At the moment, only three people besides her and Cardan knew about it: Vivi, Taryn and Heather. Even if Jude was dying to see Asha’s incredulous face she’d decided to make her wait until the official announcement. Telling her before would make her feel important. Jude was decided to show her the exact opposite. 

Still, she could feel Asha’s eyes following her everywhere, always calculating. Almost suspicious. Could she know something already? And if she did, why staying silent?

Jude inhaled deeply and lifted her hand to her belly, she needed to stop being so paranoid. 

Her mind kept thinking about it while she entered the Court of Shadows hideout. Jude usually went there when she wanted to train or work without being bothered. It was calm and quiet and-

She stopped in her tracks as she realized the place was not empty. In fact, one could say it was quite crowded.

The Ghost, Roach and the Bomb stood in the middle of the room, and to Jude’s surprise, Cardan was in front of them. They were serious enough that she could almost believe there was a war approaching. She rushed to them with furrowed eyebrows.

“This is top priorit-” Cardan paused, noticing her. “Jude.”

The others turned and nodded, welcoming her. Still, something alarmed in their eyes that made Jude’s shoulders tensed immediately.  

“What’s wrong?” She asked. 

She reached Cardan, her fingers itched to take his, but this was a serious meeting. Maybe later. His expression was unreadable, one that he usually had when his mind was solely focused on a single issue.

“I meant to talk to you later but, I guess now is a good moment as any. From now on, Jude, the Court of Shadows will be your personal guard.” Her what?! She stared at her husband wide eyed. “They shall accompany you on every step and make sure nothing will-” 

“Personal guard?” What on earth was going on? She gazed back to the others, looking for a reasonable explanation. “Did I miss something?”

The Bomb stepped forward and gave a slight bow. “You have my word Your Highness, that no harm will come to the High Queen, no matter the threat.” 

She looked at Jude solemnly, frowning a bit. 

Ok she’d definitely missed something. 

“Can someone please explain why am I to be protected?” Jude crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at Cardan.

He cleared his throat, looking back to their friends. “Your safety has always been important to me, wife.” 

She didn’t buy it, he wasn’t even making eye-contact with her. Suddenly, something clicked inside her brain. 

That idiot.

“Cardan.” 

“Roach and Ghost, you will be with her at all hours. On council meetings, one of you will be inside with her and the other one outside guarding the door. When she retires to sleep, one will be outside the room and the other may go to rest. You-”

“Cardan” She repeated louder this time. He didn’t answer.

“...will report to me of every suspicious movement around her, no matter where it comes from.” He turned to Bomb. “Lilliver, you will be in charge of the perimeter, you are the best at it. Also when Jude needs to bathe or something, l trust you to be with her and assist if she-”

“Oh my god, stop!” Her fists were now tightened at her sides. She wasn’t sure of who to punch first. 

“Jude” The Bomb started, her voice soothing. “It is ok, whatever threat is coming we will not let it reach you.”

“Is there an actual threat upon me, my King?” The way she was glaring at him could make dozens run for their lives, but he just returned her look with strange adoration. She wanted to slap him so hard. 

“Come on Queeny, you can let us protect you for once.” Roach teased, standing next to the Bomb. “It will not make you look less terrifying than usual, no offense.” 

“No one will dare to question that.” Cardan concealed, with that irritating and charming smile of his.

“I am not saying…” She sighed. “I do not need any protection. Whatever nonsense Cardan told you please just forget it.”

“They shall not.” 

Cardan’s voice was back to that autoritary tone. When she get to be alone with him…

At some point the Bomb had approached her and took her hand. “If something is frightening you Jude, we can start investigating it immediately.” 

“I am not scared!” Jude jerked back her hand. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she groaned deeply. “I’m… gods… I’m pregnant ok?”

Raising her gaze again she found the three of the Court frozen in their places. Roach and the Bomb mouth-opened. The Ghost with an eyebrow raised. All of them wide eyed. All of them turning to Cardan in a single motion. Jude found herself biting down a laugh from their incredulous faces. 

Cardan shrugged as if it didn’t change anything. Still, the intensity of his eyes sent a shiver down her spine. 

After a couple of seconds in complete silence, something finally exploded. The Bomb let out a sharp squeal that startled even Roach before throwing herself at Jude in a tight hug, which she answered a little clumsy at the beginning, unused to such displays of affection from her. 

Roach laughed, throwing his head back. “Oh I see now. I knew there was something odd about all of this but…” He swore, still cackling. “Congratulations you both!”

On the other hand, the Ghost looked as if he’d just solved a big mystery. “Ah, I noticed Taryn was keeping some sort of secret from me, got me worried for a while.” He sighed and smiled at the couple, congratulating them as well. 

In all of that time, the Bomb hadn’t let go of Jude, murmuring surprise words and happy nonsense about teaching their baby how to hide and be a spy. Jude didn’t know if being delighted or terrified, but couldn’t contain her smile at her friend’s joy. 

At some point, the Ghost, who Jude never noticed leaving, came back to the room with food, wine and juice. That last one probably for her. They sat on the cushions and carpets and talked, teased and laughed, Jude telling them the story of how she’d found out she was pregnant.

Cardan, who had already came down from his ‘King mode’, joined their happiness and jokes, thanking them for their words. He reach for Jude, caressing her cheek with the back of his fingers. Watching her with something between love and wariness. “I hope you all have a better understanding now of why her security is priority from now on.”

Jude rolled her eyes, and took his hand. “I get your motives, but you’re really exaggerating, I do not need… well, all of that!”

“Oh no no, stop right there Jude.” Roach said. “Not even a cold breeze is going to touch that belly of yours, I am telling you.”

The other two nodded in agreement. The Bomb suggesting something about not letting anyone even approach Jude without proper previous inspection. 

She stared at them wide eyed. Those traitors. Cardan flashed her a triumphant grin.

Roach noticed Jude’s betrayed glare and shrugged. “Sorry lass, but even if we were not given royal commands to protect you, we would anyway. It may seem like you do not need it now but… it is not of public knowledge yet.” 

“Once it is,” The Bomb continued. “It will be impossible to guess the reactions among the folk. Better to be prepared for anything.”

“Thank you both, my wife is a little stubborn. But I will not take any risks.” Cardan’s grip on her hand tighten a bit. His voice so soft and full of gratitude it made Jude’s chest shrink. 

She sighed, knowing any further excuse would lead nowhere. She really understood, still, being guarded the whole time felt strange. Could she deal with it?

Unless...

“Don’t you think that making Lil stay with me while I bathe is a little too much?” She asked, taking a casual sip from her cup.   

Cardan pulled her closer and laid his chin on her head. “When it comes to you, my love, there is no such thing as ‘too much.’” 

Jude nodded. Raising her hand she started caressing his jaw, trailing her movements down to his neck, slower every inch. She muttered “I just thought you would be a better companion for me on that moment, that’s all. You could keep me close and... well observed the whole time.”

She practically heard his heart skip a beat. He swallowed, and made a low growling sound intended only for her. 

Someone cleared his throat, making them look back at their companions. 

The Roach was trying so hard not to laugh while watching the Bomb. She’d stopped chewing her food and stared at nothing, dramatically uncomfortable. The Ghost kept eating as if he didn’t hear anything, a mocking little smirk on his lips.

Heat climbed up Jude’s cheeks, she hadn’t realized they were being that obvious. Then again, it wasn’t like Cardan didn’t enjoy the attention. 

He chuckled, probably knowing what she was thinking, and raised his cup. “To you, my friends. For everything you have done for us, and what you are still willing to do. I will never find a way to show you how thankful I am.”

Jude mimicked him, her cup filled with grape juice. “You are family to us too, please never forget that.”

Glasses were raised, a couple of tears spilled and more hugs were given. This was one of those moments when Jude didn’t feel like the world was folding over her. She could breathe easily, and laugh in that little bubble of trust and love. Worries like ruling a kingdom, the former Court of Teeth, Lady Asha, nothing mattered now. Just this, just them.

Soft lips pressed to the base of her neck, startling her. She turned to Cardan as his arms surrounded her. “You look happy.” He mumbled. It was not a question. 

Jude cupped his cheek and grazed his mouth. Behind her, the Bomb said something like: “They just keep doing that in front of me, gods why?” 

They ignored her. Cardan chuckled, his chest shaking against hers. 

“I am.” She answered, finally pressing their lips together.

[timeisacephalopod]

Remember when I said I’s do a Jaskier/Geralt thing for Valentines Day and then I didn’t? Well, this is that but like. Late. So have a modern soulmate AU in which Geralt and Jaskier meet at a renaissance fair thanks to Roach.

*

Jaskier is minding his own business tuning his lute when something sticks its nose right in his ass. He turns around to find a horse standing there not looking the least bit guilty and he crosses his arms over his chest. “Do you mind getting your horse’s nose out of my sphincter? Is nothing sacred anymore?” he asks the horse, giving it a look as he takes a couple steps back. Then he makes the mistake of looking at the owner and oh, he wishes he started with a line about how endearing the horse was because this guy is hot. Stupidly hot and of course.

He narrows his eyes at Jaskier and they’re such a pretty golden color Jaskier is almost distracted. “Her name is Roach,��� he says and no, no.

“Oh my god what did you do, think up the worst possible name so that it would be tattooed on me forever?” he asks. Roach- who even names a horse Roach?

“I had to learn what a sphincter was at the tender age of three. You earned Roach,” the guy says and never mind if Jaskier sticks a gag in it he’ll take one for the team but the universe has messed up on this one.

“Well horses are awful. They run around on their finger nails and I hate that about them.” He crosses his arms again, hip out as he gives Roach a distasteful look.

Roach’s owner, Hotpants over there, looks deeply offended that his horse has been insulted. “That is the sluttiest outfit I have ever seen,” he says, nodding at Jaskier. He looks down and sure, he’s a little risqué with his powder blue jacket open and a couple buttons to his blouse undone but he personally thinks its tasteful.

“What in god’s name has you looking at your outfit like its personally offended you?” Yennefer asks. Jaskier looks over to find her leaning against a fence post looking bored.

“He just called my outfit slutty!” he says, gesturing to the white haired hottie.

“I did tell you that was quite thotty before we left the house but you insisted,” she says, flicking her fingers at him. He makes another upset noise.

“I can’t believe I’m being slut shamed all because your horse molested me!”

“You’re being slut shamed because you look like a slut,” White Hair says and this is the best the universe could do for him? Sure he’s hot, but at what cost?

“Alright, break it up. What’s got you so pissed off Geralt?” Yennefer asks and oh, so they know each other.

“This is my soul mate,” Geralt, Jaskier supposes his name is, says as he gestures to Jaskier.

That seems to throw Yennefer for a moment. “Why the hell are you mad about your soul mate showing up? You’re welcome by the way, for bringing him to you,” she says like its something she’s done on purpose.

“Oh, I’m not thankful. I had to walk around with ‘get your horse’s nose out of my sphincter’ on my forearm my entire life and he has the balls to complain about what I named my horse!”

“Your first words to me were ‘her name is Roach.’ I had to wonder my entire life if this was a child, a pet, or god forbid a prostitute. Then I find out its a horse, the worst of those options.” At least with the prostitute be could have felt bad that someone actually named an entire human being that. Same with a child, but a pet horse named Roach? Unforgivable.

“Seeing this shit makes me glad I don’t have a soul mate,” Yennefer mumbles.

“He doesn’t like horses!” Geralt says like this is personally offensive.

“Yeah, Jaskier is terrified of them,” Yennefer says and why does she feel the need to let that information out?

“Go get him,” Geralt tells the horse and Jaskier skitters back a few steps.

“Absolutely not, you stay where you are you freaky little beast!”

“This is a two thousand pound animal, why would you describe her as ‘little’?” Geralt asks.

“The universe has fucked up with us, let me tell you that,” Jaskier tells him.

*

Ciri has the gall to laugh and Geralt isn’t impressed about it. “Well I think he seems nice,” she says.

“He doesn’t like horses and he dresses like that,” Geralt points out.

Ciri looks Jaskier over while he does his best to avoid Roach following him around. “He seems nice and Roach likes him, that’s a good sign,” she says.

“Roach has been hit in the head too many times,” he mumbles.

“Roach has never been hit in the head, we’ve had her her whole life, Geralt. And I’m certain you love that horse more than you love me so we all know she’s well cared for. Stop sulking and go save him from Roach, say hello, bond with him a little,” she says, trying her best to prod him forward.

He refuses to go because Ciri is sixteen, what the hell does she know? And Roach is a horse, she also knows nothing. “I can do without,” he mumbles.

“I can’t believe the universe gives you a soul mate and instead of being grateful you’re mad he doesn’t like horses,” Ciri says, rolling her eyes. He’d point out that being soul mates didn’t end well for her parents but that’d be cruel so he keeps it to himself. Besides, he’s been her parent more than long enough for that not to really apply anyway.

“He’s scared of horses. There’s a difference,” Geralt says.

Ciri just rolls her eyes at him and walks away. Unfortunately she’s immediately replaced by Yen. “You should sleep with him at least, he’s got good Yelp reviews,” she says and Geralt can’t help the snort he lets out.

“I knew that outfit wasn’t lying.”

“Yeah. Kind of pisses me off that men can only dress slutty in victorian clothing and that’s only because of the standards of the time,” she says, looking displeased about that. “Point is, you might as well take advantage of the universe deciding you should be together. He’s cute.”

“He’s not that cute,” Geralt says, watching as Jaskier tries desperately to wave Roach away. It doesn’t work, Roach advances on him anyway intent on getting a pet. Jaskier shoots him and Yen a somewhat desperate look but neither of them move.

“He’s literally exactly your type,” Yen says.

“What type do I supposedly have?”

“Asshole. Trust me, you’ll fall madly in love with him and you’ll have adorable little babies,” she says, waving a hand around. That’s ambitious of her to think.

“I’m fine with Ciri, thanks.” Yen just rolls eyes and walks away.

*

“At the very least you could sleep with Geralt, he’s quite good,” Yennefer tells him and Jaskier wrinkles his nose.

“No! And where am I even supposed to do this in a public place?” he asks. They’re in the middle of a renaissance fair and even if they weren’t he has a horse. 

“Like you normally care,” Yennefer mumbles and yes he does! Occasionally, anyway. He remains silent and she lets out a long sigh, “I am not dealing with the two of you dancing around each other so get your slutty ass up and lets go find Geralt so you two can properly decide if you hate each other,” she tells him, grabbing a stick and poking him with it. He’d slap it out of her hand but he’s a little afraid of her so he doesn’t.

That said he’s not happy that he’s being dragged out by his collar to go deal with his supposed soul mate who is probably the worst.

*

Jaskier wrinkles his nose as he shifts so that pice of straw isn’t jabbing his back anymore. “Well, at least Yennefer was right about the yelp reviews,” Geralt mumbles and Jaskier squints.

“What? Oh whatever, doesn’t matter. Yennefer wasn’t wrong about you either but I still don’t like you,” he says.

“Hmm,” is all he gets back because apparently he slept with a fucking cave man.

Jaskier goes to pull himself out of the straw and he frowns, “Did you notice that this barn has open doors?” he asks. He can see people out of it and oh boy, this is a lot even for him. He has not made good life choices today. First he agrees to stick a horse in a barn and now its led to the rest of whatever the hell this is. This is why he doesn’t like horses, they’re bad omens.

“You didn’t notice?” Geralt asks, raising an eyebrow.

“And you did?”

“Thought you had a thing for exhibitionism,” Geralt says nonchalantly and Jaskier shakes his head.

“We are so not meant for each other.”

“Hmm. Meet me back here at five?” Geralt asks.

“Fine, but only because Yennefer will probably make me go,” Jaskier tells him before he walks off, attempting to rearrange his hair into something less heinous as he goes.

[iamtaran]

Notes on episode one

Sometimes when you’re feverish and hopped up on Niquil you just gotta rewatch the Witcher and type out your feelings in the notes app on your phone. “Writing down things I noticed” quickly became “writing more meta”, so! A look at how Geralt is different in this episode, and his relationship with Renfri the Shrike, Witcher dogma, and choice.

(in my defense i tried to keep things short by writing in bullet points but lol that’s cute)

-Geralt is so much softer in this episode. He is more open. He is by no means chatty or friendly, but he wears neutrality well. It’s obvious he expects people to treat him badly and turn him away just as much (or more) than he expects cooperation, and he is willing and able to accept either. He is a man doing a job. He asks for the alderman’s house, is inoffensive and neutral when the man chases off the helpful barmaid and tries to turn away. He tries to de-escalate— just tell me where it is and I’ll go. When that still doesn’t work and they threaten him, leave or on the end of the rope, he rolls with it, even jokes, “not a hard choice.” He isn’t angry, doesn’t even seem more than slightly annoyed, really. He’ll go. He had been open to the possibility of things working, and to the possibility that they might not, so he takes the hand dealt. This Geralt is so different to the one we see in future episodes, who is much more jaded, cynical, even bitter. He’s not quite as able to meet people with that same neutrality.

-This Geralt is much more ready to accept the outstretched hand. He jokes in this episode. Look at his first interaction with Renfri when she helps him. He is slightly wary, but accepts the beer she buys him with curiosity. At her self-deprecating mention of a horrified mother, he jokes, “Our secret, then.” Earlier in the episode, there’s his humor and scorn for Stregobor, “All the good predictions rhyme.” He listened to all Stregobor’s bullshit with neutrality, likely trained as Witcher’s are to hear out people even when the job isn’t one a Witcher does. He doesn’t pander; he is straightforward, but also not purposefully offensive or aggressive until it is deserved. Even then, he works to remain even tempered— his greater and lesser evil speech, his blandly delivered disdain for Stregobor’s admissions of kidnapping and killing innocent women. His emotions break through now and then, but he gets them back in check. He keeps his distance.  But the humor. We see Geralt’s sense of humor in later episodes as well (“these views” to Triss comes to mind) but it is so much more freely given in this episode. Or it’s less surprising compared to his more open stance. He is utterly charmed by Marilka, he enjoys the back and forth with Renfri, he smirks when they cross verbal blades over what it means to be a monster and she tries to get a rise out of him. He is amused when she posits “what is they come after you?” Because for him that’s a given; that’s part of the Witcher job description! Of course people fear the mutant warriors. Of course he gets chased away, turned away. Of course they have come after him, and he was trained to be ready for that eventuality and to accept it like any other part of the job, not with violence and resentment but with a shrug and then to move on. So much of what changes between episode 1 Geralt, who is maybe in his mid forties, and later Geralt, in his 50s-80s, is that he is not as readily able to keep that neutrality in him. He is not able to keep his carefully trained emotional distance, no matter how badly he wants to or how well he puts up the front. He has become jaded to the fear, the hate, the misunderstanding. (And it goes the other way, too, with softer emotions. He is definitely not keeping his distance when he fights to be allowed the save the Striga princess, when eh tries to gift Renfri’s brooch to her, for instance.) And a lot of it starts here, in Blaviken, where Geralt saved the innocent citizens of the market by killing a woman he had in fact liked and understood to an extent— and still he gets a stoning for it.

-Geralt just all around feels younger here. When do Witcher’s first leave Kaer Morhen to walk the Path? 18? 20? 22? The way he describes his first monster to Roach and the line “Yeah... I thought the world needed me, too;” I can definitely believe he was that young. (Imagine 18-20 year old Henri Cavill as Geralt. Imagine, I dare you. It’s darling.) So he’s been on the Path for 20, 25 years maybe. Wandering with his horse, seeing much of the continent for the first time, taking jobs and facing down monsters, many of those for the first time, too. A heavily trained young man who had been prepared for a hostile world, for monsters and money, to live a job and take what is given. Witcher training is quite practical and unromantic when it comes to how they are trained to view and interact with the world. But it is still a romantic version of young Geralt we find in his tale. So ready to save a young woman, hotheaded and with messy strikes against a mere human when the Geralt we know is shown as nothing less than controlled and precise. The quite unromantic response of the rescued pokes fun at himself, completed with his self deprecating jibe, “yeah. I thought the world needed me, too.” Grown up from his first days on the Path, this Geralt is still young, comparatively. Before the episode is done we see him grow up a bit more. Also, just the way he interacts with Marilka rings so much like an older brother. That little smirk!

-So Geralt is younger, less jaded, more open. He is also more vulnerable, or at least he reads that way. Rewatch that kiss and tell me that their closeup doesn’t frame Renfri as the initiator and Geralt as the vulnerable, soft-eyed receiver.

-dang it, he just likes Renfri. Almost immediately. Maybe two lines into their dialogue and his wariness fades. Renfri is young, but she burns brightly. She is fierce and firm in her handling of the situation and her men, wry and a little sardonic, she isn’t afraid of him and even teases him— shouldn’t have taken the back roads, should buy some new clothes. Then she draws closer and flirts as she pours him another beer when the barman refuses to serve them both. (And that line before Marilka interrupts, along the lines of “Seems everywhere I go I find more and more monsters these days,” its so obvious she was about to broach the topic of Stregobor with him. Or is that just me?) In the woods, her presence doesn’t alarm him when she approaches. He lets her keep his back, even knowing what Stregobor had told him. He goes back and forth with her on the matter of monsters and one’s own actions— which, phew, the commentary that gives on Witchers. An inherent conundrum of being taught that they, mutants, are inherently monstrous compared to humans yet must in their line of work, as traditionally neutral parties, remain neutral or risk acting the part of the monster. Their strength should not be turned against anything that is not a monster and a danger or it risks becoming monstrous, being used to monstrous purpose. “Great power, great responsibility.” Regardless, he enjoys going back and forth with her. He liked her fierceness, respects it, sympathizes with her and views her as the wronged party in the affair with Stregobor. Yet still he tells her, the responsibility is hers to walk away from the violence. Go live your life. A truly Witcher response. He doesn’t stop her following him to his camp. He doesn’t even stand when she floats in on his heels, lets her sit with him, listens when she speaks. He seems pleased when she admits that she will be leaving, receptive. Look at how his face softens when she speaks of her mother. Remember, this is the young man whose mother abandoned him at the foot of Kaer Morhen. It’s still raw all this time later, and will be a few decades on, as we see when he confronts her hallucination/vision. Geralt understands at least part of Renfri on a terribly personal level. He turns and lets her kiss him, not the other way around. Of course, she lied. He dreams, or hears from within his dream, her prophecy. I’m not completely clear as to whether the show meant to imply that she used some kind of magical ability to put him to sleep, and if inside that spell her inadvertent prophecy came through. Regardless, he is beyond grim when he goes to town to stop her, and I do believe his expression when given the ultimatum by her men is very speakingful. If not enough for you, however, then of course there is his quiet, resigned, disgusted, “Fuck.” But a Witcher accepts what comes from humans, good or ill. They walk away from attacks and hostility when they can, but defend themselves when needs must, and here it does. But that’s the catch, see. When he decided to come into town, Geralt wasn’t following his Witcher training. Think of what he told Stregobor— it wasn’t his problem, Witchers don’t deal in human affairs, and Geralt himself prefers not to choose at all when faced with lesser, greater, middling evil. He would rather be the true neutral. But he likes Renfri, empathizes with her even as he disdains and dislikes Stregobor. Geralt is the kind of man who was a young hothead bent on saving the world one young woman at a time. He likes bold, impetuous children and horses. His base instinct is to protect people and to side with the victims— we see its suggestion in this episode, and it is realized in full during the season. He isn’t neutral, as much as he wants to be. So he chooses, and hates himself for it, because he will never know if he was right. (And it doesn’t matter if he was right. Because right or wrong, killing Renfri wounded him and he carries it for decades.) It reinforces his belief that it is better not to choose at all. He was wrong to have chosen. He believes he should have walked away, let human affairs fall as they may, and yet we the audience know he will never be able to walk away from a massacre, do nothing, and still remain himself.

-Stregobor is the worst and that’s all I have to say about that.

-Renfri’s stepmother was 100% a lying turd and I will bet hard cash on that. “Yes her step mother told me she did this awful stuff, proving the mutation i had already decided existed anyway. Obviously she wanted to protect her own children so she hired me.” Are you???? Fuckin kidding me dude???? “Beep boop good thing there are no cautionary tales about jealous or cruel step mothers who hate their royal step children. Good thing no one would ever want to nerf said royal step children to open up the royal throne to their own get by, say, telling some teeny weeny lies to a gullible sorcerer who drinks his own koolaid” I s2g

-OH oh I almost forgot, one more thing. Just. One more. Fucking. All of Henry Cavill’s acting in the final scene and fight with Renfri. That hurts, sir. Every look and expression screams how badly he does not want to do this. I’ve said it before in another meta (and, like, in countless tags) but the terrible, breathless vulnerability and dread in Geralt’s face when Renfri reveals herself and her hostage? How slowly and carefully he draws closer, sword turned down and away, free hand open and soothing, as he tries to convince her to stop? Tries to use axii on her, and the softness of his voice, the clench in his jaw that says even as he seems to plead and beg with his eyes for her to stop that he is preparing for what will happen if (when) she won’t and despises every moment of it? It’s like the culmination of the audience’s introduction to What A Witcher Is (or perhaps better, What A Witcher Does). We see it throughout the episode. What a Witcher is, is neutral. They take what they are given. What they do is their job and nothing more. They kill dangerous monsters that threaten others and themselves. With humans, they defend themselves when necessary and that is all; necessity. There is no choice, it is simply what a Witcher does in a world where they know that sometimes the worst reaction a person can have doesn’t stop with angry words and threats. It is just another part of the life. They will back out, they will leave, they will sleep in the woods when they know they’re not welcome. They don’t push. They have been trained to avoid fighting humans wherever possible. They are not the aggressors, when blows come to blows. It is not what they do. Renfri cannot stop. Geralt must know this, after the intensity of their conversation in the woods. It is not Geralt the Witcher who made the decision to follow her to town; the Witcher would have left. Geralt the man, well, we know what he would do because we see it. When Renfri attacks him, however, he reacts as a Witcher does. As he did against her men. Controlled, precise, eliminating the threat. No cruelty or hatred. Just training. -Unlike his fight against the men, which is largely one long, smoothe dance, the fight against Renfri is riddled with pauses, stalemates where they lock eyes and we are shown closeups of their silent, intense exchanges. Neither wants to be there, but neither is willing to back down. -In my last meta I mentioned how Geralt clearly had the upper hand throughout their fight and doesn’t utilize multiple chances to finish the fight and critically injure Renfri. He instead tries to de-escalate-- strikes out with a slap, pins her, parries, defends, disarms her. These pauses in the fight for their eyes to meet and the little moments of silent communication seem an extension of this. More so, if I’m going to work with the Geralt the man vs. Geralt the Witcher dichotomy, then I would say these moments are Geralt the man breaking through. Communicating how he can’t let her go through with her plan. Begging her to reconsider, to walk away. Frustration, dread, a nonverbal don’t do this and don’t make me do this. Especially that last closeup. With Witcher efficiency and neutrality, he reacts to her final attack by turning her dagger back on her and sinking it neatly into her throat. Threat eliminated. Save... they both react with a long pause of breathless shock, before he wrenches it back out and she begins to bleed. There is a final close up from over her shoulder, her hair half obscuring Geralt’s face as he gazes presumably into her eyes, as he brings one hand up to her cheek— Geralt without speaking makes very clear how much pain he is in. He does what a Witcher does, but even as his hands did the work he is himself a gutted man. Regret. Pain. Love, of a sorts, whatever love can grow for someone you’ve known in such a short time yet felt such empathy and enjoyment and appreciation for. That is the young Geralt we saw, vulnerable and open and humorous, and this is where he ends. Look at his face as he leaves Blaviken. Geralt has become who we will follow for the rest of the season. -(If you look, really look, Marilka is not angry when she tells him to get out of Blaviken and never come back. Her eyes are soft, and sad. She is a clever little girl in a village too small, who knows the people there better than Geralt, and who knows he will never get more than a stoning. Maybe Geralt would have fought Stregobor for Renfri, maybe not. But Marilka tells him to leave, and he does.)

[dumbchickwrites]

Ice Cream, They Sprint

Pairings: Sam Wilson x Daughter! Reader

Warnings: men making crude comments about Reader in the street.

Words: 788 words.

Requested by @siriuslycollins: can you do an imagine about being sam's daughter being catcalled as they walk down the street? she's just wearing one of sam's old shirts and a pair of shorts during the summer and eating ice cream as a group of guys make some remark about her body and how she's eating her ice cream?

***

It was hot and humid. The kind of weather that felt like your body lotion was actually melting on your legs and all kinds of dirt and things got stuck to your sweaty, sticky skin. Sweat was dripping down your back under your dad’s shirt — that you’d simply borrowed, and your thighs left bare by your denim shorts were chafing. It was horrible.

But your dad had some errands to run in the city and even for the life of Jesus Himself you couldn’t wrap your head around why he needed you to tag along. Seriously, you could have been swimming in the compound’s huge pool with Peter.

You were on your way to God knows where when you passed yet another ice cream truck, probably the fifth in the last fifteen minutes. And it was hot. You needed something cold since the water in the bottle you’d been carrying had turned lukewarm long ago.

“Dad, please, I’m begging you. Can I please have ice cream? You’ve been ignoring me for the past twenty minutes!” you whined.

Sam glanced at his watch with a sigh. Though the place he needed to get to would close soon, an ice cream stop shouldn’t take longer than five minutes. He rolled his eyes and nodded.

“Okay, but be quick. Don’t do that thing where you taste all the flavours before making your choice.”

“Yeah, yeah. You know you want one too.”

As much as he hated to admit it, he did. So he followed you to the truck. Turned out he was the picky one. You slowly wandered away from the ice cream truck, leaving your dad to decide which flavour he wanted, pay, then catch up with you.

Not even twenty feet away from him, you spotted a group of men — boys, just standing there, leaning on a store window. Oh no.

“Hey lil’ mama with the blue shirt, lemme holla at you for a sec!”

You rolled your eyes at them, turning on your heels to go back to your dad. Unfortunately, they chose to follow you, their voices loud and annoying.

“That tongue only good for ice cream?”

“What’s a nigga gotta do to get you to suck his dick like that?”

“Damn, man, look at that ass! I bet she can make it clap!”

“I bet your skull’s gonna clap too when I crush it on the concrete.”

Sam’s voice was low, menacing, his eyes dark and hands balled into fists.

“Yo, it’s that nigga Falcon from the Avengers!” you heard one of them whisper.

“You think you can just walk around talking to girls like that? Talking to my daughter like that?!” Sam stepped forward, pushing you behind him.

You watched, amused as the boys were stuck in the same spot, too scared to move.

“Sir, I— I ain’t know she was your daughter, I—,” the one who made the comment about your ass spoke.

“Oh so if she wasn’t my daughter it would be fine then?”

“... No?”

“Are you asking me or are you telling me?”

“No, I’m— I’m telling you!”

“You telling me things now?”

“What? No! I—“

Sam grabbed his collar, raising him on the tip of his toes, and the rest of his crew took a frightened step back.

“Listen, roach face, I’m gonna keep tabs on you and your little gang over there. If I ever see you disrespect a woman ever again, even your mama or her mama, I will personally come to your house and beat the living shit out of you. Nod if you understand.”

The boy shook his head so hard that you thought he was having a seizure for a second. Sam let go of his collar.

“Apologise.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Oh, it wasn’t me you disrespected,” Sam huffed.

Slowly, very slowly, the boy locked his gaze with yours.

“I’m sorry, Miss.”

“What you sorry for?” Sam brought a finger behind his hear, bringing his head closer to the boy’s.

“I’m sorry I disrespected you and made offensive comments.”

You raised your ice cream cone at him with a shit-eating grin.

“Now go, before I change my mind and kill all y’all.”

They stayed right in front of you, eyes wide and lips quivering with fear.

“Go!” Sam barked.

As if the floor had turned into lava, they all ran as fast as they possibly could in the opposite direction, bumping into people on their way.

“Thanks, Dad. You’re my hero.”

Sam threw his head back in a laugh.

“You’re welcome. Anything for my little bird,” he kissed the crown of your head. “Hmpf, time to take those braids out, baby. They starting to stink.”

You gave him the most offended look you could manage.

[writing-anomaly]

Torn

Fandom:  Jojolion

Summary: Yasuho’s life is tearing at the seams. The volatile Rokakaka trade is catching up to them and when Josuke unravels, Yasuho  is pushed to her limit. She’s left more vulnerable than ever as she struggles to protect two men who barely know her.

This a story in which the protected must become the protector.

Chapter 4

"Fuck!"

Josuke fell with a grunt, tasting all the gravel that hadn't lodged itself into the skin of his face, arms, and knees when he fell gracelessly into the bushes.

Following Yasuho had been a snap decision.

His lungs burned, his feet hurt, and his heart was freaking out.

In all honesty, he hadn't planned on leaving the Higashikata estate. But his gut made him go after her, slippers and all. Yasuho's face was seared into his mind.

The hurt in her eyes..

Why wouldn't she tell him what was going on?

He'd fix it no matter what it was.

Why couldn't she just trust him..

Josuke huffed, trying to regain all the oxygen he'd let slip away during his pursuit. He had sprinted with a reckless abandon, causing a ruckus as he almost ran into a bewildered drunkard. The man had wanted a fight, but Josuke hadn't the time.There were more important pursuits he was after.

Yasuho was keeping something from him.

Ignoring the pain, he hoisted himself back onto his feet, looking around to gauge his new surroundings. He stepped out of the bushes of what looked like a small a park and onto the sidewalk. This prefecture was more populated than the suburban area of the estate. The Multi-story buildings told him that he had reached the downtown area at the heart of Morioh. Neon lights blared offensively, bringing attention to a wide variety of shops. More than a few shady characters weaved in and out of questionable establishments with storefront windows displaying whips and an array of strange contraptions.

Oh, no. The bus!

Josuke nearly gave himself whiplash as he searched for where the bus had turned to. Letting his focus slip for a fraction of a second could cost him everything. Sure enough, he saw the rearview lights of the massive vehicle three blocks down from his current position and turning onto what he recognized as the entry ramp of the highway.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

He was prepared to hunt it down regardless. Savoring the last bit of unlabored fresh air he'd have for a while, he spared himself a cat stretch.

Then booked it.

He went on blind dash down the street, not bothering to look for stop lights, straight into the oncoming traffic.

"You stupid fucker!"

The driver of a red corvette expressed his displeasure as he honked his horn, swerving in order to avoid hitting the young man. The car after that stopped abruptly, earning itself a hearty ram from behind, curtesy of the next car.

But none of that mattered.

He was about to lose track of the one person who mattered in his life, aside from his "mother," Holly Kira. The streets were becoming increasingly more crowded than he thought they should be on a Friday night. Much to his irritation, he was forced to weave in and out of crowds of rough-looking night prowlers. The horde of hoodlums became thicker with each step and Josuke found himself having to push his way through, grabbing shoulders and faces alike, just in order to clear a path.

Not good.

At this rate, he'd never catch up to Yasuho. Josuke scowled. A burning Irritation was quickly replacing whatever hope he had to find her.

"Hey, watch it!"

A rough hand snatched the fabric of Josuke's collar, nearly choking him in the process, and he was forced to look into the green eyes of a very aggressive, haggard looking fellow. The large man appeared to be in his forties, with sharp features and an overwhelmingly prominent nose. His flushed face, was as round as the moon, and sparsely covered in what Josuke dared to call a beard. Two, equally unattractive women clung to either one of his arms, scantily covered in leather vests and ripped spandex. Their bodies were practically spilling out of their clothes.

"Listen punk, that was my gal you pushed just now. I don't take kindly to disrespect." The threat, hardly concealed within the man's thick accent. His weathered face contorted into an expression so fowl, the muscles in his forehead formed what appeared to be horns.

Josuke regarded the man with bewilderment. "What's that on your face?"

"The hell you talkin' bout?"

Josuke could feel his nose hairs disintegrate from the hot breath that escaped through the holes in the man's decaying teeth. Faintly, he pointed at the metal piece poking out from either side of the man's nose. Without giving him a chance to reply, Josuke pinched the tips of the silver stud where it rested in the bridge of his nose, and yanked it straight out.

There was a loud crunch followed by a scream as horrid as grinding metal.

The two accompanying females looked on in horror as blood gushed from their lover's face like a faucet.

"Kevin-kun!" The blonde woman shrieked as the brunette fawned over the Gaijin who was holding his face while crying in a fetal position.

"There, there, babe.." She dabbed his face with a napkin she pulled from her cleavage. The injured man paid her no mind, opting to look up at Josuke who was trying to rub the blood off his formerly white shirt.

"Aaaw, man. I just washed this too.."

"You bastard..." he growled in between snorting the blood that continued to leak out of his face.

Curious onlookers had formed a circle by this time, though none moved to intervene. A petty fight was not the outcome Josuke was hoping for when he decided to leave his house. He heard the siren of what he recognized as the police in the distance then decided it would be best to take his exit and avoid a more dramatic scenario.

Josuke scanned the area for a reasonable pathway, taking note of a wisp of pink hair flowing through one of the gaps in the crowd of people.

There was no need for him to push his way through this time, as anyone standing in his path was swift to remove themselves, throwing him wary glances as he wiped a few specs of blood from his porcelain skin.

"Yasu-" He began to yell for all his excitement, then thought against it.

Maybe he shouldn't disturb her.

When he was free from the multitude of people, he glanced at the massive entrance to the building that everyone had been crowded in front of. On the wall was a large poster signifying the concert of a punk rock band. It depicted the severed head of a goat along with snakes, skulls, and roaches crawling along an apple.

It was rather grotesque for his liking.

Shaking his head, Josuke continued to stalk Yasuho quietly from the shadows.

Yasuho climbed the stairway to her apartment with much trepidation.

Her mother had never brought a man home before.

..this was uncharted territory.

She tried to imagine what type of guy her mom would go for.

Rich, was a given.

Growing up, her mother never worked a steady job. Though, somehow the lights never went off and there was always money for food. It wasn't unusual for her to sport designer clothes and mink furs, so whoever she was involved with had to have been loaded..

He was probably an old dude too.

Yasuho imagined a short, little wrinkly dude, fawning over her mom as they shopped for the latest Gucci gear. She was aware of the whole sugar daddy concept, and most of those relations involved buttering up a lonely guy with deep pockets and nothing to loose.

Yasuho hoped her mother wouldn't resort to such.

Upon reaching the final step to her floor, she saw that the walkway was clear, and began to move toward her own abode. There were several wooden doors along the inner wall of the concrete building. Each had their own assigned number mounted in silver.

Unit 708 was the apartment she shared with her mother.

On second thought..

Yasuho took a moment to compose herself.

She stepped to the outer end of the breezeway, readjusting the heavy grocery bag in order to relieve the blood flow in her finger tips, before opting to set it down.

The cool air was exactly what she needed to soothe her nerves.

Leaning against the railing, she gazed upon the Morioh city skyline.

A thousand golden lights danced along the horizon, beautiful enough to rival the stars above. It was a clear night aside from a few sparse clouds that glowed pearlescently in the moonlight. The atmosphere was not quite as peaceful as one would expect to relax in. She could hear the bustling traffic and uninhibited yells of bar patrons beneath her home; an unavoidable cost to living in the affordable, yet sketchy part of the town.

Yet having spent so much time in that environment, Yasuho allowed the roars of the city to lull itself into a hum of ambience within her ears. It was like an auditory haven where she didn't need to process the day to day strife she was force to live.

It was a far cry from Josuke's peaceful abode in the Higashikata estate. He'd been adopted into a family of multimillionaires, and Yasuho was sure he still didn't know just how lucky he was. She, herself, was all too aware that he resided in a part of town she could only dream of being able to afford.

Speaking of which, the guilt of her departure was starting to sink in.

Technically, Yasuho had ditched him when he only wanted to ensure her safety. Josuke was such a gentleman and sweeter than any guy she knew. Yet, when he tried to comfort her, she pushed him away...and she felt so bad for it.

Was she thankful for the swift escape?

Of course, there was no denying it.

Buying the alcohol and spaghetti was not a problem.

Nothing unusual about that. Everybody had to eat. And she was grown enough to have a drink if she wanted it.

...but the condoms..

Yasuho peaked once again in to the plastic bag she held, setting her cheeks ablaze in an instant as she recalled her shopping experience.

She had tried to be as discreet as possible.

Morioh was a sizable town, but word spread around fast and she preferred not being the center of the latest gossip. Thankfully, no one was in the intimate care isle of the corner store so swooping in and snatching the XL pack went without incident. It wasn't until she presented her items to the cashier that the man took the liberty of reading the package label out loud.

With that stupid pervy look on his face..

"Extra large! My, you must be a lively young lady!"

She could've died on the spot.

All the more reason to be thankful that she had left Josuke behind. She couldn't fathom, having to explain to him why she was buying a pack of Trojans.

But still...she wished her mother just hadn't bothered her with the task at all.

With one last sigh she braced herself to face her mother and her mysterious love interest.

"Here we go." She walked up to her door and grabbed the handle.

Suddenly her phone chimed and her navigational stand, Paisley Park spoke up.

"Choose one option." Her stand's mechanical voice piped up

1. Text Josuke or 2. Text Josuke

"You're right." Yasuho happily agreed and typed up her 'apology' text.

Yasuho: I made it home safe.

That didn't seem to be enough.

Yasuho: Miss you already <3

She'd make it up to him later.

Gathering her resolve, she grabbed her bag off the ground, turning toward her apartment. Yasuho had barley touched the handle when the door flung open and she was rewarded with a mouth full of hair.

"Hi Honey!"

Yasuho's mother squeezed her like she was shaking down a bottle of ketchup. The curls of her honey auburn hair glowed like a wild fire in the fluorescent lighting of the foyer.

An array of kisses, assaulted Yasuho's cheeks.

As much as Yasuho'd hate to admit it, the overwhelming display of affection softened her heart. This was the mom she always yearned for. A mom who was sober enough to greet her with a smile; who didn't allow her own thirst for love to dry up any affection she had to give to her own child.

"Hi mom." she replied faintly.

Yasuho felt her body giving in..

..slipping, into her mother's embrace.

And it terrified her.

After they separated, Yasuho was able to get a good look at her mother, Suzuyo Hirose. The cigarette smell she remembered her by, was absent. Her eyes were bright, just like her hair which she had lightened from it's natural dark color. And her slim but curvy figure was clothed in a modest, white, polyester v-neck and a knee-length fuchsia pencil skirt.

It was very..professional..

Was this the same Suzuyo Hirose who gave birth to her?

"Oh! I have a surprise for you! Well, he's waiting in the kitchen.." Suzuyo smiled ecstatically and grabbed her daughter's free hand.

So I was right...there is a guy..

Kicking off her shoes, Yasuho barely registered the chime of a text alert before the door shut behind her and she was pulled deeper into this alternate dimension she called a home. The place was almost unrecognizable. What she had come to know as a landfill was now devoid off all the wear and tear that came with being occupied by a dysfunctional family.

It was clean.

Shiny even.

There were no empty food containers laying around.

The wine stains in the living room carpet had been eradicated.

No broken glass to cut her foot upon.

Yasuho could even see her own confused reflection within the dark wood floors.

Where am I, really?

Part of her was suspicious of a stand attack. This had to be some kind of mind freak, or practical joke. She wouldn't have been surprised if Tsurugi was playing one of his 'Let's trip up Yasuho' games again like he did when he took away her ability to differentiate faces and signs.

An even greater part of her feared that this was legit.

Yasuho's stupor was lifted when she bumped into her mother who had stopped short of the entrance to the kitchen.

"Mom, what's wrong?"

Her mother was trembling.

Suzuyo swiftly turned to face her. The faint crinkles above her rosy cheeks framed her glossy chestnut eyes. She squeezed Yasuho's hand, coming close to whisper in her ear.

"I feel like we're about to start a new chapter. I know I haven't been the perfect mother, but, just know that I love you and I want things to be better between us."

Yasuho nodded mechanically.

It felt like the right thing to do. Whomever this love interest was, had to be really important to her mother. Slowly, Yasuho brought her hands around the older woman and hugged her, resting her head on the crook of her neck. If she had truly found her happiness, then Yasuho would do her best to support her.

For now, she'd reserve her judgment.

Yasuho moved break the embrace, but found herself tangled within not one, but two sets of arms.

"You're just as lovely as your mother." The unfamiliar voice was deep and oddly rhythmic like the bass of a drum.

A tall figure overshadowed her mom from behind.

Yasuho's body tensed.

Omg, he's touching me!

"Kaito, I thought I told you to wait in the kitchen!" Suzuyo giggled, releasing Yasuho to grab ahold of her lover's arms from where they were wrapped around them.

"Sorry dear, sensed all the good vibes coming from the hallway and I couldn't help myself." The man, Kaito, was grinning wide as a Jack-o-lantern. He was a clean cut man, with a perfectly symmetrical face. His hulking frame was moderately built and draped in a perfectly tailored, emerald dress shirt that his ripped jeans rebelled against. Dark hair and brows accentuated his tanned skin, creating a stunning contrast to the platinum eyes in which the light seemed to dance.

Suzuyo playfully booty-bumped him, causing the man to hunch forward reflexively as he stumbled back a step.

He grabbed his crotch and faintly mouthed the word "Ouch."

Yasuho stood in silence, watching the playful interaction unfold.

"Sorry dear, let me introduce you properly."

Suzuyo Hirose bit her lip, eyes alight with a spark she hadn't seen since their family was in one piece.

The love doves shared a knowing expression then faced Yasuho together with the widest smiles on their face. They both presented their left hands to Yasuho, but it was her mother who continued to speak.

"I'd like you to meet your new father."

To be continued...

[tisfan]

Will You Steal My Valentine

Chapter One: All I Buy For Christmas Chapter Two: Renting in The New Year

Chapter Three

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Tony asked, his voice filled with -- disappointment? Dismayed astonishment? Offense on Ana’s behalf -- Bucky wasn’t sure. He was only grateful that it was a phone conversation because he didn’t think he was, at this particular point in his life, prepared to face to expression Tony was probably wearing that went along with it. 

How had this happened? Bucky threw up his mental hands. He had no idea; he was dating a guy six years younger than himself and under normal circumstances, he should have been mildly amused by every twinge of emotional reaction that Tony had. And boy, did Tony bring the drama, sometimes. Bucky should have been the adult in this relationship, tolerant and patient, knowing that nothing was ever as overly important as Tony was making it out to be. 

Instead, Bucky found himself turned upside down and tossed around by Tony’s emotional weather. Worse, Bucky was enthralled by it; he was so damned happy whenever Tony was around, and when Tony was happy that he found himself putting ridiculous amounts of effort into Tony’s well-being. Sometimes, it was like having a new puppy. 

“Just what I said, kitten,” Bucky said, laying back on his bed and staring up at the ceiling. 

“She sent you a whole box,” Tony pointed out. 

“Yeah, and then she wrote ‘fragile, cookies’ on the side of the box,” Bucky said. 

“And?” 

“Have you met my sister?”

(read more line here for people on mobile... you can also read at A03)

“You mean the red-headed whirlwind that’s nearly killed me four times already? Of course I’ve met Natasha,” Tony said. 

“Then why are you asking me if I liked the cookies? I didn’t get any of them.” Bucky puffed air hard enough to ruffle his hair. People were always so weird about that -- like, didn’t they know better? You didn’t leave sugar around ballerinas. Ever. 

Tash could sometimes be counted on to leave one of thing, though, just enough so that she didn’t have to replace the box, or the 12-pack of Coke, or whatever. She was, Bucky would admit, most of the time the ideal roommate. She was gone at least seven months out of the year, she never left her dirty dishes out -- of course, Tash had grown up in the same house as he had, infested with roaches even at the best of times, and leaving food out was just not a thing you did -- and she paid all her bills on time. 

For that, Bucky was willing to put up with the fact that she ate everything that wasn’t nailed down, pried up things that were, and complain that she was still hungry. And, back when their parents were still alive, their mom had run Tash ragged on diet after diet, pinching her waist to see if Tash had “gained an inch” and constantly compared her to every other slender girl in the troupe. Tash had gone through two trips to the ER over it, once for prolonged bulimia, and another time for severe rash that had turned out to be a symptom from malnutrition. If what it took for Tash to be over that was to binge eat cookies once in a while, Bucky wasn’t going to say much to her. 

Not seriously, at any rate. He complained. Of course he did, he was her brother, it was his job to complain. But if he actually sat her down and had a conversation about her eating habits? Yeah, that could be real bad; she’d hear in between the lines, everything he wasn’t saying and didn’t mean about how fat she was and how no one would ever want her and… yeah, not happening. 

Not that he could really explain that to Tony; Tash’s eating disorder was between her, Bucky, and her troupe leader (better than the last leader, this one encouraged the ballerinas to fucking eat all ready). “Tash ate them all,” Bucky said, lame. “I’m guessing she thought they were good.” 

“Ana’s going to be disappointed,” Tony said. “She made those cookies for you.” 

“I’ll get Tash to autograph one of her publicity photos for Ana,” Bucky suggested, “and she’ll be so excited by that, she’ll completely forget that my sister is a horrible pest and eats all my food.” 

“This is a habit of hers, I’m guessing?” 

Bucky shrugged. “She burns a lot of calories, doing dance,” he said. “If I ate half as much as she does, I’d have to run a 5k daily. So, really, she probably spared me the effort of running, which I hate doing in the winter.” 

Tony hummed thoughtfully. “I’m not going to tell Ana you didn’t get any of her cookies,” he said, finally. “Look, I have a few left, why don’t you come over and I’ll make sure you get one?” 

Bucky laughed. “I’m almost tempted to suggest you and my sister are conspiring against me.” 

“What, to get you into my bedroom?” 

“Something like that,” Bucky said. Not that he didn’t want to, god… but Tash had been home for the last several weeks and Tony shared a room with another student (and one who seemed a bit homophobic, honestly) and privacy just wasn’t a thing they’d had. 

“If you’re not gonna come over for a bribe, I guess begging wouldn’t help any,” Tony said. 

Jesus Christ. Bucky almost fell out of his own bed, the way Tony’s voice affected him, that soft, knowing lilt and how was that possible? This was… god, you have it bad, soldier. 

Bucky rolled his head back; red numbers glittered at him. It was three-thirty, he had work at eight and he’d need to shower and change clothes, although he supposed he could bring a gym bag with him and use the dorm-showers over at campus. Fifteen minutes to get there, another twenty minutes to find a place to stow his bike, since he didn’t have a campus parking sticker, and he’d have to leave at seven, if he was going to get to work on time. 

“Order us some delivery,” Bucky said, “and I’ll be at your door in about an hour.” 

Bucky hung up the phone while Tony was still cackling with glee, fingercombed his hair, gave that up as a bad job and just scraped it back into a messy bun. He left Tash a twenty on the counter and a note, “Order a pizza. Gone to Tony’s. I know it was my turn to cook. LY, B” 

They always left each other notes; their parents had died in a carbon monoxide accident when Tash was still in high school. Bucky’d been in the Army, Tash was doing a limited tour over Easter vacation with the dance troupe, and neither of them had known anything about it until Tash came home a week later. 

Notes. And calls. Some of Bucky’s friends had given him shit about how careful he was to make sure his sister knew where he was at all times. Or how much he worried about it if she had gone somewhere and didn’t text him. Didn’t matter. Tash was all he had left. 

Bucky packed clothes and a toiletries bag into the pod on the back of his motorcycle. It was a little cold for a ride, but taking the bike meant he could stay longer instead of having to walk from campus to the nearest bus station. He pulled on all the leather, which would help keep him warm, although in the spring and summer he tended to play fast and loose with safety, something that would surely end with an epic scar someday. 

Helmet mashed over his already terrible hair, he climbed on and headed out to the college. 

What was it with women who stole his food? 

Bucky stared at the empty takeout box, then up at the girl in Tony’s room. She was adorable, pixie-haircut and wide, green eyes and clothes so fashionable they looked like they belonged on a runway. Exactly the sort of girl that Bucky had thought Tony should date, not some ex-military guy with the fashion sense of an armadillo. 

“Janet, this is Bucky,” Tony said, apologetically. “Jan, Bucky.” 

“Oh, my god, you’re Bucky? Of course you are, I’m just so excited to meet you, Tony talks about you all the time and I’ve heard so many good things, and I know that I ate your general tso’s chicken and I’m so sorry, but I ran into the delivery guy on his way up the stairs and I was coming over to talk to Tony about some personal stuff and you know, we have class together and I needed to look over my notes with him anyway, and there’s this thing going on in a few weeks and I just had to ask him what he thought of my costume idea, and I noticed he’d ordered enough for two, and I just really didn’t think that he was going to have company over, sometimes he orders extra just so he doesn’t have to think about it the next day, and so I was already helping myself by the time we got to the door and I’m so so sorry --” 

“Holy shit, Tony, how does this woman even breathe?” 

“Kinda like a whale, maybe. I think she’s got a blowhole in the top of her head,” Tony said. 

“God, you’re terrible and I don’t know why I put up with you, Tony Stark, really, I just do not,” Jan said, smacking Tony over the head a few times and forcing Tony to shield his face before she knocked his ridiculous yellow sunglasses right off his head. 

“Because I’m the only one who puts up with you? Stop hitting me, you little wasp,” Tony said, ducking around behind Bucky. “You need to save me, now.” 

“Who’s gonna save me?” Bucky turned around in a circle, forcing Tony to run around him to keep away from Janet. Finally, he took a step to the side and Janet walked right into him, stumbled back a step, and rubbed her nose. 

“Ow.” 

“C’mere, you,” Bucky said, dragging Tony in for a kiss. Janet squealed, bounced on her toes and clapped her hands together, which almost had Bucky pulling back until Tony licked along his bottom lip and Bucky decided he did not care that she was watching. Between Bucky’s crazy working-nights schedule and the erratic class/lab schedule that Tony kept, he’d barely seen Tony in the last week, and mostly they’d just texted or chatted on the phone and god, Bucky had missed him. Seemed silly, when Bucky sat down and thought it over; he and Tony had known each other for all of five weeks, gone on a dozen dates (was it really a date when half the time Bucky just dropped onto campus and they hung out in the Quad A to watch television?) and talked on the phone almost every day. And yet, kissing Tony was the highlight of his day. 

Tony tasted like duck sauce and oolong and he smelled like expensive cologne. His hair was soft and his skin was warm under Bucky’s hands and his mouth was clever and willing.   

“Okay, enough,” Janet said, finally, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her foot impatiently. “Come up for air, already. I need Tony’s notes and to not feel pathetic.” 

Bucky could feel the reluctance in Tony’s mouth and tempted him back with a nudge at his lower back, before finally releasing him. 

“If you’d just ask Hank out, you wouldn’t have this problem,” Tony muttered. He waved a hand at the two desk chairs and the currently neat-as-a-pin other bunk (Tony’s half of the room was a disaster, the less said about it the better). “Grab some real estate, while I dig up this --” he disappeared practically headfirst into his backpack, pulling out any number of books, notebooks, a tablet, a laptop, with a muttered “not it.” 

Bucky dropped into one of the chairs, not wanting to mess up Tony’s roommate’s bed (Bucky had been introduced to the guy once, but Tony had exactly zero respect for the guy, and while he used cutesy nicknames for most of his friends, this particular guy found them offensive and often stormed off in a snit.) but Janet didn’t have any such hangups. She threw herself on the bed, kicking her heels up into the air behind her and snuggling up with the pillow, talking a mile-a-minute about the class she and Tony were in together, her crush on a guy named Pym, and why it was all sorts of inappropriate for her to ask him out (something something, he was a TA and probably going to be an adjunct professor next year and, something something.) while Tony dug out his notes and then ran them through his scanner for her, copying them. 

Janet apologized again for eating Bucky’s dinner when Tony tossed him both fortune cookies. Bucky opened one of them and devoured it in two bites, peeling the little piece of paper out of his mouth. You learn a lot from your mistakes; today will be educational. Bucky huffed, feeling cheated. Terrible fortune. He crumpled it up with the wrapper and threw both in the trash. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Bucky said. “I’ve got a lunch for work, I’ll just take my break early.” 

“You work nights?” 

“He’s a bouncer in a strip club,” Tony said, grinning, as if this was a real achievement, when honestly, all it took was a lot of muscle and the ability not to hit on the dancers. (Bucky’d heard of other clubs where the bouncers and other male staff got “free-trade” from the girls, but that sort of idea just made Bucky feel sick.) 

“Really? Where do you work?” Janet actually looked interested, which was odd. Most of Bucky’s experiences with women who didn’t dance was a mix of sex-worker shame, or feminism 101 rampages about the nature of his work. 

“Red Room,” Bucky said. 

“Oh, awesome. Tony, we should totally go, I bet we could get a whole group together and --”

Bucky hid his face behind his hand and groaned. Excellent, that would be just great, his boyfriend and a whole ton of probably underage college kids showing up at the ‘Room. Victoria would kill him. And that after she yelled at him for a while, and dear sweet zombie Christ, Victoria Hand had a way with words that made a man want to stab himself in the eye rather than face her wrath.

Tony handed off the print-outs to Janet, then dropped himself into Bucky’s lap, disdaining the other chair, and Bucky had to shift around suddenly, getting one arm around Tony’s lower back. “Some warning,” Bucky chided, then nuzzled at Tony’s neck, unable to resist. Tony squirmed around in Bucky’s lap, which was a little awkward as… nnnngh, yeah, okay, so it had been a long damn time since Bucky’d gotten laid and a little teasing was torture. 

Tony and Janet went off on some unstable particle theory that their professor had been discussing in lecture, with Janet adding in quips from Pym, who had apparently a long-standing debate with the guy. The theoretical physics part of the discussion was way over Bucky’s head and paygrade, but Pym sounded like a quick wit. 

“I agree with Tony,” Bucky said, interjecting himself into the middle of one such exchange, which earned him a brief look from the resident geniuses. 

“What part?” 

“The part where Janet ought to ask Hank out,” Bucky said. 

“Ha!” Tony exclaimed, almost falling out of Bucky’s lap in his enthusiasm, and the amount of twisting and twitching and clinging he did to remain perched there got Bucky a little more wound up then he’d really meant to be. “I told you, I told you, I told my mother, I told --” 

“You told your mom? Oh, my god, Anthony Stark, why would you… why would you tell Maria that? You know she’s like best friends with my mother, and they go to coffee all the time --” 

Tony heaved an abused sigh. “Because my mom was trying to get me to ask you out,” he explained, waving a hand. 

“Oh, that’s disgusting,” Janet said, sticking her tongue out. “No. I mean, like I adore you, Tony, you know I do and you’re the sweetest thing and you actually have really good fashion sense but you and me? Dating? That would be a disaster. It would be like dating my brother. If I had a brother. He’s kinda like my brother, you know --” she directed this at Tony “-- like all the way down to have pictures of us together in diapers.” 

“Jan!” 

“You told our mothers.” 

Bucky snorted. “Yep, you two are siblings. You sound just like me an’ Tash.” 

“Oh, right, your cookie-thieving sister, I forgot about that,” Tony said, twisting around in Bucky’s lap again. “I owe you a cookie. Let me up, I’ll go --” 

Bucky winced and pulled Tony closer, shifting his hips and Tony’s eyes widened suddenly as he realized what, exactly, was poking him in the leg. “I’m good,” Bucky said. He leaned closer and breathed in Tony’s ear, the sniper’s voice from the military that didn’t carry at all. “Don’t you dare get out of my lap right now.” The last thing he wanted was for Janet to notice the puptent he was making in the front of his trousers. 

Of course it had started raining. In Boston. In January. 

“Ug,” Tony said, walking him to the edge of the building, eyeing the sky. “You sure you want to ride your motorcycle in this weather?” 

“Choiceless,” Bucky said. “I gotta get to work, okay?” 

“Well, text me when you get there, babe,” Tony said. “This weather is. Well, I just want to know you’re safe.”

“‘Course, mom,” Bucky said, tapping Tony’s chin lightly. “Don’t fret, I’ll be fine. You don’t have to walk me out, no sense both of us getting wet.” 

“Okay,” Tony said. “Text me anyway.” He put his arms around Bucky’s neck and drew him down for a kiss, soft and warm and regretfully short. Tony was already shivering by the time he let go -- he’d come outside without a coat, like being young was somehow an immunity to the weather. 

“Will do,” Bucky said. He trudged out to his bike and had a completely miserable trip out to work. At least it was only twelve miles. By the time he got there, he was soaked through; riding in the rain was always like taking a 60 mile an hour shower, but this time it was also nearly freezing and his fingers and toes were so numbed that he ended up hitting the showers (again) before his shift started. Luckily -- or at least, practically -- everyone kept at least one change of uniform at the club. Guests drank, and anyplace where guests drank often resulted in employees getting puked on. He was still cold, and a little bit cross, so he group-texted Tash and Tony. At work. Not dead. 

A few hours later, he swapped out with Drax and took his lunch break early. 

Only to find out that someone had snatched it out of the fridge and eaten all but the last two bites. Yeah, that was just how his day was going. 

Bucky but one hand to his grumbling stomach and then sent his sister a text. If there’s not food for me when I get back, I will end you. 

Tash: I got chicken wings. There’s like four left. 

Bucky: I guess I’ll survive.

Tony: What today?

Bucky rolled his eyes. Tony had gotten some sort of weird enjoyment out of Bucky’s reports about Tash’s brattiness. Maybe it was having no siblings of his own, or maybe it was because there was always a damn list. 

Bucky: Milk. There’s like half a swallow in the jug. Not even enuf for coffee. 

While waiting for Tony to respond to that, he scrolled backward, reading the myriad complaints and bitches and affectionate name-calling that he’d said about his sister over the last two weeks. There was… a lot. 

Bucky: Put her hand in the cereal box. Ate a handful. Then put her hand BACK in the box. Ick. 

Bucky: Left exactly one piece of shaved ham in the package. 

Bucky: One AA battery left in the package. What the hell uses 1 AA battery. Bucky: NEVERMIND I FIGURED IT OUT DONT SAY ANYTHING. 

Bucky: Asked to borrow $2. Gave her a 20. She left $18 in DIMES on the coffee table. 

Bucky: Seriously. There isnt room in the dishwasher for a fork and she cant be bothered to run it?? What am I supposed to eat with? 

Bucky: Uff. that was nice. My turn to cook but work was shit last night and i m tired. She made spanikopita 

The phone buzzed under his hand and Bucky scrolled through the messages again to find the new one. 

Tony: Are u working next weekend 

Bucky: Thats valentines day? 

Tony: Yes. 

Bucky: Not at all surprising, busiest day of the yr. That said, I wrkd last yr, so I have off this. 

Tony: Oh, thank god. Do you get seasick? 

Bucky: Uh dunno? 

Tony: 5 mins, ill call u 

“Okay, so,” Tony said, when Bucky answered the phone a few minutes later, “I was wondering, maybe, if you’d like to go on a date. Like… an overnight date. I mean, I know we did that, when you stayed at my parents’, but like, for real, this time.” 

“An overnight date,” Bucky said, slowly, “on Valentine’s Day?” 

“Um, yeah?” Tony sounded nervous, a little breathy, like he was pacing around in his dorm room. 

“What did you have in mind?” 

“I… erm, you know Harbor Spirit?” Tony asked. Bucky did, actually; they ran advertisements on the radio all the time; kinda a bar/nightclub on a ship. Like Carnival Cruise, but smaller, and they didn’t leave the country, mostly just tooled around in the harbor area. A few times a year (New Year’s, Valentine’s, etc) they had overnight cruises. 

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “You… really?” 

“Well, yeah, if that’s something you want to do, I mean we can --” 

“I’d love to,” Bucky said. “That’s… um. Kinda serious business, though, kitten.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Bucky chewed his lip, he really would have rather done this in person, but what the hell. “I mean a date like that, it’s kinda expensive and… I guess what I want to know is where we’re going with this.”

“Oh, this is that talk,” Tony said, and Bucky heard him throw himself onto the bed. “We’re gonna DTR already?” 

Bucky snorted. Three letter acronyms… yay. Well, at least Tony didn’t actually say “lol.” He didn’t think he could date anyone who actually did that without at least a healthy dose of irony. “Define the relationship,” he said. “Might be time to do that, yes.” 

“Well, I’m not seeing anyone else,” Tony said, hastily, “not that you can’t, you know, if that’s not something you want, or, you know I don’t want to make assumptions, but --” 

Bucky smiled. “Oh, well, good, then,” he said. “I’m not seeing anyone else, either. I’d… we’ve been seeing each other about a month now, I’m interested to see if it goes anywhere. Dating, you know, with purpose.” 

“Purpose beyond just having a good time,” Tony said, all the way back to breathless again. “That’s, yeah, that’s great, Bucky, I’d… like that. Honest, I been sorta telling people you’re my boyfriend anyway.” 

Bucky hadn’t, not because he wouldn’t have, but because honestly, he didn’t have anyone to tell. Aside from his sister, and she’d already guessed that Bucky was more than halfway in love as it was. “That’s good,” Bucky said, again. “I mean, we… New Years, and… you know how I feel.” 

“But it’s nice to have it out in words, right, like official and everything,” Tony said. 

“Yeah, like that. Look, this seems wrong, over the phone. Can… can I take you out to dinner? I don’t have to be at work for another four hours, and I know a great diner --” he gave Tony the address. 

“Sure, I’ll… be there in thirty minutes, great,” Tony said. He hesitated, then -- “so, that’s a yes, on that cruise?” 

“Absolutely,” Bucky said, grinning. “See you soon, kitten.” 

“Yeah, I…” Tony said, hesitated again, then said, almost as if he was terrified, “soon.” 

“Oh, my god, Yasha, chill out,” Tash said, running her hand through Bucky’s hair and making a mess of it. “You look fantastic, it’s going to go fine.” 

“You think so?” Bucky asked, then, because he couldn’t possibly let Tash get away with that, he added, “because you know, if you think so, I’m probably in trouble.” 

“Is it a moral imperative for you to be such an asshole?” 

Bucky considered that, as if it were an honest-to-god question. “Hmm, probably,” he said. 

“Look,” Tash said, “I know that you were real hurt with that Rogers thing; hell, back in high school, you were practically writing James Rogers in your notebooks. And I remember what a fucking wreck you were when he got married.” 

Bucky flinched. What Steve and he had… Bucky had massively misinterpreted a bout of sexual identity panic. Steve had come into the Red Room for the girls, or so he had said, but he had also flirted with Bucky. And Bucky had been stupid enough to think it was real. To let Steve sweet talk him into some behind-the-scenes action. They’d had sex five times; three times at the Red Room, once in the backseat of Steve’s car, and once on the back stairs to Bucky’s apartment. They’d never even gotten to a bed, and Bucky was in love enough to think that any of it meant anything. 

And then Steve had stopped answering Bucky’s texts. 

A few weeks later, Steve had stopped by the apartment, had woken Bucky up to tell him that Steve was engaged to be married to a woman named Sharon, and he was sorry if Bucky was hurt, but… Steve still wanted to be friends, if that would be okay, he… 

Bucky had shut the door in Steve’s face and had waited until he heard the man’s footsteps on the stairs before he’d collapsed and cried himself sick. 

He had never been able to decide later if the wedding invitation had been an olive branch or Steve rubbing it in Bucky’s face. 

Either way, Bucky hadn’t gone. In his better moments, Bucky honestly wished Steve all the best. As time passed, Bucky had more better moments. The wedding date had come and gone; Bucky had in fact, saved the date. Had saved it to get good and fucked up drunk. 

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Bucky said, closing the door on that thought. 

“But you’re worried,” Tash said. “I’ve seen you… twice now, you’ve almost picked a fight with Tony because if it ends badly, at least this time it’d be your fault. I’m just saying, brother, give it a chance, okay? Tony seems like a good guy.” 

“How do you even know?” 

Tash pinked, and that was interesting. 

“What?” 

She sighed. “You texted us both, a few weeks ago, so I have his number. We… started chatting a little.” 

“You are texting my boyfriend behind my back, what are you, twelve?” Bucky was mortified. “What have you said to him?”

“Nothing about you,” she said, almost cross. “Well, a few things about you, like your favorite color and stupid shit. But we just got to chatting. I like him. He’s kind. I give you permission to like him; god knows, you’ve liked stupider people.” 

Bucky appealed to the ceiling, “Is my own sister giving me a shovel talk? Is that what’s going on here?” 

Tash looked ready to protest that, but instead, she just poked him in the ribs a few times until he grabbed her hands, laughing and squirming away from her fingers. “Stop, stop, I give up,” he squeaked, just as the door opened and Tony came up the stairs. 

“Do you need help?” 

“Yes!” Tash said, instantly, taking advantage of the distraction to poke Bucky again. 

“No!” Bucky responded instantly, thrashing his way out from under his sister, “No, absolutely, you do not need to help her.” He backed away, arms held out protectively. 

“Well, I actually meant you,” Tony said, laughing. “Hey, Nat, good to see you, I have a present for you.” 

The word present worked wonders, Tash stopped stalking Bucky, brightened up, and beamed. “You’re a wonderful person,” she said, “and I do not even in the slightest bit rescind my permission for Yasha to date you.” 

“I don’t need your permission,” Bucky muttered. 

“Well, in case you have doubts,” Tony said, and presented one of those cheesy velvet boxes that were filled with assorted chocolates, “I brought this for you.” 

“For me? Really?” Tash snatched the box away and hugged it to her chest. “Thank you, that’s very sweet.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes; at least this way he wouldn’t have to be pissed when Tash ate all the chocolates, but weirdly, it kinda stung a little. 

“And before you get all sulky, gorgeous,” Tony said, bringing a second box out from behind his back, “this one’s for you. Will you be my Valentine?” 

Bucky shook his head, grinning. “Of course,” he said, and drew Tony in for a kiss. He couldn’t resist the siren’s call of chocolate for very long, however, and he sat down on the sofa, patting the cushion next to him for Tony to join him, and tore into the box. One of the best things about his favorite -- chocolate-covered cherries -- is that they were easy to find, even in a box of mixed candies. “Thank you. Want one?” He offered the tray to Tony, who selected one at random. 

“Can I have one?” Tash asked, leaning over the back of the sofa. 

“Really, Tash? You have your own box,” Bucky exclaimed, exasperated. “Eat your own chocolates!” 

“Yeah, but your box is open already,” she said, like this was a reasonable excuse. 

“One,” Bucky said, firmly. “Just one.” He was going to have to take the damn box with him if he had a prayer of there being any of them left by the time he got home. 

Tony just laughed and stole another one while Tash was picking them over carefully, trying to decide which one she wanted the most. “Come on, gorgeous,” he said, “we can’t miss cast-off.” 

Bucky sighed, grabbed another few chocolates and rapid-fired them into his mouth like they were pez from a dispenser. Mouth full, he glared at his sister, took the box back to his room and rather pointedly shut the door. He chewed and swallowed heroically. “Stay out of my room,” he said, wagging his finger at her. 

“Have a good time,” Tash said, blowing kisses at Tony. “Thank you for the present!” 

Bucky grabbed his overnight bag and followed Tony out to his car. “That was nice of you,” he said, cautiously, “although I admit, I’m a little concerned that her box and my box are the same sized box. What am I supposed to make of that?” 

“Hey, I’m not taking her on a cruise, am I?” Tony pointed out. 

“True, that,” he said. Tony leaned over and kissed him again, more thoroughly, as they both belted in. 

The stateroom was rather like a lavishly anointed hotel room -- the sort Bucky had only seen in pictures, really -- with a soft cream and rich burgundy decorations. There was a tiny sitting room and a bedroom beyond with an absolutely enormous bed. Both bedside tables held huge vases full of roses, and laying on the pillow... 

“Holy shit, Tony!” 

Bucky stared down at the largest damn box of chocolates he’d ever seen in his life. Two-hundred and forty different chocolates, the box advertised.

“This way,” Tony said, “she gets to eat hers and yours back at your place, and you still get to have some.” 

“I’m gonna need to go to the gym for a month if I eat all that,” Bucky said, breathless. Holy shit. “Holy shit, Tony. I don’t even know what to say.” 

“That you'll be mine?” Tony suggested. 

“Oh, my god,” Bucky said, knocking Tony over onto the bed and pressing against him. “Yes, absolutely, yes.” 

[thewebofslime]

As the Texas Democrat enters the race for president, members of a group famous for “hactivism” come forward for the first time to claim him as one of their own. There may be no better time to be an American politician rebelling against business as usual. But is the United States ready for O’Rourke’s teenage exploits? By JOSEPH MENN in SAN FRANCISCO Filed March 15, 2019, 3:30 p.m. GMT (This article is adapted from a forthcoming book, “Cult of the Dead Cow: How the Original Hacking Supergroup Might Just Save the World”) > Some things you might know about Beto O’Rourke, the former Texas congressman who just entered the race for president: • The Democratic contender raised a record amount for a U.S. Senate race in 2018 and almost beat the incumbent in a Republican stronghold, without hiding his support for gun control and Black Lives Matter protests on the football field. • When he was younger, he was arrested on drunk-driving charges and played in a punk band. Now 46, he still skateboards. • The charismatic politician with the Kennedy smile is liberal on some issues and libertarian on others, which could allow him to cross the country’s political divide. One thing you didn’t know: While a teenager, O’Rourke acknowledged in an exclusive interview, he belonged to the oldest group of computer hackers in U.S. history. The hugely influential Cult of the Dead Cow, jokingly named after an abandoned Texas slaughterhouse, is notorious for releasing tools that allowed ordinary people to hack computers running Microsoft’s Windows. It’s also known for inventing the word “hacktivism” to describe human-rights-driven security work. Members of the group have protected O’Rourke’s secret for decades, reluctant to compromise his political viability. Now, in a series of interviews, CDC members have acknowledged O’Rourke as one of their own. In all, more than a dozen members of the group agreed to be named for the first time in a book about the hacking group by this reporter that is scheduled to be published in June by Public Affairs. O’Rourke was interviewed early in his run for the Senate. YOUNGER DAYS: Beto O’Rourke, left, in a photo of his band, Foss. Texas Republicans also tweeted out what appears to be a police mug shot of the Texas Democrat. Handout via Texas GOP Twitter There is no indication that O’Rourke ever engaged in the edgiest sorts of hacking activity, such as breaking into computers or writing code that enabled others to do so. But his membership in the group could explain his approach to politics better than anything on his resume. His background in hacking circles has repeatedly informed his strategy as he explored and subverted established procedures in technology, the media and government. “There’s just this profound value in being able to be apart from the system and look at it critically and have fun while you’re doing it,” O’Rourke said. “I think of the Cult of the Dead Cow as a great example of that.” An ex-hacker running for national office would have been unimaginable just a few years ago. But that was before two national elections sent people from other nontraditional backgrounds to the White House and Congress, many of them vowing to blow up the status quo. Arguably, there has been no better time to be an American politician rebelling against business as usual. Still, it’s unclear whether the United States is ready for a presidential contender who, as a teenager, stole long-distance phone service for his dial-up modem, wrote a murder fantasy in which the narrator drives over children on the street, and mused about a society without money. > ‘Footloose’ for the hacker set O’Rourke was a misfit teen in El Paso, Texas, in the 1980s when he decided to seek out bulletin board systems – the online discussion forums that at the time were the best electronic means for connecting people outside the local school, church and neighborhood. “When Dad bought an Apple IIe and a 300-baud modem and I started to get on boards, it was the Facebook of its day,” he said. “You just wanted to be part of a community.” O’Rourke soon started his own board, TacoLand, which was freewheeling and largely about punk music. “This was the counterculture: Maximum Rock & Roll [magazine], buying records by catalog you couldn’t find at record stores,” he said. He then connected with another young hacker in the more conservative Texas city of Lubbock who ran a bulletin board called Demon Roach Underground. Known online as Swamp Rat, Kevin Wheeler had recently moved from a university town in Ohio and was having problems adjusting to life in Texas. Like O’Rourke, Wheeler said, he was hunting for video games that had been “cracked,” or stripped from digital rights protections, so that he could play them for free on his Apple. Also like O’Rourke, Wheeler wanted to find other teens who enjoyed the same things, and to write and share funny and profane stories that their parents and conservative neighbors wouldn’t appreciate. It was good-natured resistance to the repressive humdrum around them, a sort of “Footloose” for those just discovering the new world of computers. SWAG OF THE DEAD COW: Promotional material from the hacking group. Handout via REUTERS Wheeler and a friend named the Cult of the Dead Cow after an eerie hangout, a shut-down Lubbock slaughterhouse – the unappealing hind part of Texas’ iconic cattle industry. Most CDC members kept control of their own bulletin boards while referring visitors to one another’s and distributing the CDC’s own branded essays, called text files or t-files. At the time, people connected to bulletin boards by dialing in to the phone lines through a modem. Heavy use of long-distance modem calls could add up to hundreds of dollars a month. Savvy teens learned techniques for getting around the charges, such as using other people’s phone-company credit card numbers and five-digit calling codes to place free calls. O’Rourke didn’t say what techniques he used. Like thousands of others, though, he said he pilfered long-distance service “so I wouldn’t run up the phone bill.” Under Texas law, stealing long-distance service worth less than $1,500 is a misdemeanor, punishable by a fine. More than that is a felony, and could result in jail time. It is unclear whether O’Rourke topped that threshold. In any event, the state bars prosecution of the offense for those under 17, as O’Rourke was for most of his active time in the group, and the statute of limitations is five years. Two Cult of the Dead Cow contemporaries in Texas who were caught misusing calling cards as minors got off with warnings. O’Rourke handed off control of his own board when he moved east for boarding school, and he said he stopped participating on the hidden CDC board after he enrolled at Columbia University at age 18. Hana Callaghan, a government specialist at Santa Clara University’s Markkula Center for Applied Ethics, said that voters might want to consider both the gravity of any candidate’s offenses and the person’s age at the time. Among the questions voters should ask, she said: “What was the violation? Was it egregious? What does it say about their character – do they believe the rules don’t apply to them?” If substantial time has passed, she added, voters should decide whether the person “learned the error of their ways and no longer engages in those kind of behavior.” “When Dad bought an Apple IIe and a 300-baud modem and I started to get on boards, it was the Facebook of its day. You just wanted to be part of a community.” BETO O’ROURKE When he was a teen, O’Rourke also frequented sites that offered cracked software. The bulletin boards were “a great way to get cracked games,” O’Rourke said, adding that he later realized his habit wasn’t morally defensible and stopped. Using pirated software violates copyright laws, attorneys say, but in practice, software companies have rarely sued young people over it. When they do go after someone, it is typically an employer with workers using multiple unlicensed copies. Software providers are more interested in those who break the protections and spread their wares. CDC wasn’t of that ilk. Although some CDC essays gave programming and hacking instructions, in the late 1980s, the group was more about writing than it was about breaking into computer systems. But its focus on creative expression didn’t mean there were no grounds for controversy. Like many an underground newspaper, the Cult of the Dead Cow avidly pursued it. A CDC member who joined in the early 1990s had previously used real instructions for making a pipe bomb to joke about shedding pounds by losing limbs. Three teenagers in Montreal found the file, and one lost two fingers after he tried to follow the formula, prompting outrage. Rather than remove similar posts and hide the group’s history, the CDC warned readers not to take the files literally and added a disclaimer that survives on its current web page: “Warning: This site may contain explicit descriptions of or advocate one or more of the following: adultery, murder, morbid violence, bad grammar, deviant sexual conduct in violent contexts, or the consumption of alcohol and illegal drugs.” > Grabbing media attention O’Rourke and his old friends say his stint as a fledgling hacker fed into his subsequent work in El Paso as a software entrepreneur and alternative press publisher, which led in turn to successful long-shot runs at the city council and then Congress, where he unseated an incumbent Democrat. Politically, O’Rourke has taken some conventional liberal positions, supporting abortion rights and opposing a wall on the Mexican border. But he takes a libertarian view on other issues, faulting excessive regulation and siding with businesses in congressional votes on financial industry oversight and taxes. His more conservative positions have drawn fire from Democrats who see him as too friendly with Republicans and corporations. His more progressive votes and punk-rock past helped his recent opponent, Republican Sen. Ted Cruz, portray O’Rourke as too radical for socially conservative Texas.