#bridging that gap and figuring out how to not let them is difficult. but they don't have to. i am not victim to them. i realize i can have

[spitdrunken]

man :( i may need to dust off a sfw blog to write a longer fic version of this but im thinking about rollo man... 

becoming friends with rollo when you’re both first-years. he’s not the most expressive, and he’s often the tallest in the class already, but contrary to his appearance he’s kind and thoughtful. he’s also clearly a very gifted mage, and you are very average, but this doesn’t influence the way he interacts with you at all. rollo never hesitates to share his notes and happily tutors others in his free time, including you, if you ask, and always seems to be helping out others in one way or another. his love for noble bell college and the entire city is palpable, and if given the chance, he’ll happily rattle off facts about its history. you think he’d do charity for all of the citizens, if he could. a hint of a smile plays around his lips when he does so. he overworks himself, while telling you to avoid doing exactly that all the while. 

more than anything else though, rollo loves his family. he goes home to visit them every break, always with gifts. his mood before leaving and after returning is significantly improved, and he talks about his younger brother quite a bit as well. rollo isn’t the type to complain much, but he speaks of his brother’s irresponsible behaviour and the trouble he causes from time to time, though never with much bite. 

a week before everything changes, rollo asks you a question. how do you save someone who doesn’t want to be saved? there’s a heaviness clinging to his mood, to the eyes that seem to stare right through you. from the bits and pieces he lets go at your prodding, you figure his brother has either gotten involved with a wrong crowd, or is pushing his magic to the point it’s wearing him down entirely. it seems incredibly difficult for him to talk about. 

he leaves, for a while. when you see him again, you are both second-years. you don’t need to be told what’s happened. when rollo returns, he looks hollowed out. there are deep bags underneath his eyes, and his skin is paler than ever. he’s distracted whenever you speak to him, no longer as attentive as he used to be. his expressions have shifted from calm, to blank. he no longer tutors other students or helps them practice their spells, instead isolating himself in his room to ‘study’. often, you see him scrawling away in a book he always carries on him. he eats less, sleeps even worse. though he was never the most talkative, he enjoyed sitting down with other students and listening in, hearing what was going on all around the school. now, he no longer shows up. with noble bell being relatively small, everyone knew everyone, and word always spread fast. so do the rumours about rollo and his health, but no one who goes in to check on him succeeds in breaking through his hell. your words don’t seem to get through to him, either.

one day, he sits you down, and rollo asks you a question. how do you feel about magic? you must not have given the right answer because, at the end of your conversation, he simply tells you that he’s sorry for you. one day, you’ll understand. then, he will come to you again. after that, while rollo never grows unkind, is never mean or dismissive to you, there’s a distance. a gap you simply cannot bridge. as he moves up in the ranks of the school ever further, climbing up to the rank of council president, you are left below.

when you are both third-years, you only observe rollo from a distance. he carries the bell around his neck and the staff in his hand like a burden. he has grown taller, yet skinnier. to you, he has become unrecognizable. the rough lines of the person he was are still there, at his core, he’s still the same, but the details- the way he carries himself, the way his expressions shift, the way he speaks to others... have been altered. looking at him hurts, but your efforts have long since been futile. when you speak of him, you no longer call him by his name, but rather refer to him as the president.

how do you save someone who doesn’t want to be saved?

#cha.rollo #rollo flamme x reader #rollo flamm x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader

[fogwitchoftheevermore]

hello hi idk if you're taking asks but. but I am fascinated by your watcher headcanons and I would Love to hear your thoughts about listeners *pleading face*

HIIIII I AM ABSOLUTELY TAKING ASKS. also i saw what you were talking about in the reblogs of that post and also really enjoyed your whole thing about the war i love when minecraft lore is relevant to this stuff.

everyone be so thankful mobile lets you do read more nowadays because this would be a nightmare if it didn’t.

also!! brief discussion of eye trauma below the cut! it’s nothing in depth but it is right there.

ok so we’re splitting the listeners talk into “full” and “partial” listeners again because it’s the best descriptors for these categories i’ve got even though i think it sounds stupid.

full listeners account for 99.9% of the listener population. listeners, unlike the watchers, cannot be born because of the circumstances of their creation. if you don’t know, the listeners were created when some watchers observing and running evos got particularly disgruntled with how the other watchers were running things (this is explicitly cannon!). to me, this group started with small stuff then realized they could get real weird with their rebellion and did just that.

full listeners, in order to create themselves, have to completely cut off their sight in some way. sometimes they've gouged out their eyes, sometimes they're wearing permanent blindfolds, sometimes they straight up don't have eyes! oftentimes no matter which option it is they wear the blindfold anyways, just because they recognize that without it they’re very off putting to look at.

both full watchers and listeners lack the senses of touch and smell, and even taste is more of an abstract concept than an actual sense for them, leaving only sight and hearing. the listners cut off one of their two real senses in an attempt to cut themselves off from the watchers and while this definitely works, it also makes existing far harder. mcyt is not made for listening to, let's be honest.

listeners, like watchers, feed off emotions, but they require far more to sustain themselves to compensate for the lack of sight. they don't try to avoid eating negative emotions, like a partial watcher might, but they don't usually try to create more to eat, no matter how delicious they may find them. this is less because of any care for the players and more due to the fact that listeners are less powerful than watchers by default. they should have full access to the same power set the watchers have, and they do, but because so much of their food and energy goes towards just sustaining life, they find it much more difficult to do what the watchers do. this is compounded even further by the fact that the watchers don’t want them to do their thing and are actively pushing them out. this doesn’t mean getting things done is impossible for them, far from it! but it does mean it’s significantly harder, and they don’t have time or energy to waste on making people sad right now.

full listeners can be created out of players, but the listeners don't usually go looking to create them, because numbers isn't what they need just yet. right now they're just trying to figure out an actual plan of action to take against the watchers. however, they know they'll need the numbers eventually, so if you ask, they're not going to turn you down. becoming a full listener, as is the case when becoming a full watcher, very quickly distances you from everything that made you you when you were a player. you lose your ability to connect to players rather quickly because everything about how you exist is so radically different, and your memories of ever being a player are quickly overtaken by the constant information intake being a full watcher or listener mandates.

full listeners interact more frequently with players than full watchers do, but find it harder to influence them and to bridge the gap between the planes they exist on to make their speech not rhyme and be actually comprehensible. the listeners talk so weirdly because it takes up too much energy to do it another way.

partial listeners... are not supposed to exist. and maybe they don't? they'd theoretically function how partial watchers do- a player who can still interact with the world(s) as a player, but also has some of the powers of a listener. however, listeners don't really have powers other than whatever the "moving between the place they live and the place the players live" thing is. listeners also don't really want partial listeners, as they find no use for them. their entire deal is working against the watchers, so what could they need with someone who, in their eyes (heh), cannot understand the watchers in the same way they do?

however, while you can request/be convinced to become a listener or watcher, i think there’s also an option to brute force it. technically, if someone was powerful and stupid enough, they could force their way into being a partial watcher or a partial listener... for fun? again, you have to be a little stupid to do this because it is insane person behavior, but it's fun to leave the option open. (whenever i think about the time sausage said that he definitely wasn’t a watcher when he was memorializing liml and then followed it up with a remark about how we just need to listen i think about the partial listeners thing. if anyone would brute force their way into this it would be him.)

#space rambles #my writing #HEHEHEHE TY FOR THE ASK I LOOOOOOVE TALKING ABOUT THE LISTENERS #and this is just how i think they Work this does not at all discuss my thoughts on their motives #(the short version of their motives is that. i don’t like them frankly.) #(i do not trust the listeners they are up to some fuck shit) #(yes they work against the watchers which is a good thing. but they do NOT care about the players.) #(i mean they can’t by definition. but like i also don’t think they’re above doing a death game.) #(they’d just try and make it more ethical lmao) #(like they’re the lesser evil but they’re also the devil we don’t know. and we don’t understand them enough for me to trust them.) #ok actualky that’s the long version that’s basically my whole thing about their motives

[softquietsteadylove]

First of all: I'm so in love with your fics i would die for them. So I'd like to ask you to write something where some of The Fighters get hurt in the battle, but not as much as Thena. ( Because i love to see Thena hurt and sweet Gil taking care of her x3 )

But Ajak is gone for a few days, so the rest of the Eternals try to take care of our stubborn Thena and of course, she refuses with the famous "I'm fine." So, Makkari is zooming off to find Ajak and Gil tries to take care of Thena alone. Fluff and hurt and comfort and AHHHHHHH I just love your work so much omg

"I'm fine."

"I'm fine."

"I said, I'm fine!"

That was all it had been since the fight: trying and failing to get the Warrior Eternal to accept even a fluid ounce of help and getting shot down. None of the Fighters were exactly in great shape by the end of the last fight, but Thena was by far the worst off.

So bad that Makkari had zoomed off to try and convince Ajak to end her diplomatic trip early. But Ajak claimed that if none of the injuries were serious, then she was sure they could manage fine on their own with a little rest and some regular old human remedies.

What they were really all banking on was - actually a who - Gilgamesh.

The rest of the Eternals had chosen to make themselves scarce, figuring that if anyone could stand a chance of soothing the beast, it was the Strongest Eternal. Thena was like an injured animal, right now--lashing out and more dangerous than normal.

But maybe the gentle giant could do something about that.

"Thena?" Gil called out, actively looking for the Goddess of War among the winding halls of Babylon palace. "Thena, you here?"

A spear plowing straight through the wall answered his question. He jogged lightly to the doorway, leaning against it at the sight of a very agitated, very riled up Warrior Eternal. "You okay?"

"Fine."

But Gilgamesh was not the other Eternals. He walked in, laying the gentlest of hands on her shoulder. Her breathing slowed and she allowed him to soothe her temper. "What do you need?"

"There's," she huffed, obviously frustrated at the mere thought of it.

Gil tilted his head, finding the problem for himself easily enough. The answer was a knot in her hair caused by Deviant remains. She had obviously been trying to claw it out herself, but it was at just the right angle that he could see why even she was finding it difficult with just one hand. He lifted her hair up, working out the knot delicately.

Thena stewed in her anger, letting it seep out of her slowly. She leaned against shelf installed in all of their rooms within the temple. Her grey robes swayed around her ankles. "Thank you."

Gil combed his fingers through her hair, finally rid of the evidence of their fight. He was careful, dreading so much as a hitch in her breath. "You could have asked me."

Thena closed her free hand into a fist. The other lay tucked against her ribs, tied in a sling that she had only allowed so Sersi would get that grief stricken look off her face. "I am unable to brush my own hair, now?"

"You're not unable to do anything," Gil corrected her in a whisper, fanning out the locks of blonde and everything. He stood back, letting her turn to him. "But I don't care if you're unable or not. I want to help."

She took him in, with his honesty that she commonly told him was both his greatest weakness and strength. Although she was mistaken about that. He did think it was his greatest strength.

She was his greatest weakness.

"Thank you," she whispered, touching the side of her hand to the side of his. He turned his palm over, asking her to bridge the gap. She was slow and tentative about it, as she was about most things. But with the slightest sign from her, he happily slid their fingers together completely.

Gil tilted his head at her. "How 'bout a bath? Might relax you?"

"You're offering?" she smiled, and he blushed. She knew he would when she asked it, too. She thought it was fun to fluster him.

But he stepped closer, letting his breath hit the soft curls by her cheeks, "yeah, I am."

Thena let him lead her by the hand, following him to the bath halls. "Are you joining me?"

"I don't think you'll do it if I don't," he chuckled, stepping right into the water, letting his own grey robes become sodden. "C'mere."

And Thena did. She stepped into the bath with him, sighing as the hot water washed over her cuts and scrapes and tired bones. She sank into him, his arms winding around her. Her back settled against his chest, her hair floating around them in the water. "This is nice."

"I thought it would be," he smiled, gathering her hair and washing out the blood that had knotted it before. It faded into the water easily, leaving only her usual sunshine colour behind.

"Did the others send you to deal with me?"

"Excuse me," he chuckled, even giving her side a playful little pinch beneath the water. She laughed, the sound floating up to the high ceilings and dancing around in his brain. "No one sent me anywhere. I'll have you know there's nowhere I'd rather be."

Thena sighed as some of the tension did leave her shoulder. "Nowhere else?"

"Nowhere," he promised, letting his chin rest on her shoulder with the water lapping around them. He wrapped his arms around her completely, settling them around her lithe waist and under her folded arm. She let him tangle their fingers together again.

"Nowhere I'd rather be," she repeated, as if turning the words over in her head. He could hear that she was smiling, and she settled against him comfortably, in a way no one else would ever experience when it came to her.

He stretched his legs out in the water, dragging her to stretch out too, resting on his. She was so much stronger than him in so many ways, but so much smaller than him when he looked at them like this. He could feel her wilting more, growing softer. He let the back of her head press against his cheek. "You should sleep."

"Hm," she purred, still smiling, from the sounds of it. "First luring me into the bath with you, now telling me to sleep with you?"

Gil let his chest bounce with a silent laugh, although she pressed closer to stay connected with him. He pressed a kiss to the ridge of her ear. "Well, will you?"

"Maybe," she sighed, half asleep in his arms already.

#This is how I imagine #Thenamesh #true and honest early stages Thenamesh #because no matter how you perceive their relationship #I really think there's this understanding between them #that completely usurps anything extraneous #their bond is so clear #and how I imagine them like this #and in other Babylon scenes I've written #we don't really know where they were in their relationship #I don't even know #but I think this closeness with them has always been easy #always been there in some way or another #At their core #they want to be together #to support each other #and sometimes #that means holding her battle partner in a hot bath #and letting your family wrack their brains trying to figure out #what your relationship actually is

[werdlewrites]

Season of the Witch (Steve Harrington x OC)

Chapter Twenty-One: We Were Happy

masterlist-about-patreon-ao3

taglist: @brittney69

summary: “They found him in the quarry,” his voice cracks through the silence, a pained sigh flowing out into the emptiness as a hand runs over his tired face. “How could he have been so close,” warnings: mentions of absent father, heartACHE, rip will?, feeling of guilt wc: 4,183

Time was a difficult concept to take hold of. The world moving all too fast, yet slow all the same. It was bewildering - leaving the girl in a permanent state of confusion the moment she stepped from Eddie’s van, to an unknown time in the evening - her room much darker than she had last seen it. She had come home, a slurred thanks spared for the new acquaintance as she sluggishly moved up the driveway, pushing down any anxiety she may have felt once noting the dull red Morris Marina sitting silent, now cold. She was not ready to face her father - not ready to hear his apologies, to make amends and carry the weighted load on her back as they put the crumbled bridge back together. She only wished for sleep as the pressure within her skull grew, leaving her eyes heavy and vision faded, her form hunched forward as she moved through the entryway. She hadn’t noticed him sitting in the den, newspaper in hand but with attention now on her. He says nothing at first, only watching as she struggles to kick her shoes away and drop her bag against the wall, a messy hand running through her hair to reveal a mess she had shied away from under Eddie’s eyes. Ian; her father, is quick to react. The fold of his newspaper as he sets it down is enough to pull her focus in his direction, watching with a heavy lidded stare as he closes the gap - lips parted yet struggling where to begin with the girl. And she doesn’t give him the chance to figure it out, a heavy sigh passing through Autumn as her head simply falls to rest against his chest - tired, exhausted, and beaten down by her own mind. And he holds her, if only for a moment. Allowing her to leave her troubles at the door, empty herself of unsettling thoughts and to simply be.

They speak nothing of her day, his only words being to encourage her over to the kitchen where he cleans her face with a hot cloth. She accepts this act of kindness without fuss or comment, choosing to not think of their lives before this moment.

He was a good father, yet not always present. He pushed without knowing her truth, and tried to ask about a life he knew nothing about. Spending days - weeks, letting her life flourish and crumble while he worked. Then taking time to ask about this or that, things that no longer mattered - long left in the girl's past. Was it the struggles of a single father and a troubled daughter, trying to make do with the cards they were dealt? Or was it an unfortunate mix-up within the universe? A cosmic fuck up? Had Ian been given the wrong daughter? His true child elsewhere, healthy, happy, and forgiving as he nearly missed every school event? Did this girl excel where she fumbled? Was she good in art class? Would he have praised her work and hung it up on the fridge as she grew? Collected it in a folder to admire her progress.

But they laughed, didn’t they? She brought home embarrassing, sad excuses for art and he would beg to see them. Autumn would threaten her father, “Don’t you dare laugh.” “I won’t, I promise,” and he would sit there, staring at the picture in hand with pursed lips before hiding a creeping smile behind a fist, feeling her intense stare on him. A snort breaks through, and her glare intensifies despite the crack in her facade. Her lack of talent brought them joy, but he never hung them up for all to see - proud despite knowing they would never win any competitions.

They were happy in their own way, right? That’s what she told herself as he ushered her up the stairs, leaving her undisturbed for hours as she drifted off to sleep in her room. She would have slept through the entire night if it hadn’t been for the sound of his office phone chasing her from a dull, and quiet sleep. It had been a rare occurrence, dreaming of nothingness - a blank slate with only the sound of her peaceful breathing. She felt at ease, and it had been stolen away - her tired eyes studying the shadow that moves across the beam of light to stretch out beneath his door, his voice muffled behind thick wood and paperwork as he speaks to colleagues. The girl knows sleep is far from her reach now, feeling once heavy eyes become more alert with every passing second, so she chooses to pull herself from the bed. In her doorway, she finds her bag dropped off by her father before vanishing into his work. She pulls it inside before shutting the door, closing herself off from the world to change in privacy, sighing out in relief as the day's clothes are left in a pile on the floor in favor of something more loose, and comfortable. The dirtied cardigan is pulled from the bag, added to that same pile and pushed off to the corner for another day - another problem. Homework now splayed out before her at a neatly kept desk, late assignments pushed to the forefront as she thanks her lucky stars to have been graced with an extension. Despite the insomnia, the occasional dose off in class, and lack of care for people within the school, Autumn had risen above expectations. So when trouble began to brew, pity was spared.

Yet she lingers, cheek pressed into her palm as she stares at the paperwork - feeling unmotivated by the mere thought of touching the pen to its surface, so her eyes wander. Ash from old incense was smeared along the desk, though easily hidden by various trinkets she collected. Her stones, crystals, empty and full vials that held secrets and promises for safety. A small mirror looks back at the teen, the bags under her eyes more evident than before though at least now her skin was clean, like the incident had never happened. Just next to it, a framed drawing - Will The Wise rides his horse out across the field, his staff pointed out towards an unknown enemy while a woman dawning layered robes, similar to his own soars above, fire burning in her hand. He simply called her, “The Sorcerer” yet took inspiration from his babysitter and her many stories. It had been a gift given to her on her sixteenth birthday. She had always found happiness in his art, yet since his disappearance she had debated over putting it away in some drawer. Unable to cope with the pain it now held.

In the quiet, there’s a shift - so subtle, yet so alarming it’s enough for her to reel back in surprise. The bronze frame shifts, but only slightly. The corner tilting toward Autumn, leaving a clean path through the dust and ash, the only true sign to say she hadn’t hallucinated in her isolation. She waits with bated breath, anticipation, and even fear building of what may come next - the seconds ticking onward painfully slow. There’s a knock at the door from downstairs, it’s bizarre timing, a mere coincidence, eyes shifting to her own door as she listens to her father shuffle across the carpet and hurry down the steps. She assumes he had expected company despite the late hour, and ignores the murmurs from down below. Against her better judgment, the picture is torn from its place at her desk and tucked safely between the pages of a nearby book, letting out a shaken breath as thunderous steps begin their climb to the second floor.

Without a knock or any sort of announcement, a familiar sandy haired boy charges into her room. Uncaring of her state - what she may have been doing, how she may have looked. “Jonathan,” his name falls like a whisper, softer than she had said it earlier in the day. Kinder. His eyes were swollen, face red and wet from tears still freely spilling just over the edge. He’s defeated, worn down to the bone with nothing left to give, and despite all they’ve gone through in such a short while, he still found his way to familiar comforts. To her. Nothing is said between them as that heartache returns, shared between two friends. She takes the weight of his pain and holds it close as he falls into her embrace, letting out a pitiful sob that reveals his story. Why he’s come to her in a time of need. And she bites back her own sorrow, giving her focus to the boy that’s withering away in her arms.

What’s come between them is long forgotten in the moment - his sorrows flooding through the Reid home, leaving no room for anything else. The pain drags them down, bodies falling to her bed where they lay until the morning, the sun not yet rising to greet them but there are signs of life heard outside, small chirps of birds flying from their nests to further build their home or search for a mate to grow a family. Neither of them had slept - or so Autumn thinks, their steady breaths melding together to become one. The pain of his hurt now washed away by time though it still lingered deep in his chest - simply too exhausted to open the flood gates, and instead letting the pressure build at the walls, threatening to break free without warning.

“They found him in the quarry,” his voice cracks through the silence, a pained sigh flowing out into the emptiness as a hand runs over his tired face. “How could he have been so close,” It’s not a question for himself, or for anyone to truly answer - but expressed frustration to the universe. A cruel punishment to have stolen his baby brother away, and to leave the family the tiniest of breadcrumbs only for him to be just under their nose.

Autumn’s eyes are left closed, nails dug into her own skin as she relives every moment against her will. Jonathan at her front door, making flyers to laying eyes on his abandoned bike and the pain it left boiling under the girl's skin the moment she touched it. A discomfort that followed her, left her awake at night and haunted by the possibilities buried beneath the voices in her mind. Was it really all so simple? Could she take it for what it is, bury it, and move forward?

“I don’t know,” she whispers, voice not yet strong enough to speak. “What happens now?” Another heavy sigh, filling his chest and letting it fully deflate until his ribs become more defined beneath the layers of blankets. The boy's head falls to the side, tired eyes taking in the time of her alarm clock before muttering, “We go to the morgue. Confirmation, y’know.. That stuff.” The mere thought of it leaves her empty stomach twisting, bile brewing with the image of Will laid out for his family on a cold table - pale, just an empty vessel. It’s enough to bring a tear just to the corner of her eye, though quickly wiped away with a heavy sniff to hide a building sorrow. “And your mom?” The atmosphere instantly shifts - his once relaxed form with hands folded over his stomach now seemed stiff, breath held tightly within his chest as a stern stare burned a hole through her ceiling. “I don’t want t’talk about her,” Jonathan’s body turns away, hands now pushing himself up to move through her room and out the door. His steps are soft against the carpet until they suddenly meet the cold tile of the bathroom, the sound of running water echoing through the otherwise quiet morning. And she sits waiting, eyes locked on the now opened door to a darkened hallway - wondering if she’s stepped just over the thin line. She understands Joyce hasn’t been quite herself, stressed - thinking to have heard her son and drowning in the pain of the unknown, but the Byers were still family to her. She had to know how deep this wound was.

The water stops, and his form emerges from the shadows, quick to dodge her gaze. “Jonathan,” “No, Autumn,” he warns, though it doesn’t deter her. “Why..are you here? And not with her?” He looks to her, clear irritation in his eyes with posture slouched, weak yet seeing tension build as the veins in his neck begin to protrude. “What do you want me to say, huh? That she’s gone off the rails? That she’s acting like an insane person?” “Don’t say that about your mother,” her tone has shifted, no longer soft spoken, treading lightly to walk amongst broken glass. She straightens her stance to defend a woman not there, fighting for Joyce as her son drags her through the mud. “No, you don’t get it, Autumn. She’s losing it,” the lanky boy is beginning to pace through her room, his energy radiating so strongly that she feels forced to remain seated on the bed and watch him fly by her, anger evident in his expression. “She’s talking to the goddamn walls, okay? The house -” an exhausted sigh, arms flailing outwards as he’s unable to find a place to expel his frustrations. “She’s torn it apart. She says she spoke to him last night.”

The sun is creeping in, just enough to kiss the plants that sit along her windowsill - reaching out for the first rays of the morning, a stretch as they awaken to a new day without worry. “Not on the phone, but through lights.” “Lights?” A blank expression falls on the girl, finding himself annoyed that his friend was finding this more intriguing than concerning. “Yes, lights. She says he’s hiding. Running away from a monster in our house but there is nothing, and I mean nothing there,” he exclaims loudly, his hands pointed out her window until they fall with defeat back to his sides, uncaring that her father was just downstairs trying to sleep.

An unseen monster - a plague consuming a home from within, consuming her from within. His words are disruptive. Taking the smallest shred of peace she held onto knowing that he was now found, no matter if the feeling was false or misguided, and crushing it within his hands. Twisting it into shreds until she had been left in the cold to fend for herself. “A monster,” she repeats, barely audible and more to herself than to Jonathan as her attention begins to shift elsewhere. Bandages had come loose, revealing reddened skin from something not yet discussed - something she wished to keep for herself, and yet he takes note of where her attention has fallen. “Oh, come on. No, don’t do this,” “Why? She’s saying there’s something there-” “This is different, Autumn!” he shouts back, pain and anger visible in his darkened eyes. The lack of sleep is no longer evident as red crawls up his neck and into his cheeks, a creeping poison to delude his mind. “How? You seemed so sure at school-” “It’s bullshit, Autumn! She’s literally hallucinating. There’s nothing there! And you - I don’t know,” her expression becomes contorted by his words, shocked by his sudden change in tone and unsure of who she was now speaking with. The man standing at the edge of her bed wasn’t a Byers boy, that was certain. “So, it’s easier to dismiss because it’s me?” “I didn’t say that,” he groans, head falling back with eyes closed to collect scattered thoughts, all swimming through water as frantic hands dive through the surface in attempts to take hold. They all easily slip right from his grasp. “She just lost a son, Jonathan-”

And then the flood gates open. He’s rested, no longer tied down by his pain and instead fueled by it, using this newly discovered strength to pull the bar from heavily guarded doors so the storm washes her away. His stare is direct, like an arrow through her chest just before the waves come crashing in. “What about me? What about what I’ve lost?” A gentle sigh falls to her lap, eyes closed as she’s unable to withstand the pressure of his stare - a stranger under her roof. “Jonathan,” “No,” he interrupts with a firm tone. “My brother is gone, and who is there for me? I can’t talk to her about how I feel. She’s too busy talking to the damn lights - the walls.” With a swift motion, he reaches to grab his button up layed out over the frame, forgotten in the night from discomfort. He pulls car keys out from its pockets, already turning towards her door without another word from the boy - worried the flood may grow too tall for either of them to withstand, drowning them in the process. And just as he reaches the doorway, she calls out to him - his name sounding frail yet strong enough to lure his eyes back to the girl. She swallows hard, nervous to continue and send him into an emotional spiral, though valid it maybe. “You two need each other. Go home, if not to just..be with her,”

He’s unable to fully accept her words, eyes cast away as they slowly settle in. His jaw is tense, fingers toying with the keys of his car before a heavy sigh falls from his chest. He doesn’t respond, or look back in her direction - only pushing himself forward on his journey, out into the dim hallway and down the stairs, and she watches him go. Eyes not once leaving where he once stood until the sound of the front door is heard, a car engine soon roaring to life moments after. She lets the pain in then, knowing she’s alone with it - no one to support with the strength of her back as they fall into her. But it’s a silent, aching agony. A lake run dry in the hottest of summers, the sun reaching into the earth with a violent force, pulling back to only have crumbled dirt and no water. There was nothing left to give, yet it still tried to take. Her chest would cave as a sob tried to come through, skin becoming flushed from an overwhelming sadness and heavy eyes locked on the window just by her bed. She swears in the shifts of shadows and creeping light of morning, she can see him out there. A boy walking just beneath the street lights, on his way back home - and when he wasn’t there, his reflection in the glass stared back at her.

This voice - all along, had it been someone else? Or was he lost within the choir of misfortune?

The girl feels heavy - a soothing, warm melody beckons her back into the covers for comfort, and yet she pulls away. Every ounce of energy is used to stand back on her feet, moving through her room like shackles had been tightly wound across her ankles. She can feel him looming just behind her as she trudges forward, a dark, heavy shadow filled with only hurt - burning a gaze through her soul to leave her feeling guilty and hollow. Could he have come home sooner, if only she had tried harder?

Each thought leaves her feeling simply as a ghost of the girl from the day before. Water washing over her, carrying away all that she was down the drain to leave her shivering despite the steam and burned skin. She sees him when she closes her eyes and it’s added salt to an open wound each time. All the while she knows there’s a world out there moving forward, unaware of the pain his loss brings and knowing in a matter of years, she’ll join them. Time makes it less evident, more tolerable. You never stop thinking of your lost ones, but your pillow remains dry as the tears slow to a stop, and the guilt follows.

Autumn had hoped the world would come to a standstill the moment he had gone missing, but her classmates continued to laugh and live as though nothing mattered. And as she sits cross legged in bed, it’s clear as day today had been no different. She prunes one of countless plants of its dead leaves, and she spots neighbors turning on their lights to greet the morning. She sees them pass their windows, smiles bright - though groggy as they kiss their partners or hug their small children. Not even Hawkin’s had taken pause for grief.

Knuckles tap against her door frame, pulling the girl from her trance and towards the tall figure in her doorway, heavily leaning into the structure as if he hadn’t found his strength to stand on his own just yet. He wears a warm, yet sad smile - it’s full of pity as her eyes remain just as vacant as he had seen her last. A broken heart stripping away everything that made her whole. The silence between them is thick, and he’s unsure of how to break it - or if he even should. He wonders if his presence is enough as he begins to stumble over his words, unfinished sentences spilling over. She doesn’t react to his fumble, or his heavy sigh as he grows frustrated with himself - only watching as he collects his thoughts before proceeding. “I know what happened,” he comments, voice soft in an attempt to sooth her. “I wanted to give you both..time alone.” Autumn chews at her cheek, eyes falling back to the Philodendron in her lap and the dead leaves that lay in a pile. She reaches across, stretching outwards to set the pot in its tray just far enough for the oncoming sun to barely reach it. “Thanks,” is all she manages to give back and he’s weary of how to take it, so he treads lightly.

“It’s been..hard, lately,” Ian pauses, catching her eyes suddenly on him and they seem to be filling with a familiar spark. There’s a darkness he recalls from that night she came home, anger boiling over the edge to scald anyone that came too close - and he’s quick to lower the heat, not willing to suffer through another battle with his daughter. “Things have been hard. But, worse since Will went missing.” Her eyes begin to soften, the fire fizzling out until only smoke remains - clouding the air in its heavy fog. “Yeah.” “I was thinking..tonight, we just stay in, yeah?” His offer brings curiosity, the girl waiting patiently as she looks for another plant to tear its withering pieces away. “You order whatever you want for dinner, and I’ll swing by Family Video on the way home with some movies to pick from.”

A movie night - something lazy and peaceful as the two brought out folding tables to the den, eating dinner and then whatever they had for dessert as Autumn buried herself beneath the blankets, eyes locked on the screen. Their reactions were animated and wild, sometimes Ian would simply laugh at her reaction as he had already seen the movie. But in the times it was fresh and new for them both, they sat as the credits rolled, sharing their opinions and what rank it held on the scoring system. They haven’t sat together like that in awhile - she hasn’t asked to, and she hasn’t asked why as she already knows the answer, already hearing his voice play out in her mind; “There’s just so much to do. Maybe next time.” or “I have a deadline, I’m sorry.” But he’s there, just feet from her with an offer she may never get again, so she takes it. A gentle nod of her head and suddenly that pitiful smile he wears turns upwards into something more bright, like he was genuinely looking forward to it. “I have some things to finish up on. I’ll leave money on the table, and I’ll call the school, okay?”

There’s another silent nod of acknowledgement, watching as he slowly pulls himself away from the door and into the hallway. “And tonight, we can talk about..I don’t know, everything.”

He seems hopeful, taking her silence as something positive before turning on his heel to move down the stairs towards his own room, getting ready for the day ahead. And her eyes linger like they had with Jonathan, unmoving from where he once was and feeling heaviness creep in to close around her heart. She swears that she can see him - see Will. He looms in the shadows just after her father leaves the second floor, and she’s too afraid to make direct eye contact - so she remains frozen, letting his statuesque form remain just at the border of her vision until she all too eagerly closes the door.

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x oc #steve harrington x original character #steve harrington x original female character #steve harrington angst #steve harrington slow burn #steve harrington ff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things ff #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #fanfiction #slow burn #angst

[pulchrasilva]

i know a place where the pain doesn’t reach

Fandom: Roleslaying With Roman

Relationships: Blood Red Song/royono

Characters: Youngblood, Noise, Roman, a cameo from one of the sides + mentions of other roleslaying characters

Summary: Youngblood and Roman refused to let Noise go back to Fantabulous Neon, instead kidnapping him and taking him to Frogtown. But once they arrive, it's clear something is off with Noise - and it might not be what Youngblood expects. But this is a chance to start soothing old wounds, both literally and metaphorically, that Youngblood won't pass up.

Word Count: 3336

Warnings: some slightly questionably morality, mentions of destruction etc, difficult emotional situations, scars, chronic pain, Youngblood does a bit of that 'i could heal it' stuff, self-deprecation, eating bugs, food issues, non-sexual nudity, well-meaning kidnapping, past violence, The Bard King (he needs his own warning tbh)

Notes: title from Come Wander With Me by Brian Fallon

AO3 // My Masterpost

Noise had tried to stay in Neon, to go back to their duty as First Chair and the people they were supposed to command. He didn't succeed.

It was a good thing Roman picked Noise up and threw him into the car when he did, because Youngblood didn't want to think about what might have happened if he hadn't.

Noise put up a token struggle as Roman carried them away from the collapsing city but once he managed to get them into the car, they just... stopped.

Youngblood threw himself after them and slammed the door, heart pounding. They couldn't get out of there fast enough.

It was only as they were driving away that Youngblood began to worry. He and Roman, already criminals by Bard law, had just kidnapped the First Chair. Sure, Noise didn't seem too upset about it – but that was a whole other can of worms. Youngblood wouldn't put it past the Bard King to accuse them of abandoning their post as First Chair. And Noise had already suffered too much at that bastard's hands.

In trying to keep him safe, they may have put Noise in even more danger.

The journey had been quiet. Noise hadn't looked back at Neon once, but Youngblood knew they were thinking about all the citizens and Bard Guards they were leaving to be overpowered by the fey.

A pang of guilt went through Youngblood as he remembered all the people that he'd left to fend for themselves against such a powerful attacker. But he couldn't regret doing it.

He couldn't handle the thought of Roman, bright and smiling Roman, being hurt as he tried to save people. Or the idea of Noise, already beaten down and hardened, charging back into danger on behalf of the College that had hurt him? It was unbearable.

Maybe he was selfish. But Youngblood knew that his friends, the two most important people in his life, were safe and happy, and that was more than worth all the lives in Neon.

They hadn't talked about it since arriving at Frogtown. Youngblood knew that Noise was conflicted, mourning the people they had lived and worked with, and relieved to be out from under the Bard King's thumb (at least for now). But they hadn't talked about it.

The drive had been uncomfortable, to say the least. Noise silent, Roman unusually subdued, and Youngblood having no idea how to bridge the gap between them.

The taxi driver dropped them off at the inn, where the innkeeper introduced himself as Lily Padton.

“Free of charge!” he said as Roman began to get out his money bag.

“Thank you!”

“Why?” Youngblood demanded.

“Well, you’re newt to the area! Besides, you three look like you’ve had a rough day. I’m perfectly happy to house you while you figure out where to go from here! Now come in, come in,” he said as he herded them all inside. “You can leave your things in the croak room.”

Youngblood thought he should probably be a little suspicious of that but Mr Padton gave them such a big smile as he herded them inside, and he was just so tired. Roman and Noise seemed to trust him. They would be okay if he just let it go for a little while.

Roman of course made fast friends with their host. He smiled and joked and made pleasant conversation, offering to help as Mr Padton bustled around the kitchen and insisting on doing something even after being waved away.  He seemed much brighter now than he was on the way here.

Meanwhile Youngblood sat to the side and watched Roman in what was apparently in his element. He didn't know what else to do with himself. He tried not to glower too hard but it was difficult. Social niceties were not his strong suit, especially not with the mood he was in.

The only person missing from the scene was Noise. The minute they got inside he'd made a beeline up the stairs and claimed a room for himself, slamming it shut behind him. Youngblood didn't think they were angry per se, but they definitely weren't happy, and he didn't know what he could do other than give them space.

Youngblood wanted to help, to do something. But if he got it wrong, he risked shattering the friendship they were slowly rebuilding entirely.

No matter how much he wanted to help, he was helpless.

So he sat there, quiet and brooding, managing to feel alone even surrounded by Roman's chatter.

"Right!" Mr Padton exclaimed suddenly, snapping Youngblood from his thoughts. "Dinner is almost ready. I just need to set the table, then I'll serve it piping hot!"

"I can do that!" Roman jumped in front of Mr Padton, collecting cutlery from the draw and sweeping into the dining room before he could protest.

Mr Padton chuckled, before turning to Youngblood. "Do you think your friend will be hungry, kiddo?" he asked gently.

Youngblood blinked. It was so obvious. Why didn't he think of that? "Yes!" He blurted out. "Yes, I'll go get him!"

Maybe Youngblood couldn't help Noise with everything they were dealing with right now, but he could make sure they ate. That was something.

He leapt up, making a beeline for the stairs before Mr Padton could respond.

"Oh-" he ribbited, "Alright then, kiddo! You two come on down when you're ready."

"Thank you, Mr Padton," Youngblood called back, not even waiting to see whether he heard it.

***

"Noise?" Youngblood knocked on the door gingerly. "We’re about to have dinner, are you coming?"

"Yeah, yeah." The response sounds distracted, hastled. Like something was wrong. "I'll... I'll be down in a bit. You guys start without me."

It set off alarm bells in Youngblood's mind.

He couldn't help it. After everything that had happened these past days – the injuries Noise sustained in the bards duel, watching their fingers slip past his own as they were swallowed by the cart, learning exactly what happened to their eye – the idea of Noise distressed and alone was unbearable.

Before he could even think about it, Youngblood burst through the door, sword already in hand.

But there was nothing there, nobody who posed a threat. Just Noise, squawking at the sudden entrance.

So what was wrong?

Youngblood turned his attention to Noise, whose face was slowly turning pink as he babbled about "privacy" and "manners" and "what's even the point of knocking if you're just going to barge in" and hurried to sweep his cloak over himself. Because their shirt lay on the bed, along with a small vial. Youngblood's face started to heat as well as his eyes fell on their bare chest, before Noise managed to wrap the cloak around his shoulders and draw it around himself.

"What are you doing?" they shrieked.

"I- I didn't-" Youngblood spluttered, hastily putting his sword away like that would undo the awkwardness of the situation. "I thought something was wrong!"

"Wrong? What could possibly be wrong?"

"I don't know!" His voice rose. "Forgive me for being worried about you!"

"Well there's nothing to be worried about," Noise snapped. "So if you could go off to dinner with your new friend and close the door behind you, that would be great." A hand slipped out from behind their cloak to point like he might not be able to find the door himself.

Youngblood froze as his gaze locked onto that hand, and Noise froze with him. Starting at the wrist and disappearing into their cloak, was a mass of dark purple, twisted flesh.

Burn scars.

There was silence.

Youngblood swallowed. "Was... was that me?"

Noise paused.

"…What do you think?"

Feeling sick to the stomach, Youngblood strode across the room, grabbed his hand and flipped back the cloak. His heart sunk as he took in the full extent of the scarring, twining around their elbow, up their bicep, and touching their collarbone.

Noise hissed through his teeth and snatched his hand away. He stumbled backwards, gingerly wrapping his other hand around his wrist.

"Sorry!" Youngblood blurted. "Sorry, I didn't mean to... Does it hurt?"

"No." They looked away.

"Noise," Youngblood said softly, prompting them to meet his gaze. "Please, don't lie to me."

They didn't reply.

"I can help?" The thought of using magic on Noise again made his stomach twist, but the idea of leaving them in pain was far, far worse. "I might be able to heal it."

"You think I haven't tried that already?" Noise scoffed. "I've seen countless healers, and none of them could do it." They looked at him, considering. "I don't know why, Bloody, but your magic sticks."

"But I was the one to do it! Surely I can undo it."

Noise sighed. "That's what they all said."

Youngblood frowned at them, anguished but silent.

"I can’t be healed. The best I can get is to ease the pain."

"Then let me do that."

They waved him off. "I don't need you for that. I just need to apply the salve the College Healer gave me."

"But I-"

"Youngblood." Noise cut him off. They spoke softly, but his mouth snapped shut. "You don't have to feel guilty. It was an accident."

"No." Youngblood shook his head. "It's not that."

He still felt guilty, of course he did. After almost every interaction with Noise, his mind drifted back to what he'd done and the state they'd been in when he left. But that wasn't why Youngblood wanted to help, not really.

It took some courage to admit it, but once the words were out Youngblood knew they were some of the truest he’d ever spoken.

"I want to help you because I care about you, Noise."

There was a pause.

Voice small, Noise asked, "You do?"

And Youngblood's heart broke.

"Yes. Yes, of course I do. Please, Noise. Let me help you."

Noise stared at him for a long moment. "Okay," they whispered.

Hesitant, Youngblood drew closer. He lifted his hand to the edge of the cloak.

"May I?"

Eyes wide and cheeks flushed, they nodded silently.

Youngblood gingerly peeled away the fabric and put it on the bed, leaving their torso bare once again. Noise didn't meet his eyes as he put a hand on their shoulder, the contact feeling like it burned, and led them to sit next to him on the bed.

"What do I use?" He murmured.

"What?" Noise blinked. "Oh! Here." He scooped up the small vial on the bed and placed it in Youngblood's palm.

The salve was a paste, pale green with small flecks of herbs that hadn't quite been crushed, and cool to the touch. Taking Noise's arm into his lap, Youngblood began to work it into their skin with diligent care. Keeping his touch as gentle as possible, rubbing small circles across the scars and making sure to give equal attention to every inch.

He started at their shoulder, applying the salve with one hand and gently holding their wrist with the other as he moved down their arm. The scars were a strange shape, spiralling around Noise's arm like vines. It became methodical, almost meditative, to work his way down those lines. Youngblood couldn’t say how long he spent at his task, all his focus on doing the best job he could for Noise. He just moved his fingers to the vial, back to Noise, softly circling, and repeat.

A heavy silence had settled over them, but not an uncomfortable one. Noise's hand was heavy in his, the touch of his fingertips against their skin unignorable even as he tried to keep it light as possible.

There was something familiar about this. The silent significance in every action was new, but the deep affection in the air and the things unspoken but mutually understood were like old friends to him.

Finally, Youngblood reached Noise's palm, still cradled in his hand. The first point of compact, the place that first got burned. Youngblood scooped up another dollop of salve and, taking a deep breath, continued smoothing it in.

Noise made a small sound as his fingers ghosted over the knot in the centre of their palm and Youngblood paused, gaze snapping up to look at them.

"Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"You didn't hurt me," Noise hurried to reassure him. "It just... feels nice."

They were staring steadfastly at where his own wrist was held tenderly in Youngblood’s hands.

"Oh." Youngblood replied, suddenly too flustered to do anything other than continue soothing the scars he had left on them with the pads of his fingers.

***

Roman raised his eyebrows at the colourful display set out across the dinner table. He knew this was a town of frogs, but he still hadn't expected such an... insect-based diet.

Mr Padton looked his way, seemingly for approval, and Roman immediately replaced the doubtful expression with a beam. It was just a difference in culture, no need to be rude. He'd already eaten his fair share of insects as a child running around Reston, and these ones were even cooked!

But back in Fantabulous Neon, Youngblood had seemed horrified when he thought they were being served cockroach – he wouldn't like this one bit. And Roman could only imagine how Noise would react.

Speaking of: Noise still hadn't come down for dinner, and Youngblood hadn't returned since offering to go get him.

It had been a while now, but that wasn't too surprising. After such a long couple of days, they both deserved a chance to rest in privacy. But they won't be able to recharge if they're hungry - Roman should bring some food up for them.

And if that would give him the chance to see the horror on their faces when they saw what was on the menu, that was only a bonus.

He swept up a few serving plates - some kind of insects lightly drizzled in syrup, a plate of brownish mush with tiny legs sticking out, and something that might actually be cockroaches served on a bed of roasted vegetables - to take upstairs.

"Your friends not coming down?" their host asked as he began to ascend the stairs.

"I figured I'd take some food up for them." Roman smiled. "It looks delicious!"

"You're a good lad," the Mr Padton said, pleased. "You go on up, kiddo."

It was a strange balancing act to carry the three large plates without dropping anything, but Roman managed, walking slowly and taking care not to trip.

Eventually he made it to Noise's room, where he assumed Youngblood was too.

With his hands so full, he knew he didn't have a hope of knocking. Deciding manners would have to be forgone, Roman shoved the door open with his shoulder and called, "I come bearing gifts!"

He was stopped short by the sight in front of him.

Youngblood and Noise, curled up together on the bed. Noise, shirtless, rested with their head on Youngblood's shoulder, a scarred hand placed on his chest. Youngblood had an arm wrapped tightly around his waist, and their tail twined around his upper thigh.

It was so tender, so vulnerable yet relaxed, in a way that he'd never seen either of them. He'd been travelling with Youngblood for a while now, and slowly getting to know Noise since leaving Neon, but this was a level of familiarity and trust that he couldn't even dream of. The sight had his heart aching with a sudden craving for this, this intimacy, with them.

Noise's eyepatch was off to the side, eyes closed and the right lid slightly slack. He was still slumbering peacefully but Youngblood's snapped open, frowning at his clumsy entrance.

Roman flushed.

He wasn't supposed to see this.

"Roman-!" Youngblood started.

"Sorry! Sorry, I didn't realise-"

It was such an intimate moment, and he'd just walked in without thinking twice.

"I just thought, food! Sorry, I'll um I'll go-"

The arm Youngblood had around him tightened as Noise began to stir at the sound of his stammering and Roman cursed. He'd only managed to disturb them more.

They stretched, languid as a cat, and rolled their head to face him.

"Roman?"

Their voice was so soft that his mouth immediately snapped shut. Somehow, he managed to feel even more guilty that he'd disrupted their peace.

"Sorry," Roman whispered, trying desperately not to make it any worse.

"What are you doing here?"

Roman cringed. "I thought you might want some food?"

They propped themself up on an elbow at that, peering at the plates Roman still had precariously balanced in his arms.

Noise's eyes lit up. "Are those honeyed dragonflies?"

"Uh."

Roman looked closer at the dish. Those could be dragonflies.

"Maybe?"

Youngblood wrinkled his nose.

"Ugh," he said at the same time as Noise cheered sleepily.

"Give, give!"

That wasn't quite the reaction Roman was expecting, but he found himself delighted by it.

"One plate of dragonflies, coming right up!"

The pair sat up, Youngblood leaning against the headboard and Noise soon returned to their place curled against his side. Roman deposited the dish in his lap, careful not to spill any food - he knew how particular Noise could be about their clothes.

They blinked blearily and smiled at him. "Thanks, farm boy."

"It-" Roman flushed, busying himself with arranging the remaining plates on the bed, "it's farm man. And you're welcome."

He did his best to hide how jittery Youngblood’s intense gaze made him, but he was sure they both noticed his hands shaking slightly before he could tuck them behind his back.

"Well-" Roman said, almost hysterical and definitely too cheery. "Enjoy your dinner! I'm just gonna-" He swallowed. "I'm gonna go."

"Roman?" Noise called, freezing him in place just as he was about to flee the room. "Where are you going?"

"I- I’ve got to eat too, you know," he said, a half hearted joke that fell flat.

He looked back to see Noise looking at him with big, mournful eyes.

"You're not eating with us?"

"I thought you two would want some time alone, you know, I wouldn't want to intrude."

"Roman," Youngblood interrupted. He’d been silent for so long that even that low muttering of his name immediately stopped Roman in his tracks. "You're not intruding. Come eat with us. Please."

And that was all it took for Roman's admittedly feeble resolve to crumble. His shoulders slumped.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Roman. We want you here."

So, hesitating and slightly clumsy, Roman climbed into the bed. He didn't know what to do with himself but Noise didn't let him flounder for too long, pulling him against their side.

"I love honeyed dragonflies," he said, already digging in, and beaming at the taste. "I haven't had them in ages! Youngblood, here!"

Youngblood grimaced and screwed his eyes shut, but obligingly opened his mouth to let them feed him a spoonful. He looked faintly sick as he swallowed.

"Oh, Bloody," Noise cooed, half mocking and half sympathetic. "We'll find some other food for you tomorrow."

"I'm sure Burgundy has a stall around here," Roman chimed in. "She's everywhere! Her employees are very resourceful."

Youngblood looked at him, despairing. "I can't just eat bread, Roman!"

Noise couldn't hold back their giggles. "You might have to!"

Then they turned to Roman, another spoonful in hand. "Your turn, farm boy!"

"Oh! Um-" his face heated as he let Noise feed him the dragonflies. It was odd – crunchy, and with a bitter flavour that cut through the sweetness of the honey. Roman decided he liked it. "Mm." He grinned at Youngblood, who pretended to gag.

Roman soon found himself absorbed into the serenity of the couple, spooned around Noise and laughing with them as Youngblood groaned at the food (although Roman suspected he may have been exaggerating his disgust slightly to make them both laugh).

A little bubble of joy burst into existence inside Roman, and for the rest of the evening it only glowed brighter.

#rswr roman #rswr youngblood #rswr noise #roleslaying with roman #royono #blood red song #roleslaying with roman fanfiction #fanfiction #ts patton

[bl00dw1tch]

the thing people dont get abt writting a good Quaritch redemption arc fic is that he himself just Saying he's "not that man" in the movie... doesn't actually mean anything. Because he is literally ONLY saying it for the sake of his own comfort--He saw his own corpse, proof that his methods (the same ones that had kept him alive on Pandora for anywhere from 10 to 30 years up until That Point) Failed him, catastrophically and humiliatingly. That is terrifying, and that is humbling--two sensations that your typical man of his demographic would not take well.

He's lying to himself, because even though his body may be new and his methods may be skewed to take full advantage of that fact, he cannot truly be any different because his MOTIVATIONS are still functionally the same; Revenge and dedication to his career. He's acting like he's already partially 'redeemed' (for the crime of dying and losing the Battle at the Hallelujah Mountains.), like his body actually does somehow automatically make him 'a new man'--it doesn't. It provides a very streamlined opportunity to become a new person, but it is Not a "100% it will happen!!" Guarantee--it's likely in canon that he won't*.

He can only begin to really start taking stride in changing when he finally admits to himself that he Hasn't changed. Papa Dragon needs to start developing a little self awareness to recognize that he sucks before he can start figuring out how to be better, to even decide what better MEANS--and yes, it will be Cringe. It will. It's not going to be sexy and it's not supposed to.

* I stand by that he probably won't BUT it is integral that I mention there are inklings of him starting the process of reassessing himself and his methods Because of Spider--He follows Spider's lead with the Ikran, and he chooses not to kill any of the people during the village searches Because of Spider, and for a man as formerly ruthless as Quaritch, that's a pretty significant detail.

His personal kill count in Avatar; The Way Of Water is a 0. A zero. A big fat goose egg. But like i said before--he has yet to change his motivation entirely. Even after sacrificing his mission to save Spider from Neytiri, he still swears revenge--and rather violently at that. His priorities simply now include Spider's well being--Spider hasn't replaced any of them.

And imo, that's usually the key to a solid, believable Q redemption fic. He needs a New priority, and Spider is the most straightforward and automatically intriguing option, simply due to how challenging bridging that cultural Gap is going to Be for Quaritch--it FORCES him to reassess his priorities and his prospects, is forces him to step out of his career conditioning, it forces him to ask himself uncomfortable questions and make difficult decisions--these are all just, months, YEARS worth of challenges that he needs to undergo in order to grow as a person.

He's a stubborn man. It's baked into everything about him, even the way he moves--he is stiff, tensed, sometimes even awkwardly so. He is not going to be redeemed easily, no matter what the motivation is--so don't let it be easy. Make it hard. Make him struggle. Make him regress and regret and be a hypocrite and face the consequences of his actions and sit in a corner and think about what he's done.

And remember, then--that a redemption arc is never actually finished. It is a sisyphean task--to consciously choose to be better every day, and to keep the upsetting memories that remind you why you're doing it. Forgiveness for what he's done is not required--and even if it is given, it is not the same as crossing a finish line.

He killed hundreds of people. Men, women, and children. He's gotten his squad killed. He left his own son an orphan, and now his son has explicitly disowned him. His crimes are irreversible, and (depending on what, if anything, you as an author decide to do with Lyle) he is now pretty much alone.

Let him live with that.

#horse.txt #i want a Quaritch doll so bad. please please please. we get tonowari and jake and neytiri and the kids and humans but no kitty Quaritch? #not cash money at ALL #if i sound pretentious its because i love him too much and i really do take him seriously. please let me live you know what im going through #he just. listen #i love him so much its unreal. #please write him good thats all i ask. i beg

[translationwala]

English to Tamil Translation: Your Gateway to Tamil Culture

Tamil, the language of ancient poetry, lively cinema, and a rich cultural legacy, invites you to discover its depths. However, for those inexperienced with the language, the path might seem difficult. Enter the miracle of English to Tamil translation, your gateway to discovering Tamil Nadu’s spirit.

Unveiling the Nuances: Beyond Words, Lies a Cultural Tapestry

Translating from English to Tamil is more than simply switching words; it is also about comprehending the cultural subtleties that are weaved throughout the language. Tamil idioms often include several levels of meaning, inspired by tradition, mythology, and a distinct way of seeing the world. A literal translation may overlook these nuanced hues, providing the reader with just a weak representation of the original text. An expert translator, on the other hand, is a cultural navigator who can detect hidden meanings and translate them in a way that is understandable to the Tamil audience.

Mastering the Melody: Music to Your Ears, Poetry in Your Heart

Tamil is a language that sings. Its rhythmic pattern and literary flair contribute to its charm. Translating a Tamil poetry into English without comprehending its musicality is like attempting to capture a hummingbird in a still shot. An experienced translation will not only understand the message, but will also dance to the beat, keeping the rhyme, meter, and substance of the poem in the target language. Imagine your favorite Tamil song being precisely translated into English, with the words flowing naturally while keeping the original’s emotional resonance and gripping your soul.

Humor Unbound: Laughter Bridges the Cultural Gap

Humor is a global language, although the subtleties differ widely among cultures. A Tamil joke, with its creative wordplay and cultural allusions, may confuse an English speaker. A professional translation, on the other hand, operates as a cultural interpreter, first comprehending the context and humor behind the joke and then figuring out how to duplicate it in English without losing its punch. Consider a Tamil film whose wit and humor are so well translated that the English audience laughs out loud, forming a bond through shared laughter and comprehension.

Bridging the Business Gap: Accuracy Matters in the Marketplace

English to Tamil translations go beyond literature and pleasure. Businesses in Tamil Nadu depend largely on correct communication to reach their intended audience. A contract, a marketing campaign, or even a product handbook that is translated with tiny errors might have major effects. An skilled translator who understands both English and Tamil business language and cultural etiquette ensures that your message is clear, succinct, and culturally suitable.

BEYOND WORDS: YOUR PERSONAL CONNECTION TO TAMIL CULTURE

English to Tamil translation is more than simply a service; it opens the door to a lively universe. A qualified translator can help you connect with relatives and friends in Tamil Nadu, read the works of great Tamil writers, and comprehend the culture around you. They can guide you through the complexity of the language, discern its hidden meanings, and appreciate its distinct beauty.

In conclusion

English to Tamil translation is more than simply a technical talent; it’s an art form, a cultural bridge, and an individual adventure. Choosing the correct translation is an investment in comprehension, connection, and, eventually, a greater respect for the rich tapestry of Tamil culture. So, take the risk, investigate the possibilities, and let English to Tamil translation be your portal to a world of surprise and joy.

Source: https://translationwala.wordpress.com/2024/01/16/english-to-tamil-translation-your-gateway-to-tamil-culture/

#English to Tamil translation #English to Tamil #Tamil translation

[otsassemble616]

Community traveler: My journey thus far...

Throughout my years of studying and being exposed to clinical experiences, there has been none like this community block. It has not only opened me up to my own flaws and vulnerabilities but also that of the systems within our country.

This block began without any expectations attached because I knew that this experience was going to be completely different and unique as compared to the rest. “we will be therapists who walk the community,” is what I heard. It sounded astounding, the amount of difference we could make. Driving into Cato Manor on our first day, we all did what we were told to do. We looked at the community and saw a child running on the road and immediately asked each other, “ why isn’t that child at school?” the most common example that was made in class.

https://ewn.co.za/2021/08/21/inside-sa-s-soaring-crime-statistics

It is hard to approach a community without any preconceived ideas. Even when you intend to not let those disturbing thoughts win, they linger and influence your actions and reactions. On our first day at Cato Manor, even prior to jumping off the bus we all hid our phones and brought no expensive equipment and accessories because we expected to get robbed if seen with them. Being overly safe and cautious already created a rift between the community members and the students, we stood out and were seen as authoritative figures who never fully trusted them, so how could they trust us?

Another threat to rapport with community members is the English- isiZulu language barrier. It seems pretty obvious that if two people do not speak the same language that they will not be able to form a therapeutic relationship with each other. It goes slightly deeper than that. During health promotion talks its noticed that there are certain medical terms which have no isiZulu translation. This makes it harder to explain the condition or term, or even if service users begin to understand, the complexity of it is hard to remember because it is not part of their everyday language. This often happens when we try to explain the definition of Occupational Therapy and the services we provide, to the public. This lack of insight then translates into our therapy sessions and creates an atmosphere of superiority, where clients are unable to see the benefits of the session, even when explained, because they are struggling to link it to their condition that is barely understood.

Within therapy sessions, Occupational Therapists try to create an atmosphere of mutual respect. Prior to sessions, it seemed to have worked to collaborate and  discuss the approach used within the therapy with the client, especially concerning the therapist who will try to bridge the gap with broken isiZulu and the client with basic English. This becomes disrupted as the client is not receiving comprehensive services. One suggested alternative to breaking the language barrier is google translate. However, the translations are not always contextually relevant and may create more confusion for the client. So, using an available, human translator seemed like the best choice.

Not prepared for what came next, I began my session in English and basic isiZulu, and it ended with the translator taking over because the client started speaking directly to them and filtered out my unnecessary noise. Understandably I felt disrespected and hurt. It was difficult but I recognized that I could not let my emotions drive my behaviour as I may cause additional psychological trauma or harm. Thereby inflicting maleficence or malpractice. She felt a connection with the translator because she felt heard and received individualized attention that catered to her strengths. Essentially, the takeaway message, is that we cannot control the behaviour and reactions of others, but we can control ourselves, our emotions and reactions to their behaviour in order to reach our intended goals.

Community does have its life lessons and beauty but wish someone had warned to carry, plenty of sanitizer and soap! Not to say that the community interactions made us feel dirty but because sometimes we really need to dig deep. Referring to digging literal holes, in a ground polluted with dirt and decomposing plant materials.

Time, we have everything but time. service users are in a hurry to get to their daily responsibilities, and we must work within that time frame to achieve our goals for therapy. This loss of time is due to long waiting hours in the cue to receive files before therapy, waiting in lines for therapy. all horrors of being short staffed and under resourced at a health care facility. There are so many people that require our assistance and not enough time and student therapists to see them all and address their needs affectively.

Throughout the block, I have really experienced a sense of guilt and helplessness when being unable to work through external stressors that are not in direct control of the patient. Due to the lack of time and having to pack so much of information into one treatment session as you may never know if you will  see the client again to deliver more information, I have felt ineffective as a practitioner. As some of these adaptations go against what we have learnt in varsity for the last 4 years. There is no time for repetition and practice with the client so their execution and carryover of information imparted is slim to none.

In a perfect world, we seek to get rid of the flaws that blemish our society. Whilst I am not saying to concede to the injustices we see before us but our best bet at leaving somewhere better than when we first saw it, is to help people function within it. There is lawlessness and corruption everywhere in the world, it is just more obvious in some places than others. But within those flaws and vulnerabilities, we discover strengths we never knew existed.

References:

Maphumulo, W. T., Bhengu, B.R., (2019). Challenges of quality improvement in the healthcare of South Africa post-apartheid: A critical review. Curationis, 42(1), a1901.

van den Berg-van Antwerpen, Vi. (2016). Still lost in translation: Language barriers in South African health care remain. South African Family Practice. 58, 1-3. doi: 10.1080/20786190.2016.1223795.

[goboymusic]

It’s Saturday. Finished “Fire & Blood” by #GeorgeRRMartin. No spoilers. I’ll only say that the #HouseOfTheDragon storyline deserves the big-budget, live-action adaptation that it’s getting.

Drunk recording session 7.

Upon release, “Juliet” was one of the weaker songs on GoBoy 6 in my opinion, yet it always ranks near the top. People like it for reasons that I don’t fully understand.

Figuring out how to start the song was difficult. Starting with the 1st verse didn’t work, nor the bombastic synth section, nor the pre-chorus, nor the chorus. Nothing worked, but starting with the chorus sounded the least bad, so that’s what you hear.

Like the rest of the song, the chorus originally had vocal harmonies and mid-ranged instruments. Unfortunately those elements only seemed to detract from the chorus, so they were removed, and the chorus became a minimalistic segment consisting of drums, distorted bass and lofi vocals.

Lofi plugins on vocals are popular in rock music. The Killers use it for many of their songs (i.e. “Mr. Brightside”). Green Day uses it once in a while (i.e. the bridge in “Holiday”). It sounds like someone’s singing through an old radio transmission. When used in the right places, it sounds cool (this paragraph contains excerpts from post 103).

The lyrics are pop punk inspired. Dating the coolest girl in school, kinda thing. @blink182 has a bunch of those songs, and I grew up idolizing them.

Starting with “Granola (Song 108),” the complexity of the harmonies was difficult for my brain to handle. To do so, I started utilizing a technique of changing the pitch on the master track (essentially increasing or decreasing the pitch of the entire song) and listening to the song at those different pitches. When you listen to your own song at a different pitch, it’s as if you’re hearing it from a fresh perspective. You catch mistakes that weren’t noticeable before. It’s really interesting. This technique has been used for all subsequent songs (this paragraph contains excerpts from post 108).

Throughout GoBoy 3 and 4, a lesson was relearned after a seven-year hiatus: listeners can sense any hesitancy in your voice. Confidence is important in a recording booth. This rediscovery would lead me to experiment with drinking while recording GoBoy 6. What results would liquid courage bring? Just an experiment that has been abandoned for GoBoy 7 (this paragraph contains excerpts from post 102).

Songs 102 - 117 (total of 16 songs) were produced simultaneously, resulting in an eight-month gap in releases. Melodies, chord structures and lyrics were written for all 16 songs before recording any of them. During the recording phase, one-week intervals took place between recording sessions to let vocal cords recover. The raspy, punk style sounds cool, but it destroys your voice after a few hours. During those intervals, all free time was spent splicing and aligning each syllable to the tempo, which was more important than usual because of the more unpredictable results from drinking, and pitch correction was applied where it was needed (everyone uses pitch correction in the studio, even Beyoncé, shut up) (this paragraph also contains excerpts from post 102).

#GoBoy #Juliet #114

[businessesconsultant]

4 Tips Young Entrepreneurs Can Use To Stay Inspired

Summary: Have you ever felt like you are stuck in your entrepreneurial journey and can`t seem to find your way out? Don`t worry! It`s not your lack of passion but a phase. Here are a few tips to keep you on the right path.

Entrepreneurs do not have an easy job. It might sound like all glitters and stars to be your boss; however, there comes a phase when everyone feels stuck. But always remember that it is just a phase. If you feel it is getting difficult to come out of a rut, you can always take help from a business motivational speaker.

Take small steps every day, as it is better to make slow progress than to quit and completely stop working towards your goal. It can be tough to continue working towards something when you don't see a clear path ahead — you start feeling defeated, and instead of enjoying the process, you begin to loathe it.

Being stuck is draining and you may feel like nothing is working in your favor. You may also lack the motivation to find a solution to the current business challenge that you might be experiencing. However, you can`t let the grind sap all the life out of you. To get out of this rut, you will need a support system. It could be your friends, colleagues, or peers, or you can hire a business coach who can guide you to come out of that difficult phase with his guidance and support.  

1.       Positive Self Talk

If there is one person who is going to be with you constantly is--- YOU. Hence, it is very important to analyze how you communicate with yourself. Focus on positive self-talk and affirmations. Avoid negative thoughts, self-criticism, and underestimating yourself. For instance, instead of saying “I haven’t had a promotion in five years”, say to yourself, “What is my plan to get the promotion or find a job that fairly compensates me.”? Try to focus on the resolution, instead of your hurdle and you may look at the challenge from a different perspective.

2.       Do New Things

Following a routine is fine, but living life is also important for a happy mind and healthy heart. So, the only place to grow is discomfort. Just like stagnant water begins to stink, staying in your comfort zone will hinder your growth. Do things that make you uncomfortable, but are important for your business. For example, if networking is what gives you nightmares, set a goal on how many connections you'd like to make. Spark up the excitement for life again. It's the small steps that create the largest gains over time.

3.       Surround Yourself with Positive People

A tree survives in appropriate conditions. However, it only grows when it is provided with weather conditions that are clean, healthy, and pleasant. Having people around you who are full of positive energy, dreams, goals, and vision is a great way to stay motivated.

You won`t be stuck for too long if you can call someone whom you trust. Hiring a business motivational speaker is also a great idea. Set up an in-person meeting with a friend, family member, or mentor who always knows what to say when you are facing a conflict.

4.       Don`t Just Make Plans, Execute Them

Neither wishing nor complaining will get the job done. Take steps towards finding solutions that will help you to change your circumstances. So take out some time to figure out what you want, and start formulating a plan.

Entrepreneurs are meant to bridge the gap between a problem and a solution. You decided to become an entrepreneur because you recognized a problem that can help people and bring ease to their lives. Always remember why you set out to be an entrepreneur. Do not push your goals and dreams aside just because you are feeling stuck momentarily. You can always hire the best motivational speaker in india to help you keep moving forward.

Want to make progress in your business with Dr. Vivek Bindra. Visit: www.badabusiness.com

Source: https://news.badabusiness.com/motivational/4-tips-young-entrepreneurs-can-use-to-stay-inspired-10826.html

#BusinessCoach #BestMotivationalSpeakerInIndia #DrVivekBindra #MotivationalSpeaker #BusinessMotivationalSpeaker #BadaBusiness

[its-hai-time]

A brief summary of how I would structure the entirely hypothetical Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney 2. (Forewarning I'm literally brainstorming as I write this and also it is LONG)

It would most likely be taking place one year after Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney, in this entry I would want to do more of a character study of the established Apollo Justice characters.

(I'm gonna put a cut here because Jesus Christ this thing is a beast.)

For the new prosecutor this time around I elect Lana Skye to come back into the fray. Or she could simply be a key witness in one of the cases, just to get some closure on her. I think it would be interesting to explore her dynamic after being in prison, as well as see how she would interact with the New Phoenix Wright™ as he is studying for the bar in this installment.

I love the idea of Phoenix learning to keep his cards close to his chest over the seven year gap and I want to see how older characters might react to this.

If I were to introduce a new prosecutor entirely at this point I would want them to be quite different from Klavier, he was already a groundbreaking change so it would be difficult to figure out a different character. I think maybe a character who's personality resembles that of Phoenix during disbarment might be nice. Someone who the player can tell is orchestrating something. Although I think I'd keep them openly cold toward the defense. Maybe even aloof toward the court proceedings entirely. They'd allow the defense to investigate all they want (because I like the idea of Apollo having an easier time investigating than Phoenix) but you would have the overwhelming feeling that they are planning something. Hands in a lot of places, so to speak.

This would all be a red herring leading to a genuinely likeable character doing what they feel they have to under whatever circumstances the game has them in.

I think Klavier Gavin should be a defendant in one of the cases this time around. Possibly the third case of the game. Or maybe even the fourth, a la Turnabout Goodbyes.

As for any new co-counsel, Phoenix wright himself. I want to see him take on much more of a mentor role for Apollo, because that was severely missed in AA4 mainly because of his orchestrating the conviction of Kristoph. I think bringing him with us on the cases would be so fun and there would be so many opportunities for hijinks and callbacks to the trilogy (like how he jumped off a burning bridge).

I think Phoenix would only co-counsel for the final case of the game, maybe it would even involve him in some way, or if Klavier IS the defendant, maybe Phoenix would co-counsel as a sign of goodwill to him, like saying "we're good." Without actually saying it.

I think our second case of the game would involve one of Trucy's school friends as the defendant. I think making Trucy directly involved with the defendant would let us see a new side to her, less jokey and cheery and much more of the calculative, observant girl we know is hiding behind her exterior. I think she would finally decide that that would not be the time for joking. Or possibly she would be jokey and cheery, but we would still be able to see a more serious side to her.

At least one of our cases would be delegated to fleshing out our new prosecutor (because now I'm married to the idea of introducing an entirely new character), possibly finally giving Apollo a lot more information to work with than usual. Or finally showing off just how far their influence reaches.

Ema Skye is still the detective because she needs to be or else I will riot.

Would I include any more characters from the original trilogy? Possibly. I like the fact that Apollo's story is very separate from Phoenix's in AA4. An entirely different cast, and entirely different vibe. The inclusion of trilogy characters would highly depend on whether I think I could do something new with them, as well as if I think I can genuinely fit them in somewhere and give them the screen time they deserve.

Also I think including trilogy characters is something for Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney 3. It would be fitting to wrap it all back around at the end of Apollo's trilogy.

As for bringing in Athena, I think she should be kept out of the Apollo trilogy, because there's already a lot of characters and if the third installment is going to bring back a bunch of trilogy characters, Athena would just absolutely crowd it. Instead, Athena should get either her own trilogy OR a spinoff game, because a brand new mainline trilogy for her might seem tired and there might not be a lot of good ideas for that, and Athena has already been done SO DIRTY. Go consult this post about an Athena - centric ace attorney game, because I think it's a very very good idea.

Any similarities to Dual Destinies? Clay Terran may actually make an appearance, but in this trilogy I don't want to involve all of the weird plotline about Apollo being from a different country or whatever. I've never played aa6 and I only got partly through case 2 of aa5 but I literally refuse to go any further with them, I just hate it. Apollo's only sibling is Trucy, he was born and raised in "The United States," and the most backstory we'll be seeing is his dad. And the portrayal of his dad will be entirely different and separate from what we get in canon.

Within this trilogy we will get: more of Apollo and Trucy being siblings, that good Klapollo shit, Phoenix and Klavier FINALLY TALKING TO EACH OTHER, and possibly some good good Klavier Gavin backstory. Also Miles Edgeworth will be elluded to, as he is chief prosecutor at this point I think.

Anyways I think that's all. If you've read this far, why? This was entirely my stream of consciousness as I decided to sit down with myself and think up a second installment in Apollo's story, there's probably a lot of flaws in my thinking but I can't be bothered to read this whole thing over again and fix it. Here. Take it.

#ace attorney #ace attorney textpost #apollo justice 2 #pheonix wright #apollo justice #klavier gavin #trucy wright #ema skye #miles edgeworth gets mentioned ONCE #absolute monster of a post because i have zero self control #clay terran mentioned #dont give me ideas for a new prosecutor im literally already working on it #i googled how to format on mobile entirely for this post #this is not an idea in the works but i wish i had the skill to make it #uuuuuh take this

[jaskierswolf]

The Love We Have

Part 4/5 - AO3 - Previous - Next

Summary: Kaer Morhen has an old tradition in order to keep the witchers safe after the siege. Only witchers and their partners are allowed in the keep but Geralt is tired of parting with Jaskier over the winter so decides to invite him to Kaer Morhen… only he forgets to mention one tiny little detail.

Ship: Geraskier

Rating: T

CW: Mentions of sex and implied sexual content

_______

“What?!” Geralt stared at Jaskier, who had one hand on his hips and the other flailing through the air like a wet fish. The last hour had been a whirlwind of emotions and Geralt was struggling to keep up. First, Eskel and Lambert’s teasing over Jaskier, which had practically given away his true feelings, and then Jaskier running off to his room, stinking of fear and regret… now this? Whatever this was supposed to be.

“We’ll tell the others that I was just being dramatic, I’m a bard after all,” Jaskier explained, a picture of nonchalance as he flicked his hand in the air, seemingly oblivious to Geralt’s inner crisis.

They stared at each other, both stubborn as mules, neither willing to back down, until Geralt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You have got to be joking.”

“Nope!” Jaskier trilled, popping the ‘p’ and winking at Geralt as if he didn’t have a care in the world. The bard’s mood swings were difficult to keep up with on the best of days but Geralt felt like he was stuck in a storm, not too dissimilar to the burst of magic that Pavetta had created all those years ago. He couldn’t move forward. He couldn’t move back. No, he was just a boat on the waves, being pulled by the currents of Jaskier’s tide.

“Fuck,” Geralt grumbled, not quite believing that he was about to agree to this. “Fine. How do we do this?”

Jaskier glanced at the bed. “Is it squeaky?”

“What?”

“The bed? Is it squeaky?”

This was ridiculous, but it was too late to back out now. He’d started this after all, dragging Jaskier all the way up this godforsaken mountain, to a crumbly keep in the middle of a harsh winter. The least he could do was let Jaskier have his fun. He would just have to hope that he didn’t get aroused and make it awkward for both of them. Well, Geralt supposed he could just blame it on the circumstances and weather the inevitable teasing from the bard. “No,” he admitted.

“So… how much will they be able to hear?” Jaskier asked, cocking his head, his hand still resting on his hip in a way that was just so entirely Jaskier.

“What?”

“Gods, Geralt. It’s like blood from a stone! Vesemir said witchers have good hearing. So our conversation now? Is that safe from prying ears?”

Geralt frowned, focussing his witcher senses. The extra set of mutagens had given him an edge over the others and from their room he could just about hear a faint murmur of voices but he couldn’t make out any words, or even who was talking. So he nodded. “We’re fine.”

“And what if we start shouting?”

“Less fine.”

Jaskier smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes as his tongue flicked out between his teeth, dragging along his lips slowly. Geralt was entranced. The air grew heavy between them and Geralt felt as if Jaskier was trying to seduce him for real, not for some silly game to trick the other witchers. A heat pooled in his core as Jaskier’s eyes roamed over his body, the same way they did when Jaskier was trying to lure some unexpecting fool into his bed.

Only now Geralt was the fool.

And it was working.

“What about moaning?” Jaskier purred, closing the gap between them, his hands splayed on Geralt’s chest. The bard’s gaze kept flicking down to Geralt’s lips, his fingers trailing along the crevices of Geralt’s heavy jumper.

Geralt swallowed, his mouth feeling too dry. What the fuck was Jaskier trying to acheive? The idiot had definitely said pretend to have sex… hadn’t he?

“Jask,” he murmured, a low warning. This had gone on long enough, and Geralt’s control was beginning to crumble. He wanted nothing more than to take the bard into his arms, to kiss that stupid grin off his face. To wreck those pretty lips that had teased him with every lick for years, with no idea of how badly it was affecting him.

“Yes, darling?” Jaskier whispered, standing so close that his breath was tickling, warm against Geralt’s skin.

The sweet scent of arousal was wafting off of the bard in waves, making Geralt feel heady, and the world seemed to fade around them until it was just the pair of them. It reminded him of their first kiss, a trial unlike any other in Geralt’s life, one to see whether they’d even have a chance of pulling off this crazy scheme, just because they hadn’t wanted to be parted for winter.

Because Geralt hadn’t wanted to be parted for winter. Every year they separated, Geralt felt like he was leaving a little more of his soul behind until he couldn’t bear it anymore. Rather than admitting the truth to Jaskier, and actually confessing his feelings, he’d been a coward. So they were pretending to be in love. Chaste kisses, fake touches, lies.

It was all lies.

By gods, he wanted it to be real.

He took a deep breath through his mouth, trying to clear his head of Jaskier’s scent. “How do we fake it?”

Jaskier’s flirtatious facade dropped, for barely a second but Geralt still saw it. He knew the bard too well to miss the subtle change in his expression, but Jaskier was an expert, a trained actor, and he masked his mistake well. For anyone else it would have worked. He plastered a grin on his face, clearing his throat as he stood back away from Geralt. Ringed fingers patted awkwardly on Geralt’s chest as the distance grew between them. “Fake it, yes. Well, I was. I was thinking some jumping on the bed, moaning, grunting, maybe some dirty talk,” Jaskier laughed, waggling his eyebrows in a way that was completely ridiculous but unbearably endearing, and Geralt wanted Jaskier back in his space. The distance was too much.

And then an idea struck him. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, tilting his head and smirking at the bard. “Won’t work.”

“Oh yeah, and how would you know?”

“I told you, we can smell it.”

“Smell… sex?”

“Yes.”

Jaskier’s eyes went wide, a bright pink flush colouring his cheeks. His mouth dropped open as he ran his fingers through his hair. “Ah. Right then… well, umm. We don’t. We don’t have to…”

“They’ll wonder why, you said yourself,” Geralt murmured, once again closing the gap between them, cupping Jaskier’s cheek and running his thumb through the bristles of stubble on his jaw. The bard seemed to freeze under his touch, staring back at Geralt, his mouth dropped open, and that crackling spark between them was back, licking across Geralt’s skin. His heart felt like it was caught in his throat, a flicker of anxiety squeezing in his chest. It would be hard to explain this as just friendly banter should Jaskier reject him now.

“You want to?”

Geralt tilted his head. “Do you want to?”

Jaskier barked a laugh, his fingers flexing and coming back to gripped at Geralt’s clothes. “Only if you want to. Oh for Melitele’s sake!”

The bard crashed their lips together in a kiss, his fingers cupping the nape of Geralt’s neck, holding him close. Geralt moaned into Jaskier’s mouth as his lips parted, allowing Geralt’s tongue to slip against his. One of Jaskier’s hands trailed down Geralt’s spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake, until the bard’s fingers gripped Geralt’s arse, pressing their bodies together. Arousal and lust filled the air around them in a cloud, sweet and intoxicating, more addictive than any drug. Geralt groaned into the kiss, breaking their lips apart so Jaskier could breathe, but never letting his lips leave Jaskier’s skin that was warm and salty on his tongue. He pressed kisses along Jaskier’s jaw, nuzzling his nose into the bard’s neck as he breathed in that delicious scent, sweet chamomile and an underlying musk. Jaskier whimpered, the sound creating a quiver of vibrations in his throat, tingling against Geralt’s lips.

“Geralt,” Jaskier breathed, the name; a prayer as it rolled off his tongue, a whisper in the otherwise silent room. Geralt had never heard his name said in such a reverent manner, like he was all that mattered in the world. It was almost too much.

Witchers don’t feel.

Witchers can’t feel.

Witchers can’t fall in love.

Well, it seemed Geralt hadn’t gotten that memo when he was going through the trials. He loved, and he was so in love with this idiot that was in his arms.

Love.

Sweeter than honey.

Jaskier’s scent.

Geralt pulled back with a start, staring frantically at the bard as if he could figure everything out just by looking in those gorgeous cornflower blue eyes. It was no use, Jaskier was pouting up at him, confused and a little hurt, but there was no trace of love… not that Geralt knew what he was looking for. People looked at him with horror, fear, occasionally lust but never love. Would he even be able to tell?

“Geralt?”

“Fuck.”

Jaskier cupped his cheek, blue eyes searching and panicked. “Geralt, what’s going on? I’m not Yennefer, I can’t… I can’t read your mind. You need to talk to me, please.”

After taking a long breath, Geralt closed his eyes. “I-I… fuck.”

Jaskier’s fingers on his cheek moved, brushing a lock of hair behind Geralt’s ears, and there was a soft press of lips against his, gentle and grounding. Before it could get heated, Jaskier pulled away, resting his forehead against Geralt’s, and Geralt covered Jaskier’s hand with his own. The mood shifting from something hot and burning to something all the more intense, intimate. “It’s okay, dear heart, I understand.”

“But--”

“I love you too, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, his breath hot against Geralt’s lips, and he said it so confidently, without any fear. There was no way those words could be taken any other way. Jaskier was in love with him.

Jaskier was in love with him.

Actually in love with him.

They were alone, no need to pretend or act or lie. This was all real, and Geralt suddenly understood why people said they were on top of the world. He felt invincible, with this delicate flower, so mortal and breakable, by his side. He could take on the most fearsome of monsters and be absolutely fine, as long as Jaskier loved him.

And that made him feel unreasonably angry. All the lies he’d been fed as a child. Love was a weakness to be exploited.

No.

Love was his strength, his greatest weapon.

“Geralt, darling…” Jaskier’s voice, low and warm like a summer’s day, snapped him from his thoughts. “I adore you but, but… can you let go?”

Geralt growled, blinking as he focussed back into the room. His fingers were digging into Jaskier’s hips, and judging by the look on the bard’s face, he was hurting him. “Shit, sorry.”

Thankfully, Jaskier just laughed, a beautiful musical sound that made warmth blossom in Geralt’s chest. “Oh darling, what is going on in there?” A long finger tapped Geralt right in the middle of his forehead, and then Jaskier placed a hand on his hip and cocked his head, a pout playing on his lips.

“Hmm, pondering on the subject of love.”

“Oh, ho, ho!” Jaskier giggled. “We shall make a poet out of you yet, witcher! And what is it about love that has got you all grumpy and scary face?”

“Witchers don’t love,” Geralt repeated the familiar words, though now they felt empty and bitter on his tongue.

Jaskier scoffed. “And yet… only significant others are allowed to Kaer Morhen? That’s still a load of bollocks, you know. As if our decades-long friendship isn’t more important than a quick summer fling.”

“But you love me.”

“Ah yes, but… oh shush. You know what I mean, Geralt!”

Geralt chuckled. “Hmm.”

“You. are. Terrible!” Jaskier snapped, clearly starting to spiral into one of his moods, but Geralt had a better idea. He scooped Jaskier up into his arms and over his shoulder in one swift movement. “Oi!”

“You talk too much.”

“And yet, you love me,” Jaskier trilled happily “Now, take me to bed, witcher. I think we’ve both waited long enough.”

Geralt chuckled, throwing Jaskier down onto the bed. The bard squeaked as he bounced on the mattress but soon regained his composure, tongue slipping between his lips as he gazed up at Geralt with a smirk. He looked beautiful, clothes already a mess and his hair tousled from their kisses and his own habit of messing it up when he got anxious. His cheeks were still a little blotchy from the earlier tears but there was no denying his beauty… almost elf like in his elegance. Geralt felt like he could stare at his bard for hours and never grow bored of the sight, but he was allowed to touch now, and that was just too tempting. Years of restraint, and now the chains were broken. He crawled onto the bed, resting between Jaskier’s spread legs and pressed their lips together, slow and lazy.

They had all night after all.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #kaer morhen #fake dating #wolfie’s witcher writing

[no-soul-required]

S2 x E1 - When She Was Bad

Season 2 is here — um, that was a way to start.

Let's see:

Buffy's having a difficult time (ya know, having died and all). She has signs of PTSD and is haunted by what happened. Yep, she's not chipper and has some dickish moments in the episode, but ongoing trauma doesn't make someone the nicest version of themselves. It feels like a cry for help more than anything.

It also feels like the framing of the episode is meant to punish Buffy for feeling these things and acting out when her not being okay isn't acknowledged by others around her. Angel calls her out, Cordy does, too. Willow, Xander, and Giles observe amongst themselves.

Leading up into the last fight, Buffy falls for a trap. She goes to the Bronze to rescue Cordy on her own and Willow, Xander, and Giles are upset by this and how she rebukes their help. To me, the clear parallel feels like when Buffy goes to fight the Master on her own. She's alone in this. She's alone, period.

At the Bronze, she figures out by herself what had happened and where she actually needs to be (back at the library). She goes and Xander is there, beaten. He is SUCH an ass to her, then says, "If they hurt Willow, I'll kill you." He's upset, yes. She's been jerkish, yes. BUT, that's a huge breach of trust. There's no going back from that in my mind, because it's clear that she's never really been considered one of them. Her mistakes will almost always have greater consequences by the very fact that her world is life & death, but it feels very much like, "Damned if she does, damned if she doesn't." What was she supposed to do? Not go after Cordy? Let them go with her? Why would have have made sense this time when it bit her in the ass in the past?

Then, the last scenes. Willow, Xander, and Giles just watch from the second floor balcony as Buffy smashes the Master's bones and cries into Angel's shoulder. There's a literal separation here. The one being with her at that time is Angel, driving her ever closer to him and widening her separation from humanity in so many ways. Then, there's the scene talking with Giles on the lawn, then class where suddenly Buffy is 'nice' again and needs to apologize and never be like she was during the previous 40 minutes. There's no reaching out from Willow, Xander, and Giles. She's reaching to them. She's bridging the gap. Should she make amends? Definitely, but they should, too. They should, too.

#btvs #btvs s2 #buffy #buffy characterization #ptsd #author: no-soul-required #S2 x E1 #When She Was Bad #I'm new here

[fuchsiagrasshopper]

The Olive Branch

Author's note: Here is a modern AU one-shot I wrote for @maggiescarborough 400 follower challenge. My prompt was breaking up. Congratulations hun and thanks for letting me take part! It was something completely different for me to write and I hope everyone enjoys!

Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar x Fem:reader

Word count: 3400

Warnings: Angst, language

Your relationship with Ivar had run its course. You had known it was over the moment you overheard him talking about you in his office to his brother. What had begun as a sweet gesture to surprise your boyfriend for lunch had ended with you sneaking back out the building before he could find out you had been there. You still didn't remember most of that escape, as you had been too busy forcing yourself not to cry or scream from hurt.

It was a Tuesday, and you were fortunate enough to have a day off from work. You decided to be spontaneous, picking up soup from your favorite deli to surprise Ivar with for lunch. His job didn't always allow him the time or luxury to stop to eat, but today you would make sure he was looked after.

You and Ivar had been seeing each other for nearly six months, and you felt that in that stretch of time you had made it past any difficult hurdles that could turn a relationship sour. It wasn't perfect, but little arguments and disagreements had to be weathered in any relationship, and you got to a point where you were both comfortable with each other's faults and tendencies. When you had met one another's families without hassle, you figured that was as good a sign as any that this was something special.

You didn't go to his place of work often, but you knew your way around well enough to find his office. He worked for his family's exporting company, a numbers game that consisted of suits and ties, and corporate gatherings. Ivar had once described them to you as ass-kissing at the highest level, and after attending a few black-tie affairs by his side you understood his point.

You made your way down the brightly lit corridor that was all freshly polished floors and heavy oak doors with gold inlaid nameplates. The designer of the office had spared no expense on the finishes, and you felt underdressed compared to the expensive attire of the workers.

As you rounded the corner to Ivar's office you could see his door was ajar. He was speaking with someone, and as you neared you recognized Ubbe's voice. It didn't sound like work talk, it sounded more like Ubbe was discussing his family. You were about to walk in to interrupt when your name was suddenly brought up.

"So, how are things going with (Y/N)?" Ubbe asked.

There was a long pause before Ivar answered, and that filled you with dread. "Okay, I guess."

"You guess? I thought things were going great."

You understood Ubbe's point. You thought things were working out well between you two.

"I don't know. Recently I've been feeling that it's run its course between us. I don't think there's a future there."

Your heart was in your throat, and you thought you were going to be sick. Ivar could be distant, but you had no idea he was at the end of his rope when it came to your relationship.

"Really? Ubbe sounded as confused as you felt. "What brought this on?"

"It's whenever we do something in a social setting. She's not a bad girlfriend, but she's too shy for any of my work functions, and she isn't spontaneous enough."

"Right, as opposed to Freydis?" You heard the crunch of leather as Ubbe took a seat. "You're still hung up on her."

"I can't help it," Ivar shot back. "She was perfect for me. She fit in with my lifestyle. (Y/N)'s a good person, but she's too simple. I'm...bored when I'm with her."

A good person. Those were the only kind words he had to say about you, after dating for months. You knew about his relationship with Freydis in little detail, and only that they had broken up because she moved away for work. Maybe he should have gone with her. You were feeling bitter and used, and you couldn't listen to any more of the disparagement. You even felt guilty about eavesdropping, but you wondered how much longer he planned on keeping this from you if he was so miserable.

Your feet started in the opposite direction, reaching the elevator with your head down and the lunch you had brought hanging loosely in your grasp. Your breathing had turned labored in your attempt to keep the tears at bay, and you kept pressing the button to shut the double doors before you were forced to endure a long ride down to the lobby in the company of one of Ivar's coworkers.

The moment you were on the ground floor you began fast walking to get outside, and you threw away the lunch in the first trash bin you passed. Your eyes stun when the chilly wind brushed your face, and you knew the tears you had struggled to hold in were beginning to fall. You hoped to God people weren't staring, and you kept at a brisk pace in the direction of anywhere. You and Ivar didn't live together, so you at least had your own space to hide.

As you approached the train station, your phone buzzed with a message. It was from Ivar. You wondered what words Ubbe had plied him with to get him to reach out. Usually, a message from him when you knew he was at work would have been a delight, but now you were already into second-guessing. It was a simple invite to dinner, but you knew you wouldn't be able to sit in a restaurant and pretend everything was alright. You replied with an excuse.

Sorry, I'm not feeling well today. Raincheck

Ivar's reply was quick and to the point with a simple 'okay, feel better'. But you wouldn't feel better. Your relationship was over, he just wasn't privy to the fact yet, and you didn't want to end it with the embarrassment and disappointment still so fresh…

ooOOoo

And that's how it was for the next two weeks. You distanced yourself from Ivar while gaining clarity about the situation. The hurt turned into a dull throb, but you also accepted that it wasn't his fault for feeling the way he did, even if that was cold comfort to you. It was best for you both if you ended it and moved on.

"I think we should break up," You finished saying to Ivar as he had tried to gift you a diamond bracelet. He had dropped in unannounced again, a habit that had started after you blew off the dinner. Your visits consisted of sitting in silence on opposite sides of the sofa, and you could barely bring yourself to kiss him when he would leave.

He must have sensed something was off the past few times you had seen each other, and the bracelet was his way of trying to bridge this new gap. Now he was giving you a blank stare, trying to play catch up on whatever details he had missed that led to this behavior from you.

"Alright," He started slowly. "Can I ask why?"

Because you're bored with me, your mind shouted, but you swallowed the bitterness and forced a smile. "We've been growing apart for a little while now. You must have felt it too."

"I've felt that you've been brushing me off," Ivar said as he fell back into the armchair across from you on the sofa.

"What do you mean?" You tried to act surprised by the accusation, but your voice raised a tick. You had never been a good liar.

"Well, just now when I tried to give you the bracelet, you looked disgusted. I might as well have been giving you a can of surströmming."

"That's not--" You started to say, but he cut you off.

"Not true? No, I think it is. And what about that dinner last week? Were you even sick?"

You felt small under his strong gaze, but you weren't about to let him spin this whole thing back on you when you knew the truth. "No, I wasn't sick. I guess I just didn't want to go to dinner with you because I felt it was pointless."

"Pointless? If you'd decided that, then why did you wait until now to break up with me?"

"I've never broken up with someone before," You admitted, the first truthful thing to come out of the conversation. It was always you getting left behind, and it felt strange to do it to someone else. You still had feelings for Ivar, which didn't make it any easier knowing he didn't feel the same, and possibly never had. "I thought you'd be relieved anyways. You must have felt the same, that we were drifting apart."

"I didn't realize you felt that way," Ivar replied, frowning at his lap. "Ubbe didn't say anything to you, did he?"

You tried not to react, but your blood froze in your veins and your heart trembled. "No, why would he?"

And then you realized Ivar suspected you knew about the private conversation with his brother, only he mistakenly thought Ubbe had blabbed to you about it.

"It makes sense now, why you've been pulling away. He told you, didn't he?"

"About how I'm a good person, but that I'm too shy to fit in with your social circle," You blurted out, your anger rising.

Ivar was stunned by your abrupt attitude change. You never raised your voice for anything, even when you'd argued. "So he did tell you."

"No Ivar, Ubbe didn't tell me anything." You rose from the sofa and turned your back on him to stare out the window. It was a beautiful day. You let out a mournful sigh. Too bad you wouldn't get to enjoy it. "I came to see you that day, to surprise you with lunch. I guess you wouldn't consider that spontaneous enough though."

"(Y/N)," Ivar started and over your shoulder, you could see him pushing himself up from the chair with his cane.

"I don't want to hear it," You interjected with your hand up. "This is why I didn't want you to know I knew about that. I didn't want to hear your excuses."

"That was a private conversation you weren't supposed to hear."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Ivar frowned, and he seemed annoyed with you as if you learning the truth had inconvenienced him. "No, but I should be the one upset with you for trying to break up with me without telling the truth."

"I'm not trying to break up with you, I'm done with you, Ivar," You told him, and your blunt tone caused his face to fall. "Maybe I shouldn't have listened to that conversation, but I'm glad I did. It spares me from being in a relationship with someone miserable and bored when they're with me. Did you expect me just to not say anything and carry on as if nothing had happened?"

"We could still talk this through." His voice sounded timid, and you didn't think he meant it.

"Talk through what? You're still in love with someone else, and I won't be your poor replacement." You strode to your apartment door and held it wide open. "Please leave."

You half expected Ivar to stay put and want to argue this through further. He was nothing if not confrontational, and while you admired his inner strength, you did not want to find yourself on the receiving end of Ivar Lothbrok's ire. But in the end, he didn't say anything. His cane thumped down the hallway to the door, and as he strode by you, you kept your head down holding your breath. You don't know if you were hoping he would do something to change your mind, let you know that it had all been a misunderstanding, but that wasn't the case. Ivar left, and you found yourself closing the door long after he had gone.

Now that it was final, you didn't know how to feel. The past few weeks you had been preoccupied with internalizing your heartbreak. You had held it in for so long, that now your well was empty. Your relationship was over, and if you were going to move forward you would have to cleanse your life of Ivar. Grabbing a box from your closet, you began to pack away anything he had ever given you.

ooOOoo

It was such a cliche, the expression about missing something after it was gone, but it was currently how Ivar was feeling. A month had passed by since your break-up, and time had slowed to a crawl. He hadn't seen or heard from you since he had left your apartment that day. You had returned a box of his things when he had been away at work. Hvitserk had been home to retrieve them, and Ivar had asked how you seemed. His answer; fine.

At the top of the box was the bracelet he had bought you in a last-ditch effort to try and save the relationship. You hadn't even worn it. He didn't know why he had put in the effort to save the relationship since at that time he had convinced himself it was no longer something he was invested in. Perhaps Ubbe had gotten through to him, but by then it was already too late. You had heard everything, and it had led to a devastating end.

Ivar knew why he had second-guessed being with you. He knew from the moment you met that you were the complete opposite of Freydis. You were timid, and your interests lied in things you could do independently as opposed to a social setting. Not like him at all. After growing up different from his disability, Ivar made sure he thrived in large groups as an adult, no longer wanting to be the one isolated in the corner of the room. Being with you had reminded him that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, and he never thought you were weak as a result.

But then he had seen Freydis' engagement announcement online, and he was suddenly mourning the loss of his past. Never follow an ex on social media, that was Hvitserk's advice, and he should have listened. He and Freydis had said their goodbyes two years ago, though more reluctantly on his part. She was everything no one thought he would ever have in a partner. The beautiful blonde had chosen the cripple, and his ego had soared to new heights.

Food tasted better, the air was cleaner, everything was different from his supposed view from the top. Ubbe had reminded him that it hadn't been as perfect as the memories he clung to. During that time with Freydis, he had abandoned much of his ties to his family, and he had picked up the bad habit of spending money to the point of debt. When she had left him for new career goals, he had gradually returned to earth with the other mortals and realized he had been an asshole.

He had a momentary lapse back into that spell all because of one picture online, and unfortunately, it had bled on to you. Now all he could think about was how much he had hurt you, and with no real excuse good enough to justify such atrocious behavior.

A knock on his door came, and he threw the bracelet back into the box of his belongings that had made their way from your home and now back to his.

"Hey, you want dinner?" Hvitserk asked, poking his head in.

"Not hungry."

"Still feeling sorry for yourself, huh," Hvitserk said as he leaned upon the doorjamb.

"If I didn't, nobody else would," Ivar grumbled petulantly.

"And how do you think (Y/N)'s feeling?"

"I don't know, you said she was fine."

Hvitserk ran a hand down his face. "I was covering. If anything she looked...disappointed."

Disappointed in him more likely. He was a disappointment, and not because of his legs as he always feared. When the news of his break-up with you had spread through the family, they all were annoyed with him for making that choice. None more so than his mother. She had been vocal over the years of her dislike for Freydis, and while Ivar knew his mother would have a difficult time accepting any woman he brought home, she had come to reluctantly welcome you into the fold. The rest of his brothers didn't hold back on hurtling their own brand of criticism, each as unique and harsh as they were creative.

"What should I do," He asked aloud, and Hvitserk looked startled by the question. He was the last one in the family anyone looked to for advice, but Ivar already regretted not taking the bit about exs and social media to heart.

"Apologize. That's the only thing left, even if it won't be enough to remove the hurt right away. She needs to know you regret what you've said."

For the first time in a month, Ivar felt a smidgen of hope. "Do you think there's a chance we could start over?"

"I don't know about that. If she holds onto those things you've said as the truth, then she might have a hard time trusting you again. Those relationships never work out," Hvitserk said with a shrug.

"Maybe I should go over there and talk to her," Ivar said, already rising from his bed.

"I wouldn't," Hvitserk replied looking guilty. "Thora's over there now, and she's still pissed at you for hurting (Y/N). If you don't want to end up in grievous harm, I'd stay away for now. Sorry."

Ivar sighed as he plopped back down. "No, I get it."

"Try reaching out slowly, and work your way from there," Hvitserk suggested.

"You're surprisingly not as dumb as you look," Ivar taunted, and the first grin broke out on his face. It felt good to use those muscles again.

"I know, I'm brimming with knowledge and ready to impart wisdom," Hvitserk said with a laugh. He stood up from the door and looked ready to return to the sitting room. "You sure you aren't hungry? I haven't ordered yet."

"I think I could eat. Just give me a moment, I need to finish putting this stuff away." He indicated to the box, and Hvitserk nodded in understanding before closing the door behind him.

Ivar pulled out his phone and searched for your name. All of the things he had to say couldn't be composed of one text message, but he could extend an olive branch and hope it didn't come back as ashes.

I know this is probably coming too late, but I need you to know I'm sorry and I miss you. If you want to, I'd like a chance to meet and explain things, that's it -- Ivar

He hit send before he started to ramble or worse chicken out entirely and not send the thing. He didn't know if you would reach out right away, and he didn't want to know. Getting up from his bed, Ivar hobbled on his crutch, leaving his phone behind in his room to join his brother for dinner. Hvitserk must have sensed his change in mood, but he embraced it rather than asking, and they didn't bring you up again. It was the first time in a month he felt like himself, no heartache over Freydis and no self-pity over losing you. After a late-night of buffoonery, and pizza and beer, the brothers returned to their rooms.

Ivar ignored the phone sitting in the middle of the bed, avoiding it as if it was some cursed thing. He went about his nightly routine, all the while he felt the pull to check if you had replied. He hoped you had. Even if it was just to tell him to fuck off, something was better than no answer. After getting his legs settled beneath the covers, he lied down in bed and shut off the lamp on his side table. Before going to sleep it was time to check if you had seen his olive branch. The glow of his phone lit up his face, and his breath hitched. You had replied. His eyes flitted back and forth, tracing your words to make sure they were real.

I miss you too. Let's talk soon.

Ivar fell asleep right after, with renewed vigor in his heart. He would work to earn your trust back. Whether that meant as a couple or just as friends would be up to you, and Ivar would respect what you decided. So long as you were still in his life, everything would be alright.

Taglist

@pomegranates-and-blood @siren-queen03 @peachyboneless @didiintheblog @soleil-dor @zuxiezendler @pieces-by-me @xbellaxcarolinax @heavenly1927 @everyartistwas-firstanamateur @youbloodymadgenius @xceafh @strangunddurm @shannygoatgruff @1950schick @tgrrose @castielsangelsx @rose1729 @ladynightshade30 @mlchael-guerin @dangerouspsychicgardenflower @ritual-unions-gotme @readsalot73 @lonewolf471 @poisonous00 @alytavzla

#sophies400 #ivar x reader #modern ivar x reader #ivar x you #history vikings #vikings #ivar the boneless #ivar angst #ivar ragnarsson #vikings ivar #ivar the boneless x reader

[jjyusmile]

enchanting | hwang inyeop

pairing: badboy!hwang inyeop x {gender-neutral} reader

genre: fluff, suggestive

warnings: suggestive nature, alcohol, an almost accident, fwb if that makes you uncomfortable!

word count: 5.1k

taglist: @katinthemoon

A/N: happy true beauty season finale day! I hope you enjoy this dedication to our favourite second lead <33 give inyeop lots of love on his socials because he deserves it!! 

»»——————————-——————————————-««

you couldn’t help but think to yourself.

was it the way he walked? the way he held his head so high that his fluffy hair almost touched the clouds? was it the way he thought the world revolved around him? his cocky aura screaming ‘look at me! look at me!!’?

and yet, he was nothing like you had imagined. saying that second “yes” completely warped your world – how much longer can I stick to this friend with benefits thing?

the thought spurred a memory of how you first met. somehow… you ended up in his clutches. he was the boy who wandered the corridors, his disciples in toe, and nobody could touch him. except somehow… you did. well, kind of.

you remember it clear as day. it was a thursday night, your fluffy socks rested against the hard wood of your coffee table in front of you as you chatted on facetime to your parents. when your stomach grumbled, so loud that maeum, your fluffy chow-chow, lifted her head from against the armrest with curiosity as to wear the sound came from. such inquisitive eyebrows for a nonchalant pup that barely batted an eyelash unless you were filling her dinner bowl.

“even we heard that…” your dad’s smile filled the screen, a light teasing in his tone. you thought to yourself when the last time you ate was… it hadn’t been today.

“why don’t you head out and grab something good for yourself from the convenience store? I know you don’t cook for yourself, my baby.” your mother’s disapproving tone caused your eyes to roll -- miles away and she still nagged about the fact you ate nothing but instant noodles if you could be bothered.

“okay, ma. I’ll go do that. thank you for your concern.” short and snappy, your patience wore thin. probably because she was right and you were absolutely ready to devour some food.

a few air kisses later, and you were gliding the zipper up to just beneath your nose, the sherpa material insulating all heat it could as you brace yourself for the bitter cold. maeum’s tail wiggled excitedly in anticipation, her harness wrapped snuggly against her fur. “come on then,” you giggled at the way she span around energetically as you unlocked your front door. she practically knew the route to the convenience store by now… for a 6-month old chow, she was very intuitive.

out the door. down the hall. press the call button and wait for the elevator with patience. get into the elevator (you had to carry her if it was too busy but she didn’t mind too much). leave your apartment complex and turn left and keep going until the bright lights of the store appeared with a ‘fresh food prepared daily’ sign like a saving grace.

the owner didn’t mind of maeum came into the store, often bending down to give her treats and pets. maeum always leaned into anyone’s affection. it was her favourite time of day.

your airpods blasted your hype playlist, something you did when you needed self-reassurance. walking out of the store, maeum in toe, you rummaged through your bag of snacks, pulling out one of the many samgak kimbap you picked up. the crisp evening put you off sitting outside with a hot meal, plus maeum would attract too many people for your isolated personality to handle. the coo’s and aww’s often got worse as the night went on.

it wasn’t too long of a journey home, but something about the evening air caused you to walk slower and appreciate the serene surroundings. high school kids stumbling out of the noraebang that you often frequented in your days. being drunk on sugary snacks and endless cokes while you sang your little heart out. the snack in your hand tasted almost nostalgic as you remembered the nights you sat for hours outside the convenience store, hoping a kind stranger might sneak you a bottle or two of soju. those were the days you had friends to hang out with, but since you moved closer to seoul for university, they hadn’t bothered to keep in contact. you spent your days sitting alone in class, hoping your professor wouldn’t tell you to pair yourselves up. you were the only person that sighed in relief when they mentioned that they’d pre-assigned partners.

a low growl sounded over your music, with maeum halting in her tracks. it was only as maeum barked so loudly that you paid attention to what was happening. the bike headed straight for you. the rumble of its engine overwhelmed you as you realised you had stepped into the road without checking for oncoming traffic. yelping, you jumped back, pulling maeum abruptly, just quick enough for her to be missed. but it sent you flying onto your ass, a dull throb aching at the impact.

“are you okay?!” a shout from the direction of the motorbike filled your ears, the engine shutting off and footsteps getting closer.

“I’m fine,” you huffed, using your arms to twist your body with difficulty. your tailbone really throbbed as your face morphed into instant regret. you were turning to face the person clad in a helmet and biker jacket that hugged their body tightly in the frosty air.

“umm - I wasn’t talking to you.” you could just make out their eyes in the gap, slightly squinted in apprehension. when they turned their attention to maeum, you realised that look wasn’t for you. maeum, who sat sweetly with her tail wagging, front paws perched on their knees began to lick the helmet off them, only finding purchase in the gap that showed their mysterious eyes. traitor.

it was only when you heard the low chuckle that your attention turned back to the owner of the bike, heart stopping in its tracks for a small second. they reached out to ruffle the abundance of fur that framed maeum’s face, carefully checking for any scrabs or marks from the almost accident.

“hey there, friend! i’m sorry I almost hit you,” their tone emphasised the frown hidden by their helmet. it was only then did they reach up to lift the helmet off their head. and the breath you were about to let out hitched in your throat.

this mysterious biker wasn’t a stranger. he was the notorious bad boy that walked your universities halls, his minions in toe and never batted an eyelash to anyone who showed an interest in him. the one whose name you feared would be called out after yours in pairing for a class project. the one who probably didn’t even know you existed.

he was hwang in-yeop. and your bulging eyes that almost fell out of their sockets told him that you knew that already.

but, little did you know that the moment his leg flung off his bike to check you were okay, he realised who you were too. the one who sat at the front of the class with their pencil knocking in a continuous rhythm against the desk, a sound he realised rang inches louder in his mind compared to the rest of the class. he noticed the way your eyes glistened as you focused on what your professor was saying. he also figured out you never paid attention to anyone else, you sat alone with no intention to allow anyone into your bubble unless they were forced to. he actually hoped his name would be called out after yours.

his question of concern died in his throat when he saw it was you. those glistening eyes still sparkling despite the obvious annoyance in your expression. so he trailed off to pay attention to the adorable fluff beside him, luckily he adored dogs.

your embarrassment flushed in the apples of your cheeks, the heat almost melting the rim of your glasses that rested against the bridge of your nose. “maeum - come on, leave him alone.”

you lifted yourself up, trying not to show the pain. gathering your spilt snacks back into the bag, you stood up stretching your legs. but it difficult not to look at inyeop. his head was tilted slightly as he gazed up at you, this time the apprehension focused on you. was he concerned? he should be! he almost knocked you over!!

quickly, he stood himself, handing maeum’s fallen harness back to you.

“thanks,” you took it back quickly.

“you’re welcome.” his attention was still focused on maeum, who was jumped up at the bag in your hand hoping there was something inside for her.

the silence was excruciating. in the two years you’d known each other, this was the first time any contact had been made. and it was almost unbearable.

“uhhh- thanks again, sorry we almost got you into an accident,” you tried again, reaching into your bag to pick out a snack to give him as a peace offering. although he annoyed you, you realised you should’ve been looking where you were going - at least for maeum.

he took the can that laid flat on your palm slowly, afraid you were just teasing. but you let him take it without reluctance.

“do you- uhh…” he started.

“hmm?” your head raised sharply to turn your attention to him, the snacks in your bag long forgotten.

“do you… do I.. know you?” he tried again. if he was nervous, you could barely sense it. although he was stumbling over his words, his eyes were narrowed in scrutiny, analysing your every feature. he knew exactly where he knew you from, the flick of your pen ringing in the back of his mind. any excuse to keep you beside him longer.

“probably… you’re in my criminology class. although I doubt you’ve ever actually paid attention to anything in that class, let alone me.” 

he scoffed, eyes rolling up into the heavens. you really were bold. “that’s quite the assumption.” a smirk so prominent it has sketched its way into your brain, all the way down to the subtle shading of the dimples that outlines the corners of his lips.

you ignored him, focusing on maeum for a moment as she sat beside your feet in a fluffy ball, eyes glittering expectantly at inyeop. you followed her gaze, landing specifically on the creases that lined his eyes as he analysed you. you huffed. “which way are you headed?”

he tilted his head to look over your shoulder at his bike sitting idly on the side of the road. “well, before I was interrupted I was on my way to a party.” and then his eyes met yours. “why? do you want to come?” his signature smirk appeared, the one you caught glimpses of every so often.

you hesitated, the thought of being anywhere remotely sociable filling you with dread. you became nervous in seconds “I- uhh. I was going to say I’d treat you to dinner because of the accident I almost caused…” you were shy, you admit. he couldn’t understand how someone who can barely look him in the eye could be so bold.

your offer caused his heart to do a single backflip; that was more of a reaction than any other, he couldn’t recall this kind of reaction from anyone else. to say the least, he was intrigued by the person who sat at the front of class. “do me a deal.” 

“hmm? a deal?” shimmering eyes, etched into his mind.

“you treat me to dinner, and I’ll take you to the party.”

he was met with silence, searching your eyes as you lulled over the thought in your head. right now?

it was almost like he could read your mind. “we could make it a recurring thing… you can make up for me almost hurting not only you but this gorgeous ball of fluff” your heart leaped when he crouched down to rub between maeum’s ears with affection, even more so when he looked back up at you. “… and I’ll teach you how to be sociable.”

“oooh! kinda like a friends with benefits thing?!” you grinned, excited by the fact that you may not have to feel so alone anymore.

his grin widened at your exclaim, certain you weren’t sure exactly what you had just said… “sure… like friends with benefits… are you in?”

and that was how you ended up in the clutches of the notorious bad boy. 

»»——————————-——————————————-««

those around you witnessed a flourishing friendship; you were attached at the hip. your five o’clock walks by the beach were met with his bubbly personality, maeum pleased with having someone else to chase the waves with. you finally had someone to sit beside in class, his signature smirk plastered on his face as the whispers of students wondered who on earth their designated bad boy was sat beside.

it got to the point that you remember the little things. he always ordered extra cheesey tteok because you always added extra onto your own. you packed extra heat packs when you knew he’d be joining you. he started turning up three minutes early because he knew that was how long it took you to get from your apartment to the lobby, where he’d be waiting for you with an extra coffee for you in hand. he knew to wear an extra sweater to the party because you always left without a jacket and would complain of the cold despite the countless shots you had consumed. you noticed that when his foot began to tap as the horrifically drunk girl in front of him continued to run her hand down his bicep, he wanted out, so you always stepped in to play the jealous ex.

as the little things  continued to build up, your feelings flourished alongside them.

not that you ever did anything about them.

until one night it was clear that things weren’t as they used to be. inyeop had dragged you into an unoccupied room at the party, away from the sleaze who was hitting on you.

“what the fuck are you doing?!” you cursed, something you didn’t usually do. it must’ve been the alcohol that coursed through your veins, and the slight haze that the drunk guy’s breath washed over you.

“what am I doing?! what were you just doing out there?!” he grabbed your arm again, you swayed slightly, trying really hard to focus on his eyes.

you smiled at his tone, it was flittered with desperation. “why… what was I doing?”

he couldn’t fight off the annoyance that washed over him at the light smirk that graced your lips. you had been spending far too much time with him, his cockiness was starting to rub off on you.

“you were literally throwing yourself all over that guy!! everyone was watching you!!!” although he knew you weren’t stable on your feet, he shook your shoulders with emphasis.

and the moment you may have changed everything. his face was so close to yours that you could feel his exasperated breath against your cheekbones.

“were you watching?” you shot back.

his eyes widened so much his eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. “what…”

it came out as a whisper, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. his eyes began to glisten, the only hint of innocence he could ever show. you turned his world upside down more than he could have ever imagined.

“I was just having fun, yeop.” your taunting was over.

his head shook abruptly like he was trying to shake the thoughts from his mind. your finger reached up to tap the tip of his nose, the bright smile forming on your lips was impossible to not mirror.

he sighed drastically, a giggle escaping your throat. “can we just go back now… I’ll drop you home. I want to see maeum.”

 and like that, you were being dragged out of the house quicker than your feet could keep up. along the way, he had slid his leather jacket over your shoulders as he always did. the walk home was silent as you matched your steps along the path. the low hum of the city began to sober you up, inyeop quietly singing to himself.

since that first party on the night he almost crashed into you, inyeop made it a habit to walk you back. at first, you thought it was because he parked his bike outside your apartment complex. you soon realised there was a caring side behind his bad boy facade that kept everyone else hooked. they clearly didn’t see the soft bean that was for your eyes only. he had become your best friend, and he cared about you just as much as you did him.

he sensed your aura change from beside him, head turning to see the smile light up your face. “what are you grinning about?” his own lips quirked in response to your happy expression.

“not much… just remembering the night you almost sent me and maeum flying.”

he halted abruptly. “hey! you admitted that night was entirely your fault!”

you held your hands up in mocking surrender, “okay! okay… I did admit that…”

he went silent for a moment. and then said something that shocked you; not because of ill intentions, but because you finally realised that that night didn’t just change your life.

“I don’t regret it.”

his eyes were genuine. and you returned the small smile he offered in silent appreciation for one another.

and then the heavens opened.

the mad dash to your apartment was filled with laughter and shrieks from you both. feet slapping against the puddles on the ground as you passed through the lobby doors. your hair clumped in damp strands over your eyes as you began to ring out your damp clothing. inyeop’s jacket became heavy on your shoulders.

“you can’t go home in that. come up for a minute while it settles and you can dry off a little.”

his eyebrows wiggled suggestively in response earning a shove from you.

maeum was overly excited to see inyeop. almost as if you were scotch mist. as he crouched down to give her affection, you headed for your cupboard, pulling out a couple of warm towels for you both to dry off.

you found inyeop lying on his back by the front door, shoes half off with maeum lying on top of his chest giving him her utmost attention. he was mumbling away to himself and giggling.

“what are you laughing about?” the towel landed on his face, earning a scowl from his raindrop stained face.

he then started laughing to himself again.

“what?!” you exclaimed.

“nothing!” he defended, the smile still evident on his lips. you waited, eyebrow raised in questioning.

“it's just… what you said down there got me thinking about something.” you waited again, the silence beckoning more of an explanation for his madness.

he shrugged his sweater off, pulling it from the scruff of the neck over his head. one small flutter.

he proceeded to rush the towel through his hair, biceps flexing in the process. two small flutters.

the whole time, his eyes never flickered from yours. it was the ultimate taunting staredown that caused the third flutter.

you broke the silence first. “thinking about what?”

he neatly folded the towel and placed it over the back of the chair to dry off, his hair sticking up in all sorts of directions. in two quick strides, he was stood in front of you, toes touching and fingers reaching for the dry towel you held tightly in your clutches.

quietly, he ran the towel through your hair, careful to focus on drying it completely so that you didn’t get a cold. from just below his chin, you had the perfect view of his features as his eyebrows etched in concentration. you were dying to know what exactly was going through his mind. you cleared your through in an attempt to drag him out of his thoughts.

“well. downstairs you said something that reminded me of something you said before.” you nodded, indicating for him to elaborate. “when we first met, the night you walked out into the road. you asked me if we could be friends with benefits.”

a deep pink flushed in your cheeks as your hands flew up to cover them. his eyes met yours as the embarrassment washed over you. gotcha.

“I did not say that?!” you tried but the bellow that came from inyeop proved just how much he was enjoying seeing his best friend squirm. he knew back then exactly what you meant, but the thought that anything more could ever come between you haunted him since that day.

“that was what… half a year ago now. you were so innocent back then.” his hands dropped from drying your hair, but not within brushing under your chin quickly in taunt.

you were annoyed. you knew inyeop enjoyed teasing you but surely this was too far. your thoughts drew back to early that night when he pulled you away from the guy you had flirted with because you saw him watching. when you teased him, it was the only time you’d ever seen him hesitate. and you enjoyed it.

“I’m not innocent anymore,” you taunted. eyes narrowed into your own, inyeop focused on read your thoughts as he tried not to react. but he couldn’t help it. for the last few months, you played with each other until you almost crossed the line. but the thought of crossing the line, even just once, left a dull burning in his stomach.

“is that right?” he retorted, eyebrow raised as his face seemingly inched closer to yours.

“mmhm.” it was all you could say. your nose filled with the cologne he was wearing, it was a mix of warming vanilla, swirls of cinnamon and just… him. “how enchanting,” you muttered lowly, he didn’t hear anything.

he was too focused on the way your eyes flickered between his, searching for some kind of each. you were in the same position, you always were. seeing which one of you broke first. but he also knew it would be him. so then came his next words.

“okay… prove it.”

a gasp escaped your throat, a mixture of shock and a sudden craving for touch. “what?” it came out as a whisper.

“prove you’re not innocent. maybe we can expand on that friends with benefits deal we made.” he wasn’t holding back. he had done for far too long, constantly tiptoeing on the tension that could light up this entire apartment building.

your fingers inched closer to him, both for support in your knees that were about to buckle, but also with the overwhelming desire to make contact. his white tshirt clung perfectly to his torso. one night couldn’t hurt.

“okay,” you agreed. but held your hand up to his face quickly to stop him from leaning in. “but! it’s a one time thing. you said you could teach me things so we’ll treat it as that.” excuse after excuse poured out of you before you could stop it, fear that your feelings would multiply the moment his lips met yours.

his lips quirked slightly as he nodded in agreement. but as soon as he got a taste, it was like something was yelling from within, a burning desire that laid idly for so long threatening to overflow. his fingers grappled at the curve of your jaw to keep him grounded. your own pulled at the hem of his shirt, a silent begging for the moment you had both thought about but never acted upon.

your body flushed against his, he barely let go to pull his shirt over his head with one hand, the other planted in a grip at your waist. your lips parted momentarily only to be chasing after one another the moment the white material met the floor. he guided you blindly, knowing your apartment by the back of his hand, your lips locked in a desperate embrace.

the moment your knees hit the end of the bed, you fell backwards hitting the comforter softly. inyeop stood over you, quietly taking in your appearance below him. his eyebrow quirked with his signature smirk making an appearance.

“you sure you just want this to be a one time thing?” his fingers traced up your thigh in taunt.

you groaned and pulled him down to you, “shut up.”

and the night went on, whispers of affection, lips tracing across the plains of each other's skin as he showed you how the gods lived, and you proved to him your innocence melted away at the flick of his fingers. you decided then that you were wrong. it couldn’t be a one time thing. because the moment his lips reached for your own, any unease washed away as you were met with the melting pools of his eyes. 

this was something only the two of you shared. the subtle touches and flirtation from the previous months finally adding up.

the clock flashed in the darkness, indicating that you were approaching the fourth hour of the day. inyeop’s fingers traced down your sides subconsciously as he pressed delicate kisses into your shoulder. you had laid in silence for what felt like hours, basking in each other’s warmth and sudden bursts of giggles as you reached for each other. you were wrapped up in everything about him - his delicate touch, his intoxicating scent, his plush lips that barely left any part of your body untouched.

it was him that broke the silence, pulling you to turn into his embrace, noses brushing as your heads rested against the same pillow. “that was fun.”

you giggled against his lips, his bluntness causing flowers to bloom in your chest. “it was.”

he exhaled slowly, fingers coming up to push your bangs away from your eyes, fingers grazing over your eyebrows. he realised his fingers moved subconsciously to smooth out the frown lines that were usually there… but were far from it in these early hours of the night.

“what do you think… about all this.” he questioned, hoping you didn’t regret the last few hours.

“it was… interesting.” you giggled as the worry on his face faded at your response. “we could… uh- make it a thing.”

“a thing?” he wiggled his eyebrows for the second time that night, suggestively hinting to you.

“yes, a thing.”

“like.. our thing?” his the pads of his fingers wandered the high points of your cheeks until he met your lips, brushing over them nonchalantly.

“sure. our thing.”

he was mesmerised by how your lips moved under his touch, silently scolding himself for not being this bold sooner. you were merely adding another layer onto your friendship, no strings attached.

but his eyes focused solely on your lips, the way they curved when you smiled, only at him. “how enchanting.” he whispered.

and that was how your arrangement began. best friends outside of these four walls. best friends with a twist the moment you stepped in through the door.

 you often found yourself making excuses to remain in your apartment. simply sitting together and reading was enough for you, subtle touches coming with time as you tried to focus on the page in front of you.

but, trying to get his attention once he was engrossed in a book was difficult. you never expected the so-called bad boy to be a softy for mysterious quests and fending off evil. then again, that was one of the raging stereotypes inyeop constantly diminished. 

maeum rested her head against his shoulder as she laid across the top of the sofa, tiny beige fur tickling his neck as she stretched out but he didn’t mind. maybe if you gave attention to maeum he might get a little jealous?

your intense stare, that was supposed to be for her, was often warped by the way his eyebrow quirked at a funny line, or his jawline sharpening abruptly as he stretched his neck from sitting in the same spot all day. his fingers grazing your ankle didn’t help the situation at all. until he caught you staring.

he lifted his head that was previously buried in Legends of Condor Heroes, his hand falling to his lap as he turned to you. his head hit the back of the sofa when his gaze pooled into your own; they glistened, his eyes, something it took you a long time to notice. he’d tell you it happened the moment you said yes… but you’d argue that it was there all along, the walls he built up disguising it from the world.

“what are you looking at?” he quipped, eyebrow raised as a subtle smirk rested on his lips. the way the corners turned up right at the edges formed a fuzzy feeling right in the pit of your stomach. and that’s why he did it - inyeop lived for the reaction he got from you.

“nothing,” you turned your head back to your own book. legs sliding back to your chest as you wrapped your arms around them; your chin rested against your knees while you tried to focus on the words on the page. you had his attention now – bingo.

a sudden jolt almost knocked you off the plush cushions, inyeop had lifted your feet to drape them back over his lap “where they belonged”. the novel he was so concentrated on before was now placed neatly on the armrest, the dog-ear bookmark on the corner resembling maeum’s. a small smile washed over his features when he realised what you were doing, fingers reaching up to tuck your fallen strands behind your ears. you weren’t expecting it; he barely flinched when he pulled you closer. you could see why everyone at school constantly stared, he wasn’t on the weaker side. it was growing more difficult to fight off the rush of emotion that came over you and swelling in your chest each time his eyes crinkled, intensely gazing into your own; his bad boy persona was diminishing little by little before your very eyes.

this arrangement made subtle touches toward each other a very normal thing. you found it difficult to keep your hands to yourself, especially in public. moments as you were walking down the street, your fingers would gravitate toward his.

“hi.” the crinkles around his eyes becoming deeper as he smiled. “someone wants attention.”

“aren’t you supposed to be going on a date soon?” you quipped, remembering that he wasn’t just yours to share.

he hummed, finger coming to his chin exaggeratedly as he stared off to the side in pretend thought. he did, but he knew where he’d rather be.

in response, your book was flung across the room, but not before he delicately folded at the corner of the page you were on. his fingers gripped onto your waist as he inhaled slowly, eyes wandering over your features like it was the first time he ever saw you. 

“fancy a quick one?” that signature smirk was hard to say no to.

»»——————————-——————————————-««

A/N: part 2? ;)

#hwang in yeop #inyeop #hwang inyeop fluff #hwang inyeop suggestive #hwang inyeop angst #han seo jun #han seojun #true beauty #true beauty seojun #second lead syndrome #hwang inyeop #hwang inyeop au #hwang inyeop fic