#niche thing and suddenly everything's in color

[infiniteorangethethird]

ok but consider: one of those "soulmate AU" stories except it's a dystopia written from the perspective of a loveless aro

#aromantic #loveless #heartless #writing ideas #queer stuff #you know the ones #“you don't see color till you meet your soulmate” #“your soulmate's name's written on your skin” #“a timer counts down till you meet your soulmate” etc #all of these are excellent sources of angst if used right #like idk. soulmates are a government-fabricated lie to keep #the ppl in check #and protag uncovers the truth #or if it's one of those “you aren't happy till you find The One” #protag sees black n white till they find their passion in some #niche thing and suddenly everything's in color #idk. i just want a story with a loveless aro as a protagonist #who is also like. not evil. yes villains are cool but i kinda had it with them for now

[belit0]

OMG, can I request a Vampire!Madara x vampire Fem!reader.

It's midnight and the reader is outside, she see's a window thats closed but doesn't have a curtain or the curtains are open and Madara is secretly a vampire but he's a vampire that can go in his human form, but the reader thinks he's a human and not a vampire. Lets just say that he went into someone's house to kill or suck their blood and then outside his window is a beautiful female vampire, the reader, who thinks he's a human, or you could say this is his house but he's just undercover as a human for some reason? Idk, but in this vampire AU, the vampire can only enter the persons house if the person invites them inside. And she's tapping gently on the window, the window being thin reminding him she could get in and saying all things to manipulate him into letting her in. Since even if the window is thin he has to invite her into the house for her to get in.

And she says stuff like "You've got the most beautiful neck....lift your neck up...let me see if ill be able to paint you or draw you...maybe I can draw a portrait of you.."

"you've go the most beautiful eyes.." and she keeps on saying stuff to manipulate him to let her in.

She doesn't know that Madara is secretly a vampire.

Context: vampire Madara in his human form, notices another vampire, but she's trying to manipulate him, throwing in excuses, into making him let her inside the house..so she could suck his blood thinking he's a human when he's not.

YESSSSSSS, THIS IS PERFECTLY WITHIN THE NICHE I'VE BEEN WORKING ON LATELY!

demons, vampires, angels, you name it, i fucking love it, living for this type of AUS, bring it onnnnnnnn

FUCKING LOVE VAMPIRE! MADARA LETS GO

First she smells him, and then she sees him.

A delicious scent wafts up to her nose, tempting her to look to the left as she walks down the street. (Y/N) is hungry, her last feeding was a week ago, and it's time to find a new victim. She doesn't distinguish between men and women, only avoiding children, always open to any opportunity that comes her way.

When that wonderful scent dances in front of her face, she has no doubt that she has found her perfect target.

She spots him through the glass, a quiet night in search of prey, and senses how her fangs tremble with the need to dig into his wonderful neck. The man is tall, big, full of what is probably the most delicious blood she will ever taste, inviting her to do everything she can to hunt him down.

The street, cold and desolate, lends her the perfect setting to execute a silent plan, manipulate, eat, flee, and decides she can't leave without first getting this human. Dressed in a tailored suit, (Y/N) notices how the top clings to his skin, perfect fit in a beautiful color combination, his pale skin matching the chosen shades.

He has good taste, which probably means wealth, equating to tasty flavor.

She surveys him coming and going, galley resting on the table and cane against a chair, moving back and forth within the house. His actions denote ownership, comfort in the space he walks, and when he ties that long hair into a ponytail, her mouth waters at the sight.

His jugular seems to beckon her into a deadly dance, begging to take every last drop, and without realizing it, (Y/N) lifts her dress off the ground, her boots rattling against the cobblestones with each step she takes to approach the window. Her corset suddenly feels like a prison, her lungs demanding to inhale that scent more deeply, and she has to remove her headdress due to the sudden discomfort she feels.

She wants to undress in front of that human, make him bleed to death, and bathe in a delicious feast.

She taps the window pane with a long red fingernail, attracting the man's attention inside the home. He wears his shirt rolled up to his elbows, and three buttons undone. His tie and vest lie sprawled on a chair, and the waistband over his pants looks ragged.

He is a beautiful mess of a man, disheveled as few are accustomed to, accepting to be seen by a lady in an unpresentable state. How nothing matters to him ends up cementing the idea of having to consume him completely, and when he flashes a nice seductive smile she knows it will be a straightforward hunt.

Usually, her victims die for her attention, and that's the very thing leading to their doom.

"Hello there, handsome." She purrs as the crystal opens, pretty much convinced the man will instantly invite her in. "What's your name, gentleman?" Her red lips and flawless makeup consolidate a perfect image, the woman everyone wants to have between their sheets at the end of the day.

"This one's name is Madara. To what do I owe the pleasure of a beautiful lady like you knocking on my window at this time of night?" White teeth glisten next to his messy hairstyle, that ponytail is what gives him the touch. (Y/N) can't help but stare at his neck, hoping it's not too obvious.

"I was attempting to get home, though I'm afraid I'm lost, could you perhaps invite me in? Assist me with directions?" She struggles against her fangs, straining to keep them from showing without her consent, trying to maintain a humanly acceptable image.

"I don't know, for what would become of me if this was oh a terrible hoax, and you swooped into my home to steal all my belongings? The world is a cruel place these days, you ought to know that far better than anyone else." There's something about his words that doesn't quite sound right, but she finds herself so focused on that vein, the way it beats and flames her, she fails to notice the hints.

"Oh no sir! Don't take me for one of those little rascals who dare to cause disturbances, besides, you have such beautiful eyes, full of kindness, the most beautiful ones I've ever seen, you won't abandon a poor woman like me, will you?" She moves even closer to the window, the glass open inward, unable to cross the boundary that separates her from her precious prey without a verbal invitation.

The man smiles, alluring gaze still on her, and scratches his neck while seemingly pondering the situation. "You've got the most gorgeous neck....lift it up...let me see if ill be able to paint you or draw you...maybe I can draw a portrait of you, perhaps in return you can lend me your help, hm?". She grips the window frame with both hands, red nails almost digging into the wood, her body increasingly desperate to try him. What is taking him so long? No one ever ever doubted her or her false alibi.

"Would you happen to know, by any chance, the latest rumors in town, my fine lady? Evil tongues say there are vampires around, ready to end one's life and steal all one's blood." The man leans his body against the other window pane, the one still closed, and (Y/N) could catch him if not separated by that stupid ancestral barrier.

"No... I didn't hear... sounds scary..." Her senses begin to lose control, instincts desperate to devour, ravage the man, losing track of what she's saying and letting her inner beast take over.

"Yes, quite terrifying, I certainly can't fathom it, think of having a creature sucking on your neck, outrageous!" Madara looks at her, that smile not having moved an inch out of place, unnaturally stiff. If (Y/N) wasn't so hungry she might notice the signs, but her senses are too altered to think or evaluate anything.

She needs to feed.

"Want a taste, love?" The man purrs, turning the game around. He exposes his neck, and strokes the pale skin with his hand, inviting her to look closely. "You're hungry, aren't you dear?" It's not a question, but a statement, a fact she fails to notice.

"Yes..." (Y/N) whispers almost imperceptibly, pupils dilated and uncontrollable fangs sprouting from her mouth. Her nails become too sharp, ready to rip and tear.

"Too hungry? How long has it been since you've fed, sweetheart?" He reaches out his hand through the window, inviting her through the windowsill into the house, surrendering to whatever instincts she thinks are right. (Y/N) doesn't waste a second, pushing him viciously against the wall and sinking her fangs immediately into him, moaning at the satisfaction of having penetrated his skin.

Had she been in her right mind, she would have noticed the lack of a verbal invitation.

Now something is wrong.

His blood is cold, an unpleasant sensation in her mouth, and it tastes terribly bitter. Contrary to what she expected, the vampiress suddenly pulls away, spitting out the mouthful of almost black liquid she drank. She could vomit if her body worked that way, but she must settle for feeling violently nauseous.

Before she can compose herself it is she who is now thrown wildly against the wall, Madara pressing her with a strangely pointed hand. His nails are claws, and they dig into her cheek mercilessly, exposing (Y/N)'s neck. "How old are you, love? A century? Two? Too young you are."

The adrenaline of being attacked brings her back to her senses, pushing her instincts to the core of her being, watching the man she thought was human with careful attention. There is blood on the ground, a huge puddle, that being the scent she probably picked up from the street. An entire family of four lies in the room, all with dull looks on their faces and bleeding to death on the spot.

"I had to feed, it's been about fifty years since last time." His eyes show themselves in their true form, crimson red and intimidating to say the least. Extremely long fangs dig into her, sucking from her jugular as if she were a human.

(Y/N) whimpers in equal parts pain and indignation, struggling against the vampire who thinks it prudent to prey on her. "Your blood is still sweet, somewhat warm, it hasn't been long since you were turned."

He releases her so suddenly she falls to the ground, her wonderful dress getting soiled with Madara's victims' blood. "I've been in the game for about five millennia, you still have too much to learn, beautiful. If you ask me nicely, I may even teach you."

#uchiha madara x reader #madara uchiha x reader #madara x reader #uchiha madara #madara uchiha #madara #naruto imagines #naruto shippuden #naruto #uchiha clan #vampire au #vampire! madara

[m0r1bund]

hey, I was wondering if you have any tips or good resources on writing eco-fiction?

This is a GREAT question that I don’t feel qualified to answer. I have read a lot more environmental nonfiction than fiction, and I'm not really cued in to what other eco-fiction writers are doing. I’m also playing in the margins because creative writing feels like my second language (vs. visual arts, worldbuilding, etc.) So… I can only share what's worked for me. Take the best and leave the rest, chief o7

I think everything circles back to becoming freakishly obsessed with your home environment. This is just the way I was built LOL, if I want to make anything I have to be a little bit obsessed with it. I also just like to read fiction from people who aren’t career artists, who have some kind of niche interest or lived experience that colors their work (whether they want it to or not.)

studying ecology, the natural world, working with your hands in the dirt, whatever-- you can also appreciate how inseparable everything is from place. pick any moment in history and you can make a rich environmental reading of it. We construct stories that obfuscate this, but almost everything we do as humans is motivated by land and water and access to land and water. This really informs how I write. Everything is connected to The Desert even when it isn’t immediately obvious to me.

Which brings me to another thought. Most of my writing is playful daydreaming that asks “Wouldn’t it be fucked up if ______?” AND YET! The natural world is always doing it weirder and cooler. You just get to set up the dominoes in ways that highlight this, I think.

Like, 90% of what happens in Asthaom is motivated by water and access to water, the big limiting resource in a desert. So a false god marches on Scaiuq looking for mythical water. An ex-cactus rustler makes counterfeit versions of a rare cactus dye in order to flood the market and drive down demand for the real thing. your ancestors manufactured a climate crisis and now, 1000s of years later, the desert is fundamentally changed but still worth loving and fighting for. These are hyperbolic lies about real things that, I think, are very poetic and worth mythologizing. Fiction is daydreaming but it’s also about tricking you guys into caring about the boring stuff that I care about, hahaha

In that vein, being part of an eco-art community has also catalyzed a lot of things for me. In 2018 I joined Those Who Went Missing, an art therapy game about nature spirits who are created from lost and missing individuals. you tell stories about your characters and have them interact with others in a setting that's based on the real world. Suddenly I was spending a lot of time reading what others think of their home environment… (And now I’m realizing “I haven’t read a lot of eco-fiction” is a lie)… and suddenly I had this shared space to spew desert propaganda create stories in.

Something I like about TWWM is it doesn’t exclusively attract earth science people, so there are a lot of people who are using this game to learn and write about the natural world for the first time. Through them, I get to put names and faces to places that were once distant and abstract to me, and I also get to relive the thrill of learning what sky islands are, how to identify a mockingbird, etc. I also encounter a lot of dominant narratives about deserts, deserts as wastelands / empty spaces / inhospitable crucibles, the relationship between humans and land, that we’re separate from nature, that we only harm and extract, etc. This is not knocking those stories, they're valuable, it just motivates me to write my personal blasphemies so that I can gently push back.

It makes me think of something I was taught in my oral storytelling class, that storytelling is made by place, time, and audience. You will never tell the same story twice because you’re never going to be the same person in the same space at the same time with the same people, you have to be sensitive to yourself and the needs of those around you. Maybe this is just typical “knowing your audience” LOL but it really is a different process writing for TWWM as a group. leaving the jargon behind, being loud about deserts, insisting on depicting reciprocal human-land relationships even more than I otherwise would, while also grappling with the hurt and frustration of being thrust into an extractive relationship with the natural world. maybe 2 people will actually read/see it, but if it leaves an impression then it’s all worth it baybeeeeee

I don't really have a denouement here, but I hope you found something useful, thank you for giving me something to chew on. Anyone reading this, please share resources that come to mind. I feel poorly-read, haha

#good luck enjoy the journey 😎

[theunwellkingdom]

Design Deep-Dive #10: From Concept to Card

Iteration is crucial to good design. Your first ideas are rarely your best, and especially when designing an entire set of cards, it's impossible to know exactly how everything will interact until you actually sit down and play with it. One of the clearest examples of this is the card Mesmir's Betrayal, which required a drastic overhaul to find its niche!

Let's take a look at how this card went from rough concept, to one of the most exciting cards in the set!

1. Concept

Mesmir's Betrayal is a top-down design, meaning I started from the theming and flavor and had to build mechanics to fit (as opposed to bottom-up design, where the mechanical effects come first and narrative theming is decided later). In this case, I knew three things:

Mesmir was a powerful NPC wizard who betrayed our heroes at the end of a pivotal arc.

I'd already drawn art of this story beat that would be perfect for a card.

In this set, Red and Blue are all about Wizards, so this card should be a big, flashy payoff in those colors! Ideally, if you're playing lots of Wizards, this card should be able to close out the game.

2. First Draft

After a bit of thought, this was the first version of the card I printed out:

{2}🔥 Instant Rare

Until end of turn, target Wizard gains +3/+0, first strike, trample, and "Whenever this creature deals combat damage to a creature, exile that creature."

Cycling 💧 (💧, Discard this card: Draw a card.)

I really wanted to lean into the idea of a Wizard turning around and becoming a lethal threat! So this first draft operated as a combat trick that gives a scary stack of keywords a la Kaldra Compleat.

However, the way it's written, it would do absolutely nothing without a Wizard already in play. I decided this would be a good opportunity to split the Red and Blue identities of the card into two modal effects -- you could spend 🔥 for the aggressive combat trick, and 💧 to simply cycle the card away and draw a new one, if the situation didn't line up. It didn't feel like a perfect compromise, but it was good enough for the testing phase.

3. Playtesting

After several playtests, I began to realize that this card didn't operate the way I'd hoped. Frankly, it didn't operate at all -- even in tests where players had access to the card and were playing lots of Wizards in their deck, this card just wasn't making the cut. Instead, I focused on what was working with those decks, to see why this didn't fit into the gameplan and came away with several insights:

A combat trick feels useless to a non-combat-focused deck. The Izzet Wizards archetype wants to sling spells, not rely on pushing damage through combat. While it's important for those decks to have Wizards on board, their main role is to enhance other instants and sorceries, and to provide good targets for Concentration auras.

The buff feels unnecessarily complex. All those stats and keywords can be difficult to parse and make the card easier to dismiss. It feels flashy and scary, which is great, but it might as well read "Target Wizard gets +3/+0 and unblockable."

The card feels small. Making this card a 3-drop doesn't give it the impression of a big finisher. As flashy as the buff is, it doesn't feel like an effect that's likely to end the game on the spot.

It ignores too many Blue subthemes. Blue decks in this set have a lot of support for completely different angles, especially hand and library manipulation. If this card could hook into those synergies somehow, it might be more attractive to players.

It's not really "betraying" anything. Sure, making a Wizard suddenly good at combat does a decent job of conveying Mesmir's sudden heel-turn, but it doesn't quite capture the scope of our story: a man throwing his entire community into ruin for a chance at personal gain, a desperate but calculated final gambit!

With all this in mind, I was ready to push Mesmir's Betrayal to the next level...

4. Iteration

{4}🔥🔥 Sorcery 198/275 Rare

Mesmir's Betrayal deals 2 damage to any target. Wizardstorm (When you cast this spell, exile any number of target Wizards you control and/or Wizard cards from your hand. Copy this spell for each Wizard exiled this way. You may choose new targets for the copies.) Wizardcycling {1}💧 ({1}💧, Discard this card: Search your library for a Wizard card, reveal it, put it into your hand, then shuffle.)

Deal 2 damage. Wizardstorm. Wizardcycling.

Now we're talking.

It's risky to commit an entire brand-new keyword for this single card, but I just couldn't pass up the chance to play on the infamous Storm mechanic of MtG past! Instead of copying the spell for each other card played this turn, Mesmir's Betrayal lets you trade off your Wizards for damage, either decimating your own board or cashing out your hand to potentially reach lethal levels of burn!

Wizardstorm also provides an extremely satisfying mirror for the Wizardcycling mode of the card. This technically isn't a new mechanic, thanks to the cheeky and experimental Future Sight era. But it's certainly a deep cut that fits the flavor of the card and makes the card way more interesting in the early game, if you're having trouble drawing your Wizards or before you're ready to go all in on the burn plan.

It also allowed me to design a fun nod to Mesmir himself, by giving the creature version of his card an ETB that shuffles some spells back into your library. So you can Wizardcycle to find Mesmir, and then play him to let your opponent know... his Betrayal could be just around the corner! But that's a Card Showcase for another day.

5. Lather, Rinse, Repeat...

In all, the revised version of this card is a massive improvement in every aspect, and it's already been used to great success in a playtest with its new text! Most importantly, the Izzet Spellslinger archetype, which has underperformed so far compared to more creature-combat strategies, finally has a proper build-around card to pull players into those colors in a draft!

But of course, I'll keep testing it to make sure it's right in that sweet spot. The key to iteration, after all, is to keep iterating.

#the unwell kingdom #uwk #mtg #homebrew #devlog #game design #design deep-dive #ludonarrative #wizards

[qsmpficvault]

Welcome to the QSMP Fic Vault!

Are you someone who enjoys reading QSMP fanfiction? Do you want some recs? Maybe you need help finding a specific fic? Well, you have come to the right place!

Below the cut will be mod information, rules, and some basic information to know! This may be updated over time, so check it every once in a while to see if your questions may have been answered!

Mod Information

Head mod

Bee! @edgarallanpoestan here on tumblr, edgarallanpoestan on AO3, and eapstan over on Twitter

19 years old, currently in school for biology and creative writing, in EST (so asks will probably be answered in the evenings and on weekends in EST). Speaks English and some German, and is working on Spanish!

Favorite color is purple!!! Part of Yaoiverse, participant in sooo many exchanges, has never chilled ever. Enjoys crocheting, reading, writing, and the occassional doodle!

No other mods are here at this time. If you are interested, feel free to send a message either here or on my main blog!

Rules

1. Show everyone respect! If you use derogatory language, you will be blocked and ignored. Treat the mod(s), authors, and everyone who utilizes this blog with respect.

2. This is largely a space that is safe for everything, but the one boundary is nothing NSFW about underage characters. We will help to find fics containing all kinds of content, but that is one thing that I would prefer to stay away from. This rule may be updated to add more mod boundaries as time goes on.

General Information

What is a fic vault?

This is something present in many fandoms! It is essentially an archive of QSMP fics, while also being a place where one can ask for help finding a certain work! They also often have recs from the mods, which will be present here. If possible, I would also like to boost various exchanges, activities, etc.

Okay... so why are you doing this?

I have always had a fondness of fic vaults and archives in fandom, finding the people running them to be generally pretty kind. Then I suddenly realized that I could do the same, and I have yet to find a fic vault for QSMP, so I figured I could fill this certain niche!

Can you help me find this VOD/clip/art?

No, sorry. There are plenty of VOD and clip archives, and I have seen a variety of blogs that focus just on fanart. While there may sometimes be reblogs of these things, we will not be finding them for you.

What websites will you be finding fics on?

For recs, probably just AO3 (and sometimes Tumblr). If you need help finding one that you remember being on another site, though, we will absolutely still look for it!

Are you looking for more mods?

At the moment it is just me, so if more people find this, then I would absolutely begin looking for some more mods! At that point, I would create a form to apply, but you can send me a message before then if you are interested!

Any other questions? Feel free to send an ask about it!

#pinned #qsmp #qsmp fic archive #qsmp fic vault #fic archive #fic vault #qsmp fics #qsmp fanfiction

[funzos]

You make the cutest punch needle art I've ever seen, and I follow a number of punch needlers on different social medias! Can I ask how you got into it, how long it took to get where you are now with it, and how you developed your style? I noticed that your punch needle designs, even in the digital art stages, are quite different from your other illustrations, and I imagine much of that is simplifying for the medium, but the compositions are very different as well, so I was curious!

Put this under a read more bc it got a little long 🐛

I got into it like a year ago, I already wanted to try some textile art or craft, and I found about punch needle here on tumblr! I can't find the artist that triggered everything unfortunately...

I’ve worked a lot and came a long way since my first try, but I still learn a little every time I work. I think the most important part to improve is not only to keep trying but paying attention and understanding the science behind the craft, observing how all these parts interact and always noting what happens when you do this and that.

The way punch needle works is so simple that sometimes when you see someone else do it, it looks like things are just sort of "happening", it looks effortless and magical, but it does take work. Even if there are some standards, look at what you make and see where you make more mistakes, what happens when you place the loops too close together or farther apart, why does this area look so much better than the other one? That kind of stuff.

I think one of the challenges of learning this craft is that it used to be more niche and suddenly blew up in popularity recently, so there’s a lot of info that’s hard to find and other info that’s being put out there by people who are good yet relatively new to the craft (myself included I guess), so it's kinda tricky sometimes.

For finding a style, it’s as tough as finding your own way of doing anything else, when I just started I got frustrated very easily because I could not think what to make in yarn (like you said, my other art is very different and almost always includes people…). I ended up looking at tons of textile art, not only punch needle, and ended up giving a chance to animals with easy and defined silhouettes, starting with cats because they’re easy for me, and I got more comfortable from there on. I guess my style is an amalgamation of many things I like and what I find cute and funny, and I also really love playing with colors, sometimes I take too much time picking the right combination, but I think they always end up very nice so it’s worth it.

It's always a good idea to slow down and take some time to appreciate art and take in ideas. Some sources of inspiration for me are for example:

Rodney Alan Greenblat's (you may know him as the artist for parappa the rapper) wonderful paintings.

I like looking through this blog here to look at animals

I love the art of director Masaaki Yuasa

I like looking through this archive of old storybook Illustrations where you can find this sort of stuff (by Walter Crane)

(by Charles Bennet)

I love Louis Wain's cats

Jonathan Josefsson's rugs are epic

Finding stuff that inspires you is important for me, not trying to imitate but looking into other's art and why you find it appealing will reveal a lot about your own limits and unlock new aspirations.

I hope this was helpful? I'm not great at explaining this sort of stuff but I tried to put it into words. I know finding a style is complicated and a lot of people are concerned about it but it's not something easy to force and will eventually take its shape as you continue to work.

And thank you so much for the compliment 💛 💙 💜 💚

#asks

[mobiused]

Sorry to bother you but is any of this true ?? It just feels so weird bc even if the mistranslation stuff is true that doesn't excuse everything else he's

https://twitter.com/computercart/status/1443605805023047682?s=20&t=pZlPDFArrB1NaP_rBpUo7g

https://twitter.com/computercart/status/1521929267088613377?s=20&t=pZlPDFArrB1NaP_rBpUo7g

Okay this is kind of like my red flag to a bull moment because I hate that user because they are constantly defending JJ so forgive me if I go off the handle a little here. The quotes are from his blog in reference to the Lovelyz solos, and reasonably translated (you can see his disrespect of women in the on about Jiae's solo, wanting an idol 'without color' because theyre easier to mould, and disparaging sexy idols), but I don't see why his philosophy surrounding girl groups would suddenly stop after he stopped working on Lovelyz and was literally handed LOONA specifically because he wanted to direct a girl group that would serve as a vehicle for his entertainment industry philosophies. The Lovelyz solos were the foundation of the idea for LOONA, so even though those comments weren't made in reference to LOONA, I still think those comments apply to LOONA.

I think this user is intentionally misrepresenting the opinion of Orbits', something which I think they have done repeatedly before to make Orbits sound like irrational reactionary idiots. I can't confidently say where the "Jaden Jeong wanted LOONA to stay unknown" narrative came from, (and arguably there are some points that contradict the unknown aspects) but I know many people feel that BBC on the whole weren't particularly invested in LOONA's success, whether this was because LOONA was Ilgwang's money laundering project and they sent madman Jaden off to do whatever the hell he liked with the money so as to launder it quickly, or just because they're bad at management, you can't deny that the lack of social media presence, TV show appearances (ignoring MixNine, I mean as OT12), and sticking to niche, unconventional genres with difficult to digest themes, amongst other things which dampened their momentum. I don't believe Jaden to be wholly responsible for this, but I also think it's telling that OnlyOneOf is another project of his which makes absolutely zero attempt to appeal to the general public in favor of pushing a narrative and garnering critical reception over a wide audience. Nothing the user said seems to contest this analysis of Jaden's behavior and its impact on LOONA, only refute a quote which most Orbits don't even know about and is only half relevant.

Someone who spends their time dismissing the experiences and testimonies of women and girls all to defend a man with a terrible track record, even disliked by his own colleagues, isn't worth listening to in my opinion.

#i think its best to block that guy he's just genuinely nasty #like you're calling the girls a liar? hyejus mom a liar? #WHEN JADEN LITERALLY ADMITS ON THE SAME BLOG YOURE TALKING ABOUT THAT IDOL TRAINEESHIP IS CHILD ABUSE #id say rather than jaden wanted them to stay unknown i'd go with jaden didnt want them to go mainstream #which is further backed up by his refusal to cater to the general public is the reason why he was forced to leave #<- this is backed up by the interview jaden did with MTV

[kellanwrites]

The Past, The future

Short Story written by me

Word count: 737

Content Warnings: nongraphic mentions of abuse, brief mention of suicidal ideation.

She approached the unfamiliar door, and nervously took the key from her pocket. She took a deep breath, unlocked the door, paused, then opened it. To her horror she saw a room that contained nothing but mirrors. At first, she breathed a sigh of relief, only to realize these were not mirrors that showed the present.

They showed the past in all its terrifying glory. She saw in one the small child, wondering why her parents were always so sad. She saw in another the older child, barely in school, head hung low, picked on, teased. The sense of other strong, though none, not even the child itself, knew what that other was.

She saw another, the same child, the same age, head hung low at home as again she was compared to the child who could never grow up. The child they lied to, and said would live to see eleven. The child who died a week before that truth, making a mockery of them both.

She saw middle school child, bullied to the point of bruwases and pain, hiding in shadows whenever possible, clinging so tightly to the few friends she had they slipped through her fingers. Again, that same middle school child, arguing with her father, before hiding in her room, music loud to drown out the sounds. Wishing for the true family that had to be out there, surely she was adopted or stolen and one day her true family would come and rescue her from this hell.

High school, the girl saw a part of their true self showing through, the child neither male nor female, making friends and not holding so tight. She found her niche with the weirdos the nerds, the band geeks. They found what they think was love in their girlfriend, only to be told that she was disgusting to want to be with girls. The child unable to explain she was neither girl nor boy but somewhere in between. She saw the child go through her first of many abusive relationships, one ending in the loss of virginity and a miscarriage that she told no-one about. Home was not better, but worse. Constant fights with their father, slamming of doors, pulling of hairs, corporal punwashment that went beyond abuse. The longing for freedom be that from running away, or at the end of slit wrists.

She saw college, twenties, thirties, lost with only her spouse and her child as a tether. Suddenly, loss of the mother at 38, loss of the father at almost 41, and suddenly, freedom. Truth to sing to the sky. She found one last mirror, hidden in shadows, covered in cobwebs. This one shows not the past, nor the present, but the future. She was afraid to look, to see what her future held. The dead end she expected. But the forces compelled her to look and so she did.

The person looking at her didn't look like her at all, but the man he knew he was. He was smiling, happy, his wife and son, now grown, standing with him. I reached towards the mirror and he reached back, smiling. That smile said everything. To hold on, just a little while long. It seemed so out of reach, the hormone therapy, the top surgery, all of it. But of everything in the mirror, it was the tattoo on his forearm that caught my eye. It was simple, just a name, two hearts, one in the trans flag color, one in the ace flag, and under that still was a date. A date from pride of just the past year. The date that I realized and came out as who I am today.

A single tear slipped from my eye and everything vanished. All that was left was the mirror in front of me. Now simply a normal mirror, showing my present. I looked down at my bare arm where the tattoo should be. Someday, I thought, as I turned to leave. I glanced out of the room, and there was my wife, and still teenaged son. They looked at me curiously, and I shook my head. I walked out of the room and let the door close behind, now the familiar door of our old apartment, left for the last time as we packed up the last of our things in our car, and followed the moving truck to our new lives.

#amwriting #story prompt #365challenge #writeblr #lgbtq #transgender #daily writing challenge #abuse cw #cw sui ideation

[oddlyhale]

If Disney decides one day to buy all of RT assets, things ¿Would everything take a turn for the better or for the worst? ¿Could non straights ships survive? or a sixty six order be enabled to purge the heresy.

In a weird way, it feels like RT is already following some type of Disney formula, if not very poorly.

First off, they never make any of their LGBT+ ships canon, but just throwing bread at the gaggle of fans that are really buying into this "progressiveness."

Make LGBT+ merch and lie about standing with the gays when Pride month rolls around. "Time to make that dough and then go back to "normal" when the gay month is over!"

They might try and throw us a curveball by introducing a background LGBT+ couple that contributes absolutely nothing.

Kill an LGBT+-coded character and make it part of some het character's tragedy arc.

Disney might gut a lot of RT assets because many of them aren't worth anything or they cannot make anything off of some properties. (i.e. RvB.) They can't suddenly make Halo content and pretend it's not Halo, that'd be wild. I mean, while Disney and Microsoft did merge, I don't think Disney would want anything to do with RvB. Probably just let Microsoft do its thing with it.

Definitely can't do anything with Camp Camp... but you never know, it's Disney. They'd probably try to make it as quirky as Camp Lazlo or something.

RWBY may be profitable. Disney knows how to make content for kids, and kids love superpowers and bright colors. Even make it fun for adults to watch if they wanna. RWBY can make them something, though not sure if they'd like it to be a long-term thing unless it becomes a huge hit. Then again, Disney never checks if people love shows or not, as we've recently seen with TOH S3 premiering, lol...

I think Disney could make RWBY a hit in some ways. Anybody can - it's got a premise that anybody can jump into and work on.

If anything, I'd hope they'd see value in the people that work hard in the animation department. I don't think they'd do much with the voice actors - Disney has so many of them on speed dial.

And I mean, everybody knows Star Wars. Everybody, even if you've never sat and watched it, you know what it is and who the characters are. Disney can milk it until it's drier than the Sahara desert.

RWBY is niche but has the potential to become big. Sadly it's only known for its shit company. Not sure if Disney wants to work on rewriting RWBY history or just not bother.

#rwde

[deusexmachinawitch]

My small manifestation post of the day!

I manifested sweets to be brought to me and discounts on my favorite skincare products, so I had a nice skincare day while gaming. I also affirmed that my hair is soft and free from damage (I have dyed hair in an abnormal color so that means bleaching) and it worked! My hair looks amazing and I’m seeing so many positive changes in my appearance from just working on my self concept and vaunting a lot. Even a scar I had on my lip from a burn is gone!

The strangest thing is that I’m attracting a lot of people and some of them are trying to make romantic advances at me. Even a person just directly told me they wanted to take the place of my SP in everything and I was taken aback. I’m loyal to my SP and I know we love each other, so I’ll persist and not think about this guy because that would mean “lack”.

SP and I have matching plush dolls so I decided to talk to the plush I have like it’s him and try to transmit those positive thoughts to him through it. I have also suddenly saw signs related to my SP like suddenly getting recommended videos of very niche topics that SP likes in YouTube or seeing his name suddenly (which is curious because he has a very unique name).

Plus, this strict mental diet I’m doing is being so good for my mental health. I feel very strong and powerful, but hey… The Universe favors me after all and winning is the only option!

#law of assumption #manifestation #loa tumblr #affirm and persist #neville goddard #god state #loablr #loa blog #loa progress

[ourmanyadventureswithstories]

I Don't Care What Tomorrow Brings

Lexis: {Spending days in meetings was usual. May it be something with investors or if it was meeting with my managers that ran my club. It wasn’t always easy. Being in charge had it’s perks, and it’s downfalls. But I loved the club. I had worked my way through the rankings, before it was sold to me for a small fortune. I had made some changes through the years, but I still remembered the days I wore a uniform to work. I had long since gotten rid of them. I remembered the amount of harassment I received on a daily basis. Guys didn’t necessarily understand what they were asking of us girls when we were asked to dress like that. Most girls couldn’t survive longer than a week. Sure, the tips were amazing, but it made you reevaluate how you were spending your life. 

But when it came time for me to take over, I didn’t want to rush to change everything. My girls were still Bunnies. That was something that was never going to go away. But the bunny costumes were gone. My girls had a uniform they had to wear every night. Black pencil skirts were paired with white button up shirts. I didn’t object to them showing cleavage. They knew what they could handle as far as men being forward. They knew the tips were larger when they showed skin. But I never required it. I also made sure they wore comfortable shoes. Try as hard as I wanted, I still needed them in dress shoes. I didn’t mind if they were kitten heels or 6 inch stilettos. Hell, I tended to walk around the club in 6 inch stilettos on a daily basis. But I had a tendency to stand out from my girls. While they wore black and white, I was almost always in a deep red dress. Red was the devil’s color. It was a small sign of power that let the guys in the club know that I was the last person they wanted to mess with. 

The Playboy Club was different than other clubs in Las Vegas. It wasn’t about the nightlife. There wasn’t a dancefloor. There wasn’t a DJ on staff every night. I wanted it to be more quiet. I wanted there to be intimacy. But I didn’t want people yelling at each other over loud music where assumptions could be made. No, I wanted there to be a chance for people to talk and get to know each other. 

I had changed things around. I completely redesigned the club. Not only the image, but the physical club itself. It was no longer just a place to get drinks. Adding a kitchen, I opened a new world of patrons. In Vegas, most of the clubs were open for lunch. But you had to find your niche. Mine was simple. Simple foods dressed up without pushing the boundaries too far. I had to hire an entire kitchen staff, but I couldn’t help but be proud of the opportunities I was creating for the community. Suddenly, I had day shifts for the women that were mothers and wanted to be home with their kids. I had a daycare to help take care of the kids who had nowhere else to go while their mother’s were working. Hell, if I wasn’t in my office, chances were I was down at the daycare. I wanted my girls to know that I cared about them and their needs. I was always going to take care of them. I had been in their shoes. I didn’t want them struggling.

But as I finally wound day from the meetings, I took a soft breath allowing my fingers to tap out a soft beat on my legs. When I first started working at the club, I was out of control with my OCD. I couldn’t take a step without letting some multiplication table run through my head. I needed some sort of control in my life. And the compulsions took too much energy. It wasn’t something I beat. It wasn’t something I could beat. It had taken a long time for me to come to terms with that. But medication and a therapist could do wonders if you were open to the idea. And if I were honest with myself, there were days where I was open to the help, but there were still days I didn’t want to rely on anyone for what I considered to be my problem.

Chucking my blue suit in the hamper, I let myself relax in the ice blue bra and panty set that I had been wearing. The garter belt held my stockings up with tiny bowed clips. I needed to just take a second to myself before I did anything else. Meetings were generally not my favorite days. Those were the days I tended not to go back to the club. When I rarely spent time in my own home, I was almost always in the club for one reason or another. The staff liked to joke that I must have a bedroom hidden in there somewhere. They weren’t far off the mark. The wall behind my couch pulled down into a bed. But no one knew about that. And it was rare I used it.

As my phone began to ring, I debated answering it. But I knew the truth. If something happened, and I ignored it, I wasn’t what my club needed. I heard the sound of my panicked afternoon shift leader rambling into my phone about how there had been an emergency with the night manager’s kid. I scrubbed a hand over my face with a low sigh before my voice came out.} Jane, stop worrying. Don’t call anyone else in. I’ll be at the club soon. I just need to get dressed.

{I didn’t wait for a response before I ended the call and tossed the phone onto my bed. I wasn’t entirely thrilled with having to go in, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. But I wasn’t going to go in in my normal dress. There was something calling to me to wear the outfit that sat in the corner of my closet. I hadn’t pulled it out in a long time, but I knew it still fit. The OCD in me wouldn’t let me gain weight. Sure, I ate healthy, but I also worked out to keep the weight off. I let the red corset and mini skirt sit on my bed as I stared at it for a second. I grabbed the leather jacket from it’s hanger and threw that onto the bed as well. I was out of the ice blue set in a matter of seconds. I had a red thong on before throwing the miniskirt on. I debated stockings for a second, but decided to go without. I wasn’t about to fight with them to stay up. After struggling into the corset, I grabbed my jacket and was quickly out the door. It was still early enough in the day that getting through the Strip wasn’t exactly the hardest thing, but it also wasn’t exactly easy. 

I had the car parked around back of the club, and was out of the car with my bag in my hands within a matter of minutes. As soon as I was inside the doors, I knew eyes were going to be on me. Black and red 5 inch stiletto heels clicked on the floor as I made my way to my office. The bows on my shoes hung off of the top of my foot as I opened my door and dropped my leather jacket. I couldn’t begin to explain why, but there was an energy in the club. I wasn’t sure if something was off, but I knew it felt weird. It could have been me, though. I wasn’t supposed to be here. Not if my life depended on it. Picking up the phone, I dialed Ev as quickly as possible. She was one of my girls that I loved having around, and if something was wrong with the kids, I was worried. Ev never took off of work. She never called out. So for it to happen, I was shocked. After a short talk about fevers and projectile vomiting, I assured her that family always came first. She didn’t have to worry about me taking over for her for however long was needed. I remembered being in her place years ago. As it drew closer to 8, I knew my closing girls were coming in, and I made my way to their break room. The soft giggles that filled the room made me raise a brow. “Miss Alexander! We weren’t expecting you.” I laughed softly as I explained the situation with as little details as possible. My girls knew what they were responsible for. And they knew I expected nothing less than professional from them at all times.} If anyone has any problems tonight, I’ll be in my office. Please come find me. Don’t hesitate. Even if you think you can handle it, please come to me. I don’t want to put you girls in a situation that can quickly grow out of control. I’d rather deal with that myself.

Levi: -I glanced at my watch, fingers absent-mindedly drumming on the table in front of me before I moved them to swirling around the edge of the glass of bourbon. It was like Christophe to be late, however this was pushing it. When he’d called me to say he was in Vegas for the  week and wanted to see me, I was happy to visit with an old friend, but this reminded me of why we didn’t speak much anymore. He tended to be a flake, even on a good day, and Vegas had the tendency to bring out the worst in a lot of people, including Christophe. If there was one thing I hated, it was being blown off, and this was starting to feel more and more like that every moment. I was peeved to say the least. 

At least the club was beautiful and the girls who worked here more than accommodating, dressed modestly enough for Vegas though it was still quite alluring. There was something to be said for leaving a little bit to the imagination at times. I rested back in my seat, occasionally glancing at my phone to see if there was some sort of message, and there wasn’t. Draining the last of my drink, I placed the cup at the edge of the table and just fell to studying the room. I supposed if I was going to have to be here alone I may as well enjoy the scenery. People watching was at least a pastime I enjoyed. 

Most of the people who milled around the room were predictable, businessmen in suits, the occasional tourist who looked wide-eyed at their surroundings, the kind you half expected to pull out a camera and start taking photos at any moment, the girls moving back and forth from the bar and making their circuits around the room. It was quiet enough, with only the soft music pumping from the hidden speakers around the room filling in the quiet spaces in the soft murmur of the conversations of the patrons. It was different than it had been the last time I was here when the girls wore fluffy tails and ears, but that had been years ago on one of my meanderings around the world when I’d stopped in with Jorge for an evening of drinks and fun, much more subdued. I preferred it this way. 

I settled on ordering something to eat, deciding that even if my friend wasn’t coming, I was going to enjoy myself, and sent the young woman who’d come to my table asking if I needed anything else off with my order for a salad and a refill on my bourbon, and glanced around the room again when she caught my eye. She stood out in the best way, not like a sore thumb, but more like a work of art in a dentist’s office with the way she lit up what was around her. I tried not to stare, but the entire package from corset down to stillettos was more than I could take my eyes off of. I imagined I looked like one of the Neanderthals that the girls in here would do anything to avoid, and made some sort of attempt to compose myself as she made her way between the tables. I wasn’t sure what she was here, owner, manager, something else, but it was clear she belonged here, and that she commanded the room she walked through. One of the staff stopped to ask her a question, leaving her pausing a few tables down, and me distracted when the server came back with my drink, and surprised me enough to have me jumping from the shock of being spoken to-

Lexi: {The soft curse caught my ears as I jolted my head up. A few problems had sparked up, but it was all stuff that could be fixed with a soft smile and a promise of better. Pulling my girls to the back, I always got their side of the story before making a snap decision. I never corrected my girls in front of the patrons. It was why this place was as successful as it was. Ashlee was standing next to the man trembling as I walked over. I wasn’t sure what had happened, but the poor waitress looked like she had seen a ghost.} Take a breath, Ashlee. Go take a break out back. I know John’s out there right now.

{I knew which of my girls smoked and which didn’t. And as soon as the strip got busy, I had a security guard out back with them. They knew better than to go out there alone. I couldn’t risk their safety for something they felt they needed. Turning my attention to the man in front of me, I was almost stunned into silence. Blue eyes stared up at me with dark brown hair slicked back. The suit looked like it was cut to his measurements, and I was lost. I shook my head as I tried to clear away the thoughts in my head. I wasn’t sure what I was doing, but my voice cracked slightly as I started to speak. Clearing my voice, I let myself take another breath before continuing.} I hope your server did nothing to warrant the language, Sir. I’d hate to have to come to the real reason why there’s a man cursing at my girls.

{I raised a challenged brow as I watched him fidget in front of me. It was very clear from his posture that he wasn’t exactly used to being challenged. Especially not by a woman. But I didn’t have that luxury in my life. In my mid twenties, I was running a successful company. I had started working here at 18. By 21, I had taken over. And here I was at 25. Redesigning the entire place. I didn’t have the luxury to let men walk all over me. All I knew was protecting my girls. And I was always going to fight for them before I’d fight for my customers.}

Levi:  -Her voice was soft, but her tone was serious. I knew I’d surprised the girl who dropped my drink off as much as she’d surprised me, but I hadn’t expected the challenge in her voice. It was strange, but I liked it. Something about a girl who had to be at least fifteen years my junior but still had the pluck to stand up to me was quite alluring and at the same time a bit unnerving. I looked up at her, catching her green eyes as I took in a deep breath in an attempt to center myself, though I knew my accent was quite thick, as it always was when I was uncertain of myself- My apologies, Miss… -I raised an eyebrow, not sure of what to call her, pausing a moment before I continued- I was entirely at fault. I simply wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings and her arrival caught me off guard. I assure you it won’t happen again. -I paused and brushed my hair back from my forehead- Miss… Do forgive me, we’ve not been introduced and I’m not sure how I should address you. I hate to seem rude. -pushing myself up to stand with a gentle nod of the head towards the beautiful young woman in front of me as I offered her my hand- I’m Levi Marck, the man who’s so indelicately disrupted your club.

Lexis: {Taking his hand in mine, I was almost stunned stupid. I had learned to not be taken off guard. People came in and out of Las Vegas all the time, but there was something about Levi that threw me for a loop. The British accent wasn’t entirely unwelcome as I felt myself get a little light headed. Taking a breath, I tried to get myself to calm down. This was just a man in my club. A man who was quite a bit older than I was. And a man. For most of my life, I had classified myself as lesbian. Guys didn’t do it for me. I couldn’t figure it out. But I was fine with it. My jaw popped open as I slowly started to realize that everything about this man was calling to me. I cleared my throat as I shook his hand before letting go. My hand tucked behind my back as I slowly tapped against the boning in my corset. There was no way I was going to let myself have a panic attack, but I wasn’t entirely comfortable succumbing to the OCD, either} Lexis Alexander. I wouldn’t exactly say you disrupted my club. It’s just my job to know what’s going on at all times. If I didn’t have some sort of idea, I shouldn’t be owner. {Tucking a strand of blond hair behind my ear, I gave a soft laugh before looking to the chair. The table seemed to be set for two, but with only one person present, the scenarios started to run through my head. But again, I needed to remember that this was a patron. I had no right to get territorial over him. I didn’t know if he was married, had five kids, or liked to wear women’s underwear on the weekends while calling his lover Daddy. Okay, that was a lie. I knew the last part wasn’t true. There was something about him that screamed Dominant. It was what it was. There wasn’t much I could say. Adults did what they wanted to do. As long as consent was given, who was I to tell anyone what they could and couldn’t do in the privacy of their own bedrooms.} Just don’t scare my waitresses. They work hard to be professional. The last thing I need is hell being raised because she doesn’t know what she’s doing.

Levi: -I saw her sideways glance at the empty seat across from me, the table setting unoccupied, and I could see the gears turning. I didn’t owe this woman any kind of explanation, but something in me wanted to explain to her anyway. She didn’t know me, but I could sense her taking me in just as I had a few moments before when I startled both myself and the waitress. She was anything but one of the submissives that frequented the club. Self-possessed and aware, and clearly in her element in the club, the center of her world here. I had to admit it was highly attractive, and everything about me wanted to know more about her- Again, you have my apologies. I’ll do my very best not to frighten them again. -chuckling softly at myself- It appears I’ve been stood up this evening. My friend was in town for the week and appears to have forgotten about me. -returning to my seat with a gentle nod- It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Alexander. It is Miss, isn’t it? -raising an eyebrow in my probably very evident attempt to make sure I wasn’t attempting to flirt with a married woman- 

Lexis:  {I felt the smile creep up my lips as Levi asked if I was a Miss. My words were almost disbelieving as I felt my hand fall away from the back of my top.} It’s been Miss Alexander since the day I stepped into the club. The day I donned a pair of baby blue bunny ears and a fluffy cottontail, Mr. Marck. I’ve worked in this club since the day it opened. I was Miss Alexander 8 years ago, I’m still Miss Alexander today. If it’s company you want, I can have one of my girls come over and spend some time with you. I don’t like gentlemen like you not having company, Mr. Marck. Assuming there isn’t a Mrs. Marck nearby. When there are wives or girlfriends, things tend to get a little sticky. Shall I send someone to keep you company, Mr. Marck? {I arched a brow with a smirk. I wasn’t going to actually send one of my girls over for anything more than conversation. I wasn’t stupid. I didn’t run a brothel. And none of my girls had to do anything that made them uncomfortable. Although, I doubt any one of them would be uncomfortable with spending some time with Mr. Marck. His English accent melted everything around me like butter and made me want to be the girl he wanted to spend time with. But I knew better. Guys like him were never interested in girls like me. Doms were not well equipped to handle someone like me. I was too brassy. I pushed too many limits with them. And I refused to bow to their whims.} Is there anything else you could possibly need, Sir? {The smile that tugged at my lips was the indicator to let him know that I knew what he was. I knew the company he kept. I knew where he spent his nights. I could feel my green eyes sparkle with mischief as I waited for a response.}

Levi: -Catching her meaning almost immediately, the glint in her jade green eyes bringing a smirk to my face as I learned back in my chair. I liked the spark in her, along with the attitude. It was a bit counter intuitive perhaps. Most doms preferred the company of a natural submissive, quiet and acquiescing to their whims. However, I enjoyed the presence of someone more lively.- Mrs. Marck is my mother. -my laugh deep as I study her expression- No wives or girlfriends to worry about. No boyfriends either. -grinning wickedly up at her as I sip from my glass, never letting my eyes leave hers- And as for company, I'm sure your girls are quite lovely, but I'll manage on my own, unless you're free to join me. -I wasn't making these hints too subtle at all, but perhaps subtlety wasn't always called for. No one could accuse me of giving her the chance to miss my meaning, and I wouldn't have blamed her for throwing my own drink back in my face and kicking me out of her club. Though, I didn't think she would, something about the look in her eye told me she was as intrigued as I was.- And you'll have to pardon me if I'm being a little too forward.  

Lexis: {I felt myself relax as I nodded my head. It was still relatively early, but I knew I was alone. I could fix that in a manner of minutes if I wanted to. All I had to do was walk back to my office and make a quick call. A call to have another keyholder come in for the night. Someone I trusted to shut my club down and make sure the deposit was in my office at daybreak.} If you’ll give me one second, Mr. Marck. I need to handle one thing, then you can have my company for as long as you’d like.

{I wasn’t normally this forward. With anyone. I never put the club second to my own whims, either. But this was different. And I knew each of the staff would absolutely encourage me to spend more time away from here. Even if it was for the night. As soon as I was in my office, I had the receiver pressed to my ears as I dialed the familiar number. It wasn’t a number I used too terribly often, but I knew I could trust her when I was in a pinch. In a matter of seconds, it was settled that Laurie would be in to cover the club. The redhead had been a friend of mine when the club first opened. After a few nights, she couldn’t handle it. But once I had taken over, she had been more than willing to help out when I needed it. She only lived a few miles out, and knew the quickest ways to be here.

As I made my way back to the table, I had to think about what I was doing. This wasn’t who I was. I wasn’t the girl that dropped everything for a guy just because he asked her to. I didn’t just let English accents turn me into a pile of jelly. I didn’t give in to the pleasures around me. But as I entered the club again, I let out a soft sigh as I noticed Levi was still sitting at his table. Making a quick stop in the kitchen, I explained to the chef what I needed done. It wasn’t that I was a picky eater, sometimes the OCD got to be too much. Mal had been with me every step of the way for the journey of adding the restaurant. He knew what I wanted and why I needed it. I knew the questions would come as soon as dinner was brought to the table, but it was something I needed done. I made one more stop before going back to the table. The gentle girl that had been serving Mr. Marck was still a little timid as I watched her interactions with the rest of her tables. I wasn’t sure what it was about the man I was about to dine with that set her off into a pile of uncertainty, but I wanted her to know that neither of us looked down on her. I nodded my head at the silent question in her eyes before I rejoined the table. Taking a breath, I felt my lips curve into a natural smile before settling into my seat.} So tell me, Mr. Marck. How long have you been in Las Vegas?

Levi: -I was frankly quite shocked that she’d agreed to have dinner with me, but I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. When she walked away, I settled into my seat with a grin seemingly permanently plastered on my face, fingers toying with the silverware and the glass of bourbon in front of me, lost in my thoughts until she joined me again, moving into the seat across from me with a practiced ease, the smile on her face genuine and matching my own. Her question was innocuous enough, simple conversation that any two adults meeting for the first time would have. I knew it was necessary, but something in me wanted something a lot deeper, to delve into the workings of the mind across the white tablecloth from  me and see what made her tick. I knew the preliminaries were important to me not coming off like a lunatic, however, and caught her eyes with mine once she was in place- Please, feel free to call me, Levi. No need to stand on formality here. I’ve lived here about a year now, give or take, and in Spain for a little over two years before that. How about you, Miss Alexander? How long have you been in Vegas? -bringing the glass to my lips to hide the half smirk I couldn’t help spreading across my lips.-

Lexis: {Before I could stop it, my fingers were moving to adjust the silverware on the table. I was nervous. I could feel it. It was why I had to make sure everything was perfectly straight. I was tempted to move him to the table I had in the back corner. No one could see us, but I could see everyone. It was set exactly how I wanted, and needed, it to be set. But as I tried to steady my hands, I felt a sense of calm wash over me. I wasn’t sure how to talk about my past. I wasn’t sure how to let people in. It was why I always ended up alone.} I’ve lived in Nevada my entire life, Levi. And if I’m calling you by your first name, please call me Lexis. Or Lex even. Not Miss Alexander. Like I said, I grew up in Nevada. On my 18th birthday, I was set free by the great state we live in. I came right here. Started working here as soon as the door opened. I’ve been here ever since.

{I watched with a smile as Ashlee brought out Levi’s salad and my steak. It was precut into tiny squares. Picking up the fork, I pressed the rightmost prong against each piece as I softly counted under my breath. 24 pieces which fell into my rule of threes. Then it was back to pressing the fork gently against each piece three times before I could even think about looking at the rest of the plate. I felt my free hand start to tremble with the knowledge that the man across from me could see every action I had. I was going to be lucky if he asked me to stay.}

Levi: -I started doing the math in my head as my eyes followed her fingers, watching them adjust each piece of flatware on the table into its perfect spot just before the server brought out both our plates, sliding them into place in front of us. She’d told me she worked here for seven years, and just now that she came here just after her eighteenth birthday, which left her as twenty-five by my count. Twenty-five and already the owner of a successful club, after what couldn’t have been an easy childhood from the way she spoke about it. Her movements were rhythmic and measured as she moved her fork around the plate. I just observed, slightly fascinated before I could formulate my reply, sliding my fork into the mixed green lettuce in front of me and spearing a few leaves without being able to take my eyes off hers- So, you own a business at 25. Well Miss… -stopping myself in mid-sentence before I address her formally again- Lexis. That’s impressive to say the least. And I’m assuming you don’t make it a habit to have dinner with random patrons at your club, so I’m going to consider it an honor to have the pleasure of your company for the night. -bringing my fork to my lips, still a little lost in trying to figure out the woman across the table from me. She was beautiful. There would never be any way to deny that, but I had seen my share of beautiful women. They began to lose their luster without something to back it up, and there were depths behind her green eyes that I wanted to plumb now more than ever.-

Lexis: {I let my eyes focus on the meal in front of me. After I was settled with the meat, I felt like I could finally turn my attention to the vegetables and the man in front of me. The potatoes were mashed, so there was no work to be done there. But I felt my fingers start to twitch as I quickly counted the mushrooms on my plate. 29. Two more than my rule of three. Or one less, depending on how you looked at it. Either way, it was a prime number and still fell in my most anxious circle. It was one of the things I had never been able to handle. I couldn’t let this show as I sorted them all into piles of three. The lone pile of two was more bothersome than I had expected, but I had to answer Levi. I couldn’t just leave him to wonder what was going through my head.} I’ve owned my own business for about two years, Levi. My boss was ready to move on to other ventures. I was the only person left from when the club opened. He knew he could trust me. So, for a small goddamn fortune, I bought this place. I changed some things to make my girls a little more comfortable, but kept touches of what I learned from him. I love this place. It’s my home away from home. 

Levi: -I listened to her speak, eyes following her movements as I noted the way she divided things on her plate carefully before speaking, though her words easily distracted me from the motion of her fork. Twenty-three was more impressive than twenty-five and there was a depth behind her eyes and her words that held me captivated. I needed to know more about this young woman, and a million questions swirled in my mind. She could have been sitting there talking about her favorite recipe for cocktail sauce and I would have still been fascinated. I ate my salad slowly, pondering over the story she told, and realizing that I’d told her next to nothing about myself- I do believe at 23 I was running away from my responsibilities while I backpacked around Europe and Asia. Let’s see… -leaving my fork on the plate as I ran one hand over my chin thinking- That year I would have been in Germany. Though maybe that’s the year I turned 24. Things do get a bit fuzzy when I try to remember back that far. -It struck me that I was a good deal older than my dinner guest, and I must have been boring have a 40 year old man for company.- Forgive me, Lexis. I must be terribly boring. 

Lexis: {I felt my cheeks redden as Levi brought up travelling when he was my age. I was hooked, but then the almost shy smile he gave as he realized my age was something I hadn’t been expecting. I knew I wasn’t like other people my age. Most people wanted to hold on to whatever childlike qualities they could while they ventured into adulthood. I was the exact opposite. I was done with not being responsible. I needed to take control of my life, it wasn’t even the OCD talking.} I was in the system since I was born, Levi. I bounced between foster homes and group homes for all of my childhood. I didn’t have the opportunities to dream about travelling. I could only dream about being on my own. So the day I turned 18, I was working on figuring out how to make a life for myself. I fell into the club. Someone took a chance on me. From then, I’ve been trying to not rely on anyone. I help my girls in every way that I can. From the moment they are hired, they have full benefits for themselves and their children. For the moms that can’t find anyone to take care of their kids? I have a daycare free of charge. As a matter of fact, when I’m not in my office or taking meals with older gentlemen that want the company, I’m usually playing with the kids. Things are simpler for them. They fascinate me much more than adults do on a regular basis.

Levi: -I used my fork to pick lightly at my food, still taking polite bites and listening carefully as Lexis replied, though I was no longer fully invested in eating, if I ever had been since she began talking. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. She’d been breathtaking to look at from across the room, dressed like something out of one of my dreams, but when she spoke the feeling and intelligence behind it all outshone the exterior easily. I had to admit to myself that I wanted to know more about her, not just her story, but the thoughts that swirled behind her eyes and the things that made her herself. I couldn’t stop the smile that spread over my cheeks as she spoke about the children- I don’t have much occasion to spend any time around children. I don’t have any of my own, and I was an only child so no nieces or nephews to spoil. I’m not sure if they fascinate me or not, to be honest. -I thought for a moment processing over what she’d said and taking in what I could of her life, trying to wrap my thoughts around it. It was no lie I knew I’d led a privileged life for pretty much all of my existence.- So do you spend a lot of your time in your office or would you rather join old men who want company for dinner? -chuckling softly with a gently arched eyebrow as I chance catching her gaze for a reply- 

Lexis: {I could only laugh as I thought about my answer. I actually wasn’t a fan of hanging around with strange men. Older men were rare. I was very much hands off with the floor of my club. I wanted my staff to know that I trusted them to run things. I was only there to make sure there was no trouble. There were rare occasions when I was working the floor.} I usually hide in my office. I trust my girls with running the floor. If there is a problem that can’t be handled by anyone but me, then I’ll step out of my office. You actually caught me on a strange day. My closing manager had a family emergency. I stepped in after spending all days in meetings. It’s rare you find me here after I’ve been playing the game of kissing everyone’s ass. {I laughed softly and looked down at my plate. I felt myself take a breath and release it slowly as I finally got the courage to spear the two mushrooms. I wasn’t entirely thrilled with it, but I needed to stop thinking about everything going on around me. I needed to not focus on how at ease I was with the man in front of me. I needed to go back to worrying about everything.} How are you enjoying the club, Mr. Marck? I’m always curious as to how people see it.

Levi: -my plate sat forgotten in front of me, the food far less interesting to me than the conversation and the company. When she asked me about the club, I looked around for the first time since she'd joined me, taking it back into my notice once again. I'd had plenty of time to observe while I was waiting in vain for Christophe, but I'd been distracted when my eyes set on Lexis- it's quite lovely, much like it's owner. -chuckling softly as I push my plate to one side, leaning closer to my companion, fingers drumming lightly across the white tablecloth- It's evident how much work you've put into it. I wasn't lying when I said I was quite impressed, both with the club and with the company. I'm glad you broke your normal protocol at least for the evening. -I wanted to touch her though I knew it was far from polite or appropriate. My fingers almost itched for the contact, to be honest. I couldn't quite explain the draw to myself. She was as gorgeous, but it wasn't that, so much more than that. Like a siren song, she pulled me in and I thought that it would be  a pleasure to drown in her eyes-

Lexis: {I gave Ash another smile as she came through to take the plates. They had long since been forgotten as the conversation picked up. I felt my cheeks warm almost immediately as Levi complimented the club. There were a million questions on my tongue, but I didn’t know where to start. I felt myself shift in my seat as I looked down at the white table cloth. I wasn’t sure what I was doing here. I didn’t know why I was sitting with the man across from me. I knew he was so far out of my league that I was confused. I felt the strands of blonde shake as I tried to clear my head again. Thinking the way that I was was only going to get me a panic attack. And I needed to open my mouth to get any questions answered.} I know you were supposed to be meeting an associate of yours, Mr. Marck. But why come to my club? There are a thousand other places that are probably a better choice. What makes my little spot so special?

Levi: -I heard her use the formal version of my name once again, and it brought a soft chuckle to my lips. I usually didn’t mind Mr. Marck, but I wanted her to use my first name for some reason, for her to be comfortable enough with me to use it. I pondered over her question for a moment- Well, I’d been here once before, years ago, the first time I visited Vegas with this particular friend, and we thought we’d come back for old time’s sake I suppose, though it appears I’m far more nostalgic than he seems to be. Either that, or he’s lost in a casino with a cocktail in hand. That sounds like something Christophe would get himself up to. -chuckling softly- I like the changes to the club, though. It’s quite improved, as much as I did enjoy it before. -I felt like the two of us had been dancing around the elephant in the room for quite sometime, since she sat down in fact. The questions were there lurking behind everything that she said, though unspoken- I know you’re wondering why I asked you to join me, and you’ll once again have to forgive me for being so forward, Lexis. But, I found you absolutely intoxicating, and that was before I ever heard you speak a single word. Now, to avoid sounding like a shallow bastard, when you spoke, I was pretty much done for. -chuckling softly, as I try to find her gaze and gauge her reaction to my words- And I was hoping that, you’d give me the pleasure of having your company again in the future. 

Lexis: {I couldn’t help the soft laugh that slipped through my lips as Levi mentioned being here before. Chances were he had seen me. There hadn’t been any time I spent away from this club. I never left to find another job. I never worked two different jobs. I was here on my days off, even when I was just a bunny. I cared about this place more than almost anyone.} I would be shocked if you hadn’t seen me in a bunny costumes if you came here back then. When Boss owned the place, we all wore bunny costumes. {I bit my lip softly as I spoke of the old owner but shook my head to clear it.} I let the girls dress up in the costume for Halloween. Or if there’s a special occasion. It’s rare that we dress up, but we still do it. I’ll have to pull out the blue bunny suit to jog your memory, Levi. {I was avoiding his last statement. He wanted to spend time with me, and I wasn’t entirely sure how to handle it. That was still something that I wasn’t ever sure how to handle. I felt myself look up at the man across from me through my lashes as the words slipped through my lips.} Why not just continue the night, Levi? Who said we had to end the night right here?

Levi: -raising an eyebrow at her reply. I’d been being polite, giving Lexis the opportunity to graciously excuse herself, but it seemed she wanted to spend time with me as much as I wanted to with her. I could feel the grin, spreading like warm melted butter across my cheeks when she looked up at me through hooded eyes.- I might just have to take you up on that offer, both of them actually. No one said the night needed to end. It’s still fairly early for Vegas, even if I am an old man. -letting out a soft chuckle- And I wouldn’t at all mind seeing you in a blue bunny costume any time you get the notion. But you have to promise me one thing if we’re going to make a night of it. -putting on a serious face as I looked across the table to her expectant face- You have /got/ to quit calling me Mr. Marck. I’m already nearly old enough to be your father, and that doesn’t do anything to make me feel less like I belong in a lecture hall in front of a class of people your age. -my serious expression breaking as I laughed again- So, did you have anything specific in mind, or shall we wander around and see what kind of trouble Sin City has in store? 

Lexis: {I felt my jaw drop open as Levi mentioned his age. I knew he was a bit older than me. It didn’t exactly matter. But there was something about him saying it. I couldn’t help the soft laugh that slipped from my lips as I shook my head slightly} Mr. Marck comes out because it’s polite, Levi. Respectfully, I should be calling you Mr. Marck at all times. Hell, even Sir seems like it should come out of my lips. But you’re very right. I should call you Levi. Or husband. I could call you husband. We’re in Las Vegas, Levi. We could absolutely run away and get married. {I felt my face harden into the serious boss face I wore with the girls. I wanted to see how he handled this. There were times in my life when I could just let loose and relax. I was more playful, but I still held an air of maturity. But when I was relaxed enough, I could joke around. Right now, I was feeling relaxed. And it was a feeling I hadn’t felt in years.} What do you say, Levi? Do you want to run away and get married to a neurotic club owner?

Levi: -raising a single eyebrow as Lexis’s expression change. I couldn’t tell if she was serious or joking in that moment, but it intrigued me to say the least- Ah, well, do you want to ask that question to a grad school drop out who’s currently living on his inheritance? -chuckling as I lean forward- I promise you I’ve never done much of anything that one could call precisely responsible, Lexis. Getting married in Vegas would just add to that list, and if my partner in crime is as lovely and intelligent is you, I could get into some real trouble here. -bringing my glass to my lips to drain the last of it in a single swallow.- I’ll leave the plans for the night up to you then, Lexi. -I’d shortened her name without thinking about it, not knowing how she felt about the more diminutive form of her name, but hoping it didn’t put her off- I’m sure we can figure something out. -chuckling as I lock eyes with my companion. I was feeling more than a little reckless and right now she was just feeding into my mood- 

Lexis: {I thought about it for a second before I nodded my head. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen tomorrow. I didn’t know what was going to happen three weeks from now. What I did know was that I didn’t take chances in life. Giving the man across from me a smile, I stood from the table. He was up almost as soon as I was and I could only blush as I looked down to the table.} Let me grab my coat and purse, Levi. Then we’ll take a chance on each other. That is, if you’re willing to take a chance on me.

{I didn’t give him a chance to respond as I walked back to my office. I had put on a brave face in front of him, but I was a nervous fucking wreck. As soon as the door was shut, I was leaning against the wood as I tried to keep myself from having a panic attack. It was something I had been holding off for a while. I could feel my hands start to tremble as I took a minute to just collect myself. I felt my eyes close as I let my head rest against the wood. I felt my fingers ticking off multiples of three without having to think twice about it. Taking another breath, I moved back to my full height and grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair. I stared down at it for a second before I tossed it back on the chair and just pulled my bag from its place in my desk drawer. Taking one last look around my office, I made my way back out to Levi who was standing where I left him with an almost puzzled look on his face. My lips curved into a grin as I let out a gentle laugh.} Well, Levi. Are you ready to make your Lexi your wife?

Levi: -I was waiting on her when she returned from her trip to her office, buttoning the twin buttons on my coat below the lapels just as she greeted me with a soft laugh. I reminded myself that I needed to see if I could make her laugh more often as I offered her my arm. I was nervous, though I refused to let it show, especially in front of her. This was another adventure in the many I’d had since I decided to let myself live for myself, part of doing things my own way instead of always what was expected of me. If I’d wanted to take the safe path, I would be doing exactly what my father had done and his father before him and be standing in front of a lecture hall of college students dressed in a tweed jacket with a pair of horn-rimmed glasses on. I’m pretty sure I could have passed for my father’s brother in that uniform. But here I was with a beautiful, much younger woman, who was probably out of my league no matter how much she seemed to think she wasn’t off to do something foolish and get married on a whim. And why not? Hopefully it would turn out to be something better than I could have ever imagined- I was born ready, Lexi. I suppose you’re going to have to get used to me calling you Mrs. Marck if you’re going to continue on that Mr. Marck nonsense. -chuckling softly as I lead her out towards the front door of the club. -

Lexis: {I pressed myself close to Levi as we started the walk down the strip. I wasn’t too concerned about leaving my car at the club. It wouldn’t get stolen and if I was really that scared, I’d have someone take it home. I had a spare key in my office. I wasn’t sure what I was doing. I didn’t ever just take a chance. I always weighed my options. I made the best possible decision I could if I had all the information. This wasn’t something I could do in this situation. This was something I was just doing. Hell, I barely knew Levi’s last name. Marck. I didn’t know how old he was. I knew he was older than me. He could have been in his 60’s. I doubted it. I didn’t think he was that old. He definitely didn’t look that old. I took a breath as I looked to the man next to me. We were standing just outside of a chapel. It wasn’t fancy or tacky, it was just there. It was something I had to get the courage to do. But turning my full attention to the decision I was about to make, I knew that this was where I was supposed to be. Standing with this man. Throwing caution to the wind. Getting married.} #IDontCareWhatTomorrowBrings

[smurphyse]

Loki is dating a young woman who is a fantastic cook and one day he realizes his pants are a tad tight. He’s gained some weight but doesn’t have the heart to stop eating her wonderful food

Southern Belle

Word Count: 1691 words

Tags: body issues (not like anything too triggering, I don’t think), mentions of sex

I always love feedback, but like, please be nice lol

Send me more Loki prompts! <3 I love doing oneshots!

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“Here we go,” she sing-songed, carrying a large baking dish over to the table, the little hand-painted ladybugs that decorated it’s sides seeming just as excited as she.

Loki sat patiently, smiling at her as she set it down on the blue checkered tablecloth next to a tub of ice cream. She set down a few brightly colored plates, all painted with various bugs and flowers, decorated by her own hand- which were still stained with paint, he noticed fondly. 

“Peach cobbler,” she grinned, shaking her shoulders in excitement, “Just like Mamaw used to make!”

She watched him closely as he took his first bite, giggling when his eyebrows knitted together in bliss. Fuck, everything she made seemed to come from Valhalla.

His girl, his Southern Belle. The two had been dating for only a few months, ever since Loki had come to San Francisco during his travels. She had been poking around an art fair, her long curls pulled up into two pigtails as she pulled out pieces to observe.

She’d been wearing a pair of dirt smeared overalls, detailed with little butterflies and flowers, obviously hand-embroidered. They were rolled up at the ankles, her neon Converse forcing his eye to her like a shining beacon in the night. 

He’d been drawn to her, like a moth to the flame, unable to control himself as he pushed past the crowds to meet her. As he came face-to-face with her she glanced up at him and flashed him a megawatt smile. He’d been speechless, utterly besotted. 

“Can I help you, darlin’? You look lost,” she drawled, and it took a moment for the Allspeak to translate her thick Southern accent. 

“I think I’ve just been found, actually,” he chuckled, finally finding his voice. 

Her smile seemed to grow brighter, the little crinkles around her eyes deepening as she flushed deeply. 

Loki had offered her a coffee, and she took it. He’d been living in bliss ever since.

She’d come to San Francisco to be an artist, picking up little commissions here and there, working in various galleries and zipping from place to place to help out her fellow creators. She was constantly buzzing around, full of excitement and energy about the whole world around her, ready to take it on day by day.

She gave Loki courage, made him see the little details of this Odin-forsaken planet that he had mostly overlooked. He loathed to admit it, but she had made him love Earth, so long as she was on it. 

One day he would take her to Asgard, and he would watch as she painted the skies in her excitement and ecstasy. His world would be born anew in his eyes, just from the little things she would point out, things he’d never seen. 

They found time for one another whenever they could. Loki had kept himself busy working in various art fairs, finding himself a good organizer for such events. One activity that they had found pulled them together, besides the lovely rapture that was their sex, was cooking. Loki had taken it up when he arrived on Earth, mostly enjoying food closer to Asgard’s cuisines. She was from the South, whatever that meant Loki was not sure, but she insisted it meant all things ‘comfort food’. 

And comfort it gave. She’d shown him Tennessee Barbeque, ‘Pop Pop’s Soaked Ribs’, a bunch of things having to do with cottage cheese, and of course, desserts. 

He was settling down. Norns, if Thor could see him now. He’d likely have a joke or two to make of his unattached, emotionally distant brother finding love in such a creature as her. 

Loki could hear her now, singing some country song in the shower, her deep twang echoing off the tiles and through her small apartment. 

He was getting ready for the day, pulling on a deep green undershirt as he stood in his boxers. He pulled a pair of black slacks out of his little designated area of the closet and pulled them up.

As he buttoned them, he noticed they felt a bit tighter than the last time he’d worn them a few weeks ago. They had one of her art events to go to for lunch, and he’d been wearing jeans mostly when he was working at the fairs. 

Turning, Loki checked out his ass in the mirror. He still looked fabulous if he had to say, but his pants were tighter. 

Could this be a trick? Had Thor tracked him down and performed some spell to throw Loki off his game? It certainly would not be the first time something similar had happened. 

He lifted the shirt, turning to the side as he patted his tummy, his finger pinching along his sides as he sighed heavily. He stepped closer to the mirror, pressing the back of his hand under his chin. His mouth dropped open in shock, and he glared at his reflection.

He’d gained weight.

“I wouldn’t have nothin’ if I didn’t have you,” she sang as she walked back into the bedroom in a fluffy pink towel. She came up behind him and wrapped her hands around his waist, giving him a squeeze as she placed a kiss between his shoulders.

“Hey, handsome.”

Loki scoffed, feeling quite uncomfortable suddenly. She frowned against his back, her hands squeezing his sides lightly, his love handles.

He pulled away from her with a groan, the air feeling heavy around him. He turned to look at her, her lip set in a pout on her concerned face.

“I’m not feeling very handsome today, kitten.”

“Oh,” her frown set deeper for a moment, but was quickly replaced by a mischievous smile, “Is there something I can do to make you feel handsome?”

She tucked her lip between her teeth as she sauntered back up to him, placing her hands on his chest. He smiled down at her, his heart bursting in his chest. 

Loki dipped his head, catching her lips with his own. Her hands tangled into his hair as her towel fell away, and Loki took the opportunity to lift her into his arms and carry her over to the bed.

“I think I have something in mind,” he grinned, pulling her under the covers as she giggled from his touch. 

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

They arrived at the event a little late. The only craft she was not talented in was the art of makeup, but luckily Loki was, and they’d had to spend a few extra minutes covering up some of the hickeys someone had left on her neck and chest.

They were at some vegan restaurant in town that doubled as an art studio. Loki would never understand it, all these hybrid businesses were too niche, they’d have a hard time lasting in this market. But, she liked going and supporting other artists and friends, enjoyed having her art displayed on the walls of local businesses, and who was he to deny her that fun?

The little buffet table was filled with all sorts of leafy greens and vegetables of all colors. It was a vibrant exhibit, accentuated greatly by her art that complimented the bright green and orange paint job of the establishment.

“How come you don’t make food like this?” he asked, waving a blackbean taquito toward her as she gazed at another artist’s work.

“I make vegetables all the time,” she shrugged, snagging the taquito out of his hand and taking a bite.

“You make vegetables with Crisco, which I believe is just butter and animal fat mixed together.”

“I thought you liked my food, honey,” her big eyes clouded with worry, and his chest crumbled in an instant. 

“Oh, my sweet,” Loki sighed, snaking one of his hands around her waist, the other moving to cup her chin, “I do, it’s just-”

“Just what? You’ve been acting weird all day, Loki. What’s going on?”

He felt the heat creep across his cheeks, embarrassment flooding his every vein as he looked down at her. He hated feeling like this, vulnerable, but he wanted to be honest with her, to invest in this relationship.

“I’ve gained some weight recently… and I think it’s from your cooking.”

Her eyes widened in shock, “I haven’t noticed.”

His head cocked to the side, his lips pursing in disbelief. She noticed everything, from the ants on the sidewalk to the stars in the sky, she saw it all. 

“Loki, if you want me to make healthier meals, I’m more than willing. You just seemed to like my comfort recipes so much, and I wanted to make you things you liked,” she wrapped her arms around his waist, tugging his hips tightly against hers. “I have lots of recipes in my book, darlin’.”

“I do love your cooking. I guess I just feel a little… insecure right now,” he admitted, his face starting to cramp from the blazing blush across his nose.

“I really didn’t notice anything, but,” her hands dragged back to his belly, patting it softly as she stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. “Now that you mention it, I do like the little bit of cushion I’m feelin’.”

“Wow,” he chuckled, kissing her again. He covered her hands with his, giving them a soft squeeze of thanks. 

Suddenly, he had an idea. He leaned in and whispered hotly against her ear, “Think you can help me work some of it off?”

“Oh,” she feigned innocence, her southern drawl coming out in full force, “what kind of exercises do you have in mind?”

“The kind that includes me, you, and a locked bathroom door fifteen feet away,” Loki smirked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. 

“Oh, I’m gonna be so sore in the mornin’,” she laughed as Loki dragged her to the other end of the restaurant, admiring his ass in his trousers unabashedly. 

Loki pulled her into the bathroom, locking the door behind them as he lifted her onto the sink. She grinned at him, her eyes full of light as he looked at her lovingly.

His girl, his Southern Belle.

His favorite thing to eat.

#Loki #loki series #loki oneshot #loki x oc #loki x reader #if you squint #make it about you #idc #smurphyse #loki fanfic #fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki friggason

[bigskydreaming]

If you were editor of Nightwing's book ever since at least the start of Rebirth to today and you were given free reign, what would your story mandates?

Oh no, this is dangerous. LOL. Hmm, I have no idea what to shoot for here, so I'll try to keep it to ten. That's reasonable right? Ten is good. Yeah. Is fine.

Okay, so, in no particular order:

1) Let Dick be competent 101. None of this him having to play hype man for every other character to pop up in HIS title bullshit. Nope. That's not what they're there for. He's the lead man, LET HIM BE THE LEADING MAN. Like sure, everyone has their areas of expertise, he doesn't need or have to be the best at everything, blah blah blah.....but its about the nuance. All of that is kinda lip service because the thing is, you don't go into MOST comic books and NEED to be reminded of that because the lead characters of those books are all constantly getting saved or shown up or chastised by every guest star in their books, you know? This is a very weird, very niche phenomenon very specific to Dick's character, and I'm super over it. I'm here to read about the guy who has literally been doing this longer than most superheroes twice his age. The guy who's been doing this since before he hit double digits. The born acrobat. The destined ultimate warrior or whatever of Gotham's Ornithological Society Of Murder and Pretentiousness. Gimme that guy. And that guy doesn't need to be 'humbled' every other page, because the thing is, he's not some egomaniac to begin with so the everpresent need to humble him doesn't actually come off as humbling! It just comes off as pandering and not even to actual fans of the actual character, so its like.....wyd DC.

2) Let other people take responsibility for their own crap with Dick rather than always just expecting a mea culpa from him. I'm so unbelievably tired of the words I'm sorry from Dick. I love personal accountability, so I never thought I'd have to say this about a character, but enoooooough. They have made it completely in character for this dude to apologize to everyone ELSE for being brainwashed, getting amnesia, being KILLED, like.....the amount of things he's groveled for forgiveness for when he didn't actually do a damn thing wrong or worse yet, was the ACTUAL victim of is like....pretty damn staggering. And meanwhile, there's nary a peep of apology from the people who regularly insult or belittle him, get physically violent with him, take advantage of him or take him for granted, etc, etc, etc. Its entirely too one-sided and imbalanced, and the pendulum needs to swing the other direction, like YESTERDAY, and in a fairly big way, IMO.

3) None of this Baby's First Social Justice Awakening 101 crap. I'm sorry, but no. Especially not when you go out of your way to acknowledge that Dick is Romani, only to then turn around and act like he's only JUST had his eyes opened to an awareness of like, classism and poverty and the real struggles people face day to day? Sorry not sorry, but especially for other white writers out there, do not use people of color as self-inserts for dipping a toe into Learning To See Past Privilege. And especially when talking about a character who has a history of being actively abused and hurt by the system and institutions of power, or hell, even leaving out that particular origin story, who has still been out on the streets helping people since he was a literal child. You can not tell me that this is his first face to face experience with social issues, or the first time he's had the inclination to try and address those head on. (And its also particularly egregious that the people second-guessing Dick in his own title and giving him reality checks or acting like they have more of an awareness of all this than he does like, happen to all be white? OPTICS. LEARN ABOUT THEM. COMMON SENSE. GET SOME.)

Know what would actually be a better way to approach this? Flashbacks. Show us Dick running into situations that make him think back to a case when he was still Robin, when he and Batman had started fighting over their approaches to things, actually SHOW us those conflicts and how their viewpoints had started diverging, and how much of that was due to Dick not having the same experiences as Bruce, or the same standing in society, no matter what house he lived in. THEN you can jump BACK to the present, with the reminder/awareness that this is something that isn't NEWS to Dick, but that he in the past felt he was forced to make his peace with as something he wasn't in a position to do that much about....only NOW, he's in a very DIFFERENT position, and suddenly it just hits him how he's still acting like he did when he was limited in resources or in having to be part of a chain in command or having to factor other responsibilities into things....now he ACTUALLY has the power and the resources to make meaningful change in the ways he ALWAYS wanted to, but maybe just needed time to figure out HOW.

Like you know what would have made Shawn Tsang's story arc so much better? If Dick didn't just remember her as the Pigeon's one time teenage sidekick he'd briefly fought as a kid, but like.....if he remembered her as someone he and Bruce had FOUGHT about. Because he didn't agree with sending someone to juvie for defacing public property as a form of political protest, when it was someone's LIFE who was going to be irrevocably damaged by that while the damage to the city could be fixed with a check, and what made Dick any more deserving of Bruce's leniency and faith in his potential or underlying goodness than Shawn?

But he was still a kid himself back then, and when Bruce responded with his usual conviction, talking about the importance about rule of law and etc etc, Dick just didn't have the words to get through to him then, to get him to understand that this wasn't just Dick not getting it because he was too young, it was BRUCE not getting it, that Dick was literally just saying well he wasn't too young to have been in juvie himself, and of the two of them, he's the one who has experience there so why was Bruce's opinion on whether this was the punishment that fit the crime the one that got to hold more weight here? When Dick's the one who knows what that punishment actually LOOKS like beyond the abstract, for whom it was a reality that still haunts him in ways that even defacing a few statues of some rich old fucks doesn't deserve?

Or hell, go back FURTHER than when he was Robin. Idk where any of those posts are, but I've always wanted to see something where Dick maybe runs into someone he remembers from his time in juvie, maybe a guard who is like, the source of the reasons Dick mistrusts figures of authority and is so hung up on independence and not being under anyone's thumb, or maybe someone who was in there with him, another kid who looked out for him when he didn't have to, etc. Gimme Dick tackling head-on his firsthand awareness that there's no rehabilitation to be found in a jail for kids, when most of those kids don't even need rehabilitation in the first place and only did what they did in order to survive or escape from worse situations or like, were there purely because of racist cops, etc. Let him go after THAT system, driven by personal experiences and memories that maybe only hit him in full after recovering his memories from the Ric Grayson arc, like they're things that he put in a box in his mind a long, long time ago because he didn't have the spoons or reserves to deal with them when he was a kid still so traumatized in so many ways, like, something had to give and so he put all those memories away for another day and just....never got back to them because life kept hitting him with new and fresh trauma every week.

But now something has him thinking back to those early days in Gotham, and reminding him that not everyone had a Bruce Wayne willing and able to give them an out from that place or acrobatic skills to escape it on their own, and like. You want to do something about the cycles of violence in Gotham and Bludhaven? Why not start with the places that literally MANUFACTURE cruelty on an institutional level, that teach kids that no matter what they did to get put there, even if that was nothing at all, they're all going to be treated the same way and given no reason NOT to do whatever it took to be top dog in a dog eat dog world by the time they got out.

There's SO many better approaches to social awareness in the Batbooks than what we're seeing, and like. Sheesh. The bar is way too low.

4) On a related note, if I'm editor of the Nightwing book, the FIRST thing I'm doing is making it a priority to find a writer of color for that book, ideally someone of Rom descent. Its waaaaay past time to let a Romani writer take the reins on Dick, Wanda, Pietro or Doom, aka some of the only prominent Romani characters out there? You can't tell me that there aren't talented writers who identify as Roma who would be more than willing to add their perspective to Dick's archive of narratives, and if an editor's gotta go looking for them? Go fucking look. DC and its fans have milked a lot of mileage out of the idea of Dick being Romani with very little in the way of nuanced storytelling to show for it in the past twenty years, and if DC wants to trot out little reminders that Dick is Romani every couple years, like in the form of a freaking line that has no follow up or expansion to any degree and is offset by an internal monologue that otherwise reads as incredibly privileged, the least they can do is TRY to expand on that with the narrative perspective of someone they claim to be representing via that character.

And no, this isn't gatekeeping, this is prioritizing. Its not about preventing other writers from writing this character, like just for the hell of it, its about being proactive about finding a writer who can write specific aspects of this character that have long gone unaddressed or poorly represented. And like. Okay. Its not easy breaking into the comics industry for anyone, but its particularly not easy for marginalized writers. Most every major comic book company just recites 'make your own stuff first and then show us that' but when you're a writer specifically, finding a compatible artist to partner with on creator-owned indie stuff first, when those artists are in the same position as you are and apologetically and understandably tend to have to take paying work over yours if you can't pay except on the back end, like....there are a lot of hurdles to getting your start in comic books, and while there are more and more marginalized writers in comics these days, DC and Marvel kinda fucked up, because you know what?

After being told 'make your own first, then we'll talk,' writers DID do just that....but then found out that well, due to the ease of online distribution and access these days, for any writers who CAN find an artist to partner with, its a hell of a lot easier to get their content out there these days WITHOUT a major publisher behind them.....and for a lot of marginalized writers in particular, its worth it to keep full creative control in exchange for smaller circulation. Especially when they don't have to deal with editors 'softening' their work to make it more palatable for audiences that quite frankly aren't necessarily their primary target. So yeah, marginalized voices are becoming more and more present in comics, but Marvel and DC for the most part are keeping the same voices centered they always have, and what these voices have to say is becoming less and less relevant and outdated. Because much like this arc from Taylor, even when they DO dip their toes into story matter that's of interest to wider audiences, they're doing so to a degree that still puts them years behind the conversations everyone else is having.

5) The same holds true of disability representation. I stopped reading Taylor's run for a lot of reasons but his way of responding to people unhappy with his depiction of Babs was a key one. If I'm editor on a book, and someone tweets at one of my writers that their depiction of a disabled character was hurtful because it feels like they're doubling back on everything Babs has ever said about not being defined by or ashamed of her disability and now its being treated like a dirty little secret, and that writer's response is essentially to just laugh at them and say there's nothing wrong or ableist about their writing of a disabled person, TO a concerned disabled person? That writer's ass is getting fired. Full stop.

Either you give a shit about this stuff or you don't. Don't pay your readers lip service about how important social issues are to you and how much you care about using superhero narratives to inspire people on these matters if you're gonna turn around and show your ass the second you don't feel comfortable and prioritized by the conversation, like it wouldn't exist without your oh so valuable contributions. ESPECIALLY if you don't identify as sharing the same identity of the marginalized character you're writing. You are a guest in someone else's lived experiences at that point, and you think you've got the right to belittle and talk down to the people who LIVE THERE? Fuck off, my dude.

6) Re-center Dick as someone who the superhero community RESPECTS. I love seeing Dick depicted as someone who has an awareness of his own limitations and an appreciation for what others bring to the table, and so I'm not opposed to him calling on others when he needs to.....but I also would like to see more of the opposite. But not in the way we usually see it these days, where he's asked to come help with a crisis and then usually second-guessed the whole way, and then sent back home without so much as a thank you when its done. Yawn. Sorry. I've read that story by now.

You know what story arc I freaking LOVED as a kid, back in the 90s? In Green Lantern, when Kyle Rayner first became the sole GL, one of his very early arcs, before he ever joined the JLA or anything....was him realizing how little he knew about being a superhero. He was like, my predecessors all had a full fledged CORPS to teach them everything they needed to know, but I had a few lines of exposition from a funny little blue guy in a red pillowcase and then I was off to the races. That's not good enough. There's so much I don't know about being a hero, I don't even KNOW what I still need to know.

So he went on kinda a superhero training roadtrip. He went to Metropolis to ask Superman for advice, he went to Batman to learn from Batman and Robin (Tim at the time). He went to Wonder Woman, Sentinel (Alan Scott, the first Green Lantern), etc, etc. And in the end, Kyle very much became his own kind of hero who wasn't just a pastiche of all those other heroes and the advice they gave him, but like....this put him on the road to that.

And I'd love to see something like that happen in Dick's solo title. We've seen him train in a team setting, we've seen him train the other Robins.....I'd love to see like, young superheroes from OTHER books, not ones created by the title, but like names people actually recognize from other franchises, like, guest star in Nightwing's book to learn from HIM, specifically. I wanna see something where Wally looks at the latest speedster and is like, you know what, if you really wanna be the best hero you can possibly be, then Nightwing's who you gotta go to, because there's no one I trust to make a better hero out of someone than him. I want the newest kid on the JLA block to worry that people aren't taking him seriously because of his age or experience, and he's always hearing them talk about Nightwing and how young he was when he started and so if anyone knows something about how to gain the respect of your older superhero peers, that's the guy to talk to.

Gimme Dick's couch being crashed on at various times by a half dozen new or upcoming young superheroes who all heard or figured out that if they really want to up their superhero game, Nightwing's the guy to see.

7) Bring back Bea. There's no long paragraph expansion on this, its really simply. Bring back Bea. She was one of the freshest breaths of air in Dick's supporting cast in ages, most of the current run is based off her character direction in the first place, she's literally the best suited TO help Dick in this venture, and the reasons they gave for writing her out of Dick's life were all bullshit and they just wanted to focus on his previous relationships, which would be fine if they didn't fall into the same two endless cycles of bring back up, go nowhere with, awkwardly avoid each other for years, rinse and repeat. Like. Bring back Bea, please and thank you, the end.

8) Focus on new villains. Heartless is meh, but the idea of new villains is still better IMO than rehashing Blockbuster, Zucco, etc. Like, nostaglia ain't it. If I want to read Blockbuster fucking up Dick's life, I can do that. They're called back issues. The thing is, love it or hate it, the Blockbuster arc WAS iconic. It left its mark. And anything that doesn't leave just as much of a mark, if they're going to bring him up again, is just gonna be a waste of time, you know? It'll just dilute his overall presence when like, what he was - worked fine as is. We don't need Round Two.

The trick to good villains, IMO, is they have to speak to a fight that needs fighting.

What I mean by that is....the best villains are those who resonate on a more instinctive level because they embody something that already exists in a reader's mind as a conflict that needs fighting. Like, if superheroes exist, if the embodiment of larger than life presences and forces devoted to protecting the world from various things are real....then their villains need to embody the kinds of fights or conflicts that NEED larger than life figures to combat them, at least on a one to one level.

Look at Superman and Lex Luthor. Superman at his core embodies the strength of community. He's the ultimate hero of the people, his essence is that he was the last survivor of a doomed race who was raised by two honest, hard working people to see the beauty in just being ONE of them, in using what he had on behalf of all of them and not just himself. In contrast, Lex Luthor is basically the embodiment of capitalist greed, of excess, of the entitlement of being able to have anything with a snap of your fingers and thus assuming that gives you divine mandate to make the kinds of choices that he sees as only his right to make.

He hates Superman, ultimately, because Superman is the WRONG savior of the people. He wants their only savior to be HIM, half the time he honestly believes he's saving the world FROM Superman, but just as often he's perfectly content to be the villain and not shy about it....because Lex Luthor's ultimate motivation is he wants everyone to know when he's dead and gone that LEX LUTHOR WAS HERE. He genuinely doesn't care WHAT his impact or legacy is at the end of the day, just that it exists and it overshadows most everything else...because all that really matters to him is the irrefutable proof that HE mattered. And thus at their cores, Superman and Lex are perfectly opposed. Ideally situated to eternally be in conflict, their own forever war, because their core natures are incompatible. They CAN'T compromise, without compromising themselves and essentially ending up as someone totally other than who and what they are already.

And you can go down the list. The Joker is the chaos to Batman's order, while Mr. Freeze is the stagnancy of that order taken too far, he's what you get when you freeze everything in your grief and refuse to let anything go on, anything new grow, because that would mean having to admit once and for all that what you're mourning is really gone. Two-Face is the ultimate embodiment of Man vs Self, a once good man at war with his own worse nature, and reminding everyone who looks at him how easily they could fall to the same fate.

And so on and so on. What Dick needs, is more of the same. Like, as much as I'm not a huge fan of Talon stories, I maintain that the Court of Owls were a great foil for him - just they tend to be poorly used in canon as well. But I also think how poorly they come off in canon has a lot to do with canon not really touching on WHY they're such a perfect foil for Dick....and that's Dick's history with being outside the system, mistreated and even exploited by the system. Because the Court, their core concept, is they ARE the system. They are entrenched, enfranchised, institutional power, passed down through generations, dynastic control that is a perfect counterpart to the dynastic power of the Wayne family, embodied in its youngest generation in the form of Bruce's FOUND family, the children he adopted regardless of whether or not his peers found them deserving of that honor. The Court, and their entire....thing...about the Gray Son, is the entitled fury of those denied something they deem theirs simply because they WANT it, and who will burn the whole world down rather than admit defeat or let someone else have it instead.

And that resonates. It could resonate a lot MORE if DC would actually lean into those concepts and allow Dick to explore how the Court are nothing he's not used to, they're literally made up of the same people who have looked down on him ever since he came to Gotham, but now they're actually a face and a name put to all those attitudes, something he can literally FIGHT BACK AGAINST. The Court are literally human-sized embodiments of everything and everyone who's tried to confine Dick since his parents' deaths, tried to define him without his permission, tried to make him other or lesser than who and what he is.....and who thus now exist in a form that Dick can literally BATTLE. So that he doesn't HAVE to just take this stuff lying down.

Thanks to the Court, he doesn't HAVE to just passively accept it, that this is just how life is, that some people are going to view him this way and think this about him and there's nothing he can do about it. He CAN do something about it, in superhero stories. He can kick its ASS, in the form of the Court of Owls and everything its members think about him and intend for him. He can refuse to bow down to them, to accept their mark on him. He can say lol, no, and then blow their shit sky high, ideally with a little help from his family. He can BEAT them, in this incarnated form, and in doing so, even though he can't beat everything they stand for and represent, that victory still matters, still means something symbolic to readers it resonates with.

And that's what we need more of. Villains created specifically to embody concepts that are diametrically opposed to Dick and what he represents. The system, yes, but also villains who embody the kind of tyranny and control he fights back against in his constant battles for autonomy and self control. Villains who embody the 'new hopes' of a second generation just like Dick himself is the focal point of the hopes embodied by the second generation of heroes. I'm actually not the hugest fan of multiversal constant Dick Grayson, but I might like it more if he had an opposite number there, someone he was specifically contrasted with. Idk.

But you get it.

9) Dick having a social life. Gimme the Titans and his siblings showing up JUST to show up. We have room enough for at least a couple pages every other issue where we just get to see these characters having some breathing room, taking a beat to stop and be something other than just a superhero, to be human as well. There's more to life than 24/7 fighting, even for them, and that's largely been lost in modern superhero comics, which kinda sucks, because that was what made most of the more iconic and lasting dynamics between various characters like, STAND the test of time. The larger than life battles between good and evil might be what many of us come to superhero comics FOR, but the relatable back-and-forths and ups and downs of their private lives spent with friends and family tends to be what keeps most of us coming BACK. And lately its all just mission, mission, mission, and I'm like blah, blah, blah and its like, meh, meh, meh. Y'know? Give the guy some down time, and let his friends come spend it with him.

10) Boone. This is purely self-indulgent, but if you know anything about me, you know my obsession with Robin: Year One, Dick's brief time at Vengeance Academy, and the hate/hate relationship he has with his brief frenemy from that period, Boone aka Shrike. This character has SOOOOO much potential to be Dick's true archnemesis and rival, and like. *Sobs* I can't get into it all again. Its too much. I can't do it.

Okay, I absolutely can. And will, probably. But like. Later.

BONUS ROUND:

Other thing I would absolutely insist upon if I were Nightwing editor....

GET THAT FUCKING MEME SHIRT ABOUT BRUCE SLAPPING DICK THE FUCK OUTTA HERE.

Like. Seriously. WHAT THE HELL. Why would you double down on THAT? Why is Babs STILL wearing it? (Last I checked, like I think I saw it in a scan from last issue? I'm pretty sure its still there? If not, forget this entire rant, and I am very embarrassed. Okay not that embarrassed. I don't really care if I'm wrong here but like, in case I'm not)...

WHY. Who thought that was funny? No, seriously, on behalf of any other abuse survivors who like me are SERIOUSLY not amused, who the FUCK thinks its FUNNY to have one of Dick's best friends sporting a shirt that no matter what it represents IN universe, to readers OUT of universe, is always going to call to mind the fact that this meme only freaking EXISTS because of all the times DC has obliviously and without acknowledgment written Bruce abusing his children, including the BFF that Babs is literally wearing that right in front of.

Like omg do you hate her, DC? What other possible reason could you have for thinking that would be a cute, funny thing for her to wear around the guy getting SLAPPED, by his DAD, in your shirt's iconography.

Okay I'm done.

LOL.

Sorry, that last one was brewing for awhile. Deep breaths. Woo.

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

Accidental Feminist Icon

Between my own headcanon Barba becomes a very niche viral celebrity for being a mix of feminist icon giving one liners on the news and handsome/well dressed and the DJ Khaled post, this happened. 

“Counsellor, are you listening?” Olivia asked as Rafael Barba looked at his phone again. It had been months now since he started trying Manhattan SVU’s cases, and she hadn’t seen him this distracted before. 

“I just- why do I have rapid fire Twitter notifications? Over one hundred and fifty?”

“You have Twitter?” He rolled his eyes, not proud of the admission. But he liked to follow politics and music and satire. His colleagues would have discourse on legal proceedings and theory. But when he opened his notifications, the sea of professional headshots making up the icons in his notifications window were replaced by cartoon avatars and selfies. Handles like @Bradley_GreedADA were replaced with @feministkilljxy. 

What was happening?

Why were there GIFs of him now?

“Rafael?” He was snapped back to attention by Olivia’s hand passing over his phone screen, and he shook his head, holding the screen out to her. “What am I looking at?”

“Why have a couple hundred- are these all teenagers?”

“Are they following you? Or tagging you?”

“Both?” He scrolled through the mentions.

“Both.” A questioning look.

“Have I gone viral?” he asked herr, eyes wide and his tone disgusted. Twitter was where he posted law books, nice dinners out, homemade dinners in, and the nicer scotch he drank. Sometimes even pictures of himself; some of his friends enjoyed fashion as well, and their twitters all had a heavy thread of their suspenders and ties. Suddenly, he was having photos he’d posted to flaunt his ability to mix patterns retweeted in appreciation of something more than the color scheme.

“I think you have. What have you said now?”

“The girl whose tweet I keep getting tagged in mentioned Jocelyn Paley and the Adam Caine case.”

“That was seven months ago.”

“I’m very aware. I have to get to the office. I’ll get you that warrant.”

He continued to scroll as he walked, alarmed by the number of followers he was gaining and going to open a direct message from a friend to see a wall of messages from names he didn’t know. Once he was able to find Bradley’s message, he saw it was series of tweets with videos and GIFs of him on the courthouse steps. They were all from the same case, he assumed the Adam Caine case. He clicked the video of he and Rita Calhoun.

All I can say, today's Grand Jury indictment is the first step towards achieving justice for Jocelyn Paley. 

The DA's office is desperately trying to distract from their recent scandal with a high-profile case. 

Don't give me that--whether you're a john in the South Bronx or a $3-million-a-year talk show host, no means no. 

 He could remember the exchange now, and it had apparently been retweeted thousands of times. Cameras always made him determined to distract, determined to drive home a point. And now, he was seeing some group of teenagers had clung on to his words, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about becoming recognized enough by that demographic to warrant this rapidly increasing follower count. 

“Carmen, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Mr. Barba. Need coffee?”

“No,” he said plainly, shaking his head and showing her his feed. “Is this normal?”

“They found you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Haven’t you seen the posts?”

“I don’t branch out on Twitter often.”

“I see it mostly, like, on Instagram with captions and people post clips of you on vine.”

“What’s vine?”

“A six second video app. Teenagers and young women post you. Vine is normally comedy. But people are obsessed with you. Niche, but sizable number. I think it’s mostly New York girls who see you on the news. But that means the vines went viral a couple months ago.”

“So now they’re all following me on Twitter?”

“You’re viral for being attractive, dressing well, and prosecuting rapists. Embrace it.”

“I can’t post my clothes anymore.”

“Just continue like usual. Don’t respond to DMs.”

He spent a few weeks terrified of this new following, but after three days, things calmed down. The number of followers he gained was weird and confusing to him, and he decided to listen to Carmen ultimately, keeping the profile the same and pretending nothing had happened. She did stop him one day, showing him that there had been people making fake accounts, yet another thing that was insane to him. She primarily told him because these accounts were attempting to take advantage of the fact young girls were the ones following him. He awkwardly slid the handles to Olivia, and Carmen filled out an application for Twitter verification that left him mortified. Even worse, it was approved. 

He was swept away in a case soon enough. Lindsay was assaulted by a whole fraternity at Hudson. They uncovered a previous victim in a hospital, a fraternity known for being a rape factory, and a dean helping create a culture that buried these attacks. It was becoming higher profile than he expected, and it wasn’t easy to try. He’d had to shut off his notifications on his phone during these cases. When Lindsay committed suicide, he accompanied Rollins when she went to arrest the dean. What he didn’t expect was for two of the women they saw to approach him, asking if they were here about Lindsay and thanking them when he said he couldn’t mention it. Then they asked for a selfie. Rafael was mortified but obliged. 

“We recognize you from Twitter.”

Well, now he knew he needn’t accompany the squad out anymore.

When he got tweets from the kind of scum that supported the fraternity, it took a concerted effort not to respond. That could jeopardized the case. He’d already had to tell the two girls they couldn’t post about him being there. He tweeted a disclaimer for if people saw him out, feeling like an asshole. Twitter was now becoming a liability, but he could balance it and refused to give up the feed. Slowly, the GIFs and stills of him on the news were collected, and he only got embarrassed again when mami’s students had discovered him and realized he was the guy in their principal’s pictures. Now Mami had a Twitter, and she followed people who praised him joyfully, though he’d managed to convince her not to interact in private messages or respond to people insulting him. 

The Jenna Miller case caused another leap in his follower count, and he had developed a little sense of pride instead of embarrassment when his followers jumped from people who mattered in New York to people who mattered elsewhere. A congresswoman from Ohio. Artists. Activists. He’d texted Olivia when Lady Gaga followed him. Plus that woman from True Blood. God, she was beautiful. Plus the hot boybander that had probably made him realize he was bisexual. It was weird, and he was unwilling to publicly acknowledge any of it. Unless they were on twitter, he certainly didn’t tell anyone he knew other than Olivia. Soon enough, someone had made a t-shirt on Etsy of the moment he’d turned on his heel. The media had called after Jenna, the olympian, and he’d told them no questions. Then the had the gall to bring up her sex work. He’d stopped on the steps, turning on his heel and announcing “Except for that one. Paid or not paid, no means no. Consent can be revoked at any time.” And now, Etsy users were profiting on it. This group was niche, but it ran deep. Luckily, he noticed the shop only had a few dozen sales.

Everything was fine until Rafael Barba lost his ability to maintain his composure. Up until now, he’d monitored his name, mentions, and a few hashtags people used with him. It was usually just the GIFs and stills and soundbites. He participated in some banter after the first couple of years, boundaries firm enough he felt he could. But he still didn’t bicker. Carmen said he got a following for being a good guy, and he thought it was gross openly condemning rape seemed to be all it took to be a good guy. But then through his lurking, Rafael Barba saw a tweet about DJ Khaled. He’d had to google who the hell that was, unsure who all of Twitter was piling onto, but he found the tweet objectionable enough to respond.

“Mr. Barba,” Carmen said, eyes sparkling with amusement as she came in to see her boss still scrolling through his phone. “You really decided this is the time to get involved on Twitter? You only ever respond to what people say to your stuff or your friends.”

He should’ve known she’d be on top of it. He’d given her access when notifications went through the roof the second time, and Carmen helped filter through DMs he didn’t want to see. But now, that meant her phone was vibrating like his in response to his first tweet in response to a stranger or someone who wasn’t in a thread under his own post.

“What? I’m supposed to endorse consent but not enjoyment?”

“You’re going to end up in a Buzzfeed article, sir.”

“If this is my legacy, so be it.”

“Your legacy? Taking it seriously now?”

“This is serious.”

Carmen’s phone buzzed in her hand, and she knew he’d sent another tweet. Her own account got notifications so she could monitor him. She sighed heavily, unlocking the phone and looking at it. 

“Mr. Barba, does your mom know you’re bi?”

“No, why?”

“She follows you, idiot.”

“Shit. Well, I suppose it’s time.”

“If you tweet Smash Mouth, I’m quitting. These kids are already thirst tweeting you. They must have tweet notifications on for you.”

“Who’s Smash Mouth?”

“How the hell are you culturally relevant?”

“According to Liv, I’m a feminist icon.”

“Don’t get arrogant sir. I help run this twitter.”

“I’ll change the password. I do all the posting.”

“I won’t tell you if Evan Rachel Wood slides in your DMs.”

“Why would I care?”

“I know why you watched True Blood.”

“Touche.” He paused. “Do you think she will?”

“Give me the phone. I’ll bring it when Liv calls.”

“Why would she call?”

“She made a Twitter, sir. Followed you last week.”

“Shit,” he said, eyes wide. “I posted pictures of my food. She saw me acting like a Twitter guy.”

“You are a Twitter guy.”

He rolled his eyes, ending with a retweet of his new favorite addition to the conversation. 

@mia-liz @chasingeverybreakingwave @thegirlwiththemaleficient-tattoo​ @teachingpanda​

#rafael barba #rafael Barba x reader #rafael barba x oc

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

mock the meat it feeds on

For the prompt: could you do geraskier "Don't you trust me?" / "You're not the one I don't trust..." with jaskier being jealous over/worried about triss? (in the books+games she does some manipulative stuff to be with geralt.)

I’ve only ever seen the show so I wasn’t too sure about the shady stuff regarding Triss and couldn’t find a simple explanation of it when I tried to look it up so I kinda took a different route because I really like show Triss so hopefully you still like it! Also on ao3!

And I’m gonna tag @roughentumble again!

In all the years that Jaskier has known Geralt, since that very first day in Posada, he's never known him to tolerate cities well, let alone actually enjoy them, which is why his sudden affinity for Novigrad is so vexing. Well, that and the reason for his newfound affinity.

Her name is Triss Merigold. She's a sorceress, of course, because Geralt apparently has a type and much to Jaskier's disappointment it's decidedly not talkative bards, and Jaskier trusts her about as much as he trusts a rabid dog.

The first time Jaskier meets her, he and Geralt are in Novigrad to replenish Geralt's dwindling supply of herbs and elixirs after a string of back-to-back contracts along the northern Redanian coast. They're searching for an apothecary, Geralt in the same foul mood he always slips into when they're forced into larger cities for whatever reason, his enhanced senses easily overwhelmed by all the sights and sounds and smells of the city, making him incredibly susceptible to sensory overload and the consequent migraines that followed.

Jaskier's done his best over the years to accommodate for Geralt's sensitivity, content with either avoiding large cities altogether when traveling with Geralt or taking it upon himself to venture into busy marketplaces or meet with aldermen while Geralt waited on the outskirts of the city. But buying food or delivering severed monster heads to aldermen was a far cry from collecting the necessary ingredients Geralt needed.

Geralt himself was a walking encyclopedia of flowers and herbs needed for his potions, but Jaskier only possessed a rudimentary understanding of them, garnered from explanations Geralt had supplied when Jaskier had sufficiently wheedled him enough for a herbology lesson. Making the potions used by witchers was a precise science; one wrong ingredient or combination of such could result in a potion meant to staunch bleeding instead thinning the blood and preventing clotting or an elixir meant to heal instead being little more than poison.

And Jaskier would rather Geralt not die because he confused puffball and sewant mushrooms.

With no other option and Geralt's supplies running dangerously low, too low for him to risk even thinking about taking another contract, Geralt's reluctantly accompanied Jaskier into Novigrad.

They initially avoid the main marketplace in favor of backstreets and narrow alleyways in search of a more niche apothecary, hedge witches or homeopaths selling their wares out of their small homes. But after finding three small-scale herbalists' inventory severely lacking, they're forced to head to Hierarch Square in the heart of the city where the crowds are busiest.

They're scanning the overwhelmingly busy Square with its many shops and storefronts and throngs of swarming shoppers for a larger apothecary when they stumble onto Triss.

She's standing outside of a three-story house right on the Square, dressed in resplendent orange robes the color of fresh tiger lilies and, unsurprisingly, marigolds. The color, and the bright midmorning sunshine, brings out the bronze and auburn notes in her thick brown hair and highlights the brilliant sage green of her eyes, even at a distance.

She's watering a row of plants in a red brick planter that Jaskier immediately recognizes as healing herbs, yarrow and nettle and chamomile, milk thistle and Echinacea. Affixed just above the door to the home she's standing in front of is a large sign advertising her expertise as a sorceress, specifically one specializing in healing magic.

Jaskier's torn quite evenly between relief at finding someone who should have all the herbs Geralt requires and immediate distrust. Neither of them have very good track records in regards to sorceresses. They tend to want nothing more than to bed Geralt and get him wrapped around their little finger and tend to despise Jaskier solely for the fact that he exists.

If Jaskier didn't know better he'd say they were jealous, his friendship with Geralt always outliving the witcher's whirlwind affairs with his sorceresses. But Jaskier does know better and it wouldn't do to believe such a foolish notion, to think that Geralt truly wanted him more than he did any of his past lovers.

Now, Jaskier bites the inside of his cheek, weighing their options, or rather the lack thereof, when he notices Geralt noticing the sorceress, his eyes lighting up with recognition. Without any further warning, he strides through the crowd of busy shoppers with Roach in tow to greet the sorceress with one of his rare half-smiles.

She returns Geralt's smile with a radiant one of her own and him into a quick hug, leaning up to peck him on the cheek. Jaskier can only watch dumbly, feeling like a knife has just been plunged into his heart, reopening old wounds along the way.

After a moment, Jaskier hurries after Geralt, weaving in between people who don't seem to acknowledge his existence, stomping on his toes and elbowing him in the ribs as he rushes over to Geralt. Triss greets Jaskier with a wide smile, more polite than he expects her to be as she introduces herself when Geralt fails to bother with proper introductions, leaning in to give Jaskier a hug of his own.

Brushing a few of her curls behind her ear, she invites them in for tea and quite generously offers to help replenish their supplies as much as she possibly can. They sit in her drawing room that's fragrant with sage and neroli, full of dried herbs and various crystals displayed on a shelf above the large fireplace, sipping the orange blossom tea she pours them in delicate porcelain teacups while she and Geralt catch up.

Jaskier listens attentively as Triss explains how they'd first met in Temeria, about the striga and the witcher who fell victim to it before Geralt had arrived, about King Foltest's scandalous affair with his sister, about how she had soon after left Temeria in favor of setting up shop in Novigrad. She's much friendlier than Jaskier is used to sorceresses being, smiling warmly as they talk and laughing when Jaskier jokes about Geralt being much more tight-lipped when Jaskier had asked him for the story about the striga.

After they've finished chatting, Geralt lists off the various herbs and other ingredients they're in search of at Triss' request. With a radiant smile directed at Geralt, Triss rises from her seat and starts bustling around the room, gathering herbs and flowers and small glass jars to store them in, leaving Jaskier and Geralt to finish their tea.

She's across the room with her back to them, standing at a work table scattered with potted herbs, meticulously gathering leaves and petals, when Geralt suddenly stands and crosses the room to stand beside her, leaving Jaskier alone at the table with Triss' cat, a giant fluffy orange beast of a feline with a smushed face that bats at his hand whenever he tries to pet it. Jaskier watches with a sinking feeling in his stomach as Geralt leans in close to Triss to say something to her that has her blushing and giggling as she turns to playfully swat at Geralt's arm, their faces intimately close.

Jaskier forces himself to look away as they continue talking softly amongst themselves, his honeyed tea suddenly bitter on his tongue. The knife in his chest twists.

Triss sends them on their way an hour or so later after providing them with everything they need, declining any sort of payment when Geralt reaches for his coin purse. With a gentle hand on Geralt's shoulder, orange painted nails a sharp contrast to the black of his armor, inviting them to visit her again the next time they're in Novigrad. Jaskier selfishly hopes they need never again enter the city.

✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾

Quite predictably, Jaskier’s hopes are cruelly dashed and not two months later they're returning to Novigrad to collect a bounty for a fleder that had been terrorizing an old cemetery not far from the city proper. As they approach the city gates, Jaskier offers to take the proof to the local alderman, hoping to spare Geralt the inevitable migraine, but Geralt just grunts something about having another errand to run.

They head to Hierarch Square immediately after seeing the alderman, Geralt's pockets heavy with coin as he leads them directly to Triss' home. It really is a lovely him, a pale cream color with dark wood timbering and a steeply pitched brown clay roof. It's a shame Jaskier despises the mere sight of it.

Triss greets them at the front door with a smile, the warm afternoon sunshine on her face highlighting the scattering of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. She's enchanting in a sage green dress that matches the shade of her eyes, yellow and orange marigolds embroidered along the hem and modest neckline.

She invites them in much to Geralt's visible pleasure but Jaskier politely begs off, lying about needing to pop into Books and Scrolls across the way for a few things and ignoring the look Geralt gives him at the obvious lie. If he truly did need anything from the bookshop, he would have mentioned it to Geralt, something he and Geralt both know but it's the first excuse that springs to mind aside from being brutally honest and explaining that he has no interest in watching them flirt again.

He does actually head across the Square to wander aimlessly through Books and Scrolls in hopes of distracting himself from thoughts of what Geralt and Triss could be currently doing now that they had no audience. He chats with the proprietor for a bit, then indulges himself and purchases a few inexpensive chapbooks of poetry and a new leather-bound songbook, the pages gilded and the top right corner of every page stamped with the image of a charming little nightingale, a familiar symbol to a poet like himself. By the time he returns to where Roach is waiting outside of Triss', Geralt and Triss are still inside.

He scratches Roach behind the ear the way she likes and feeds her a carrot he's been saving in one of his bags for her, sits on the edge of one of Triss' planters and halfheartedly strums his lute, figures he might as well try to make some coin while Geralt's...preoccupied.

He's made enough coin to afford a nice room at the Kingfisher by the time Geralt emerges from Triss' home, a small self-satisfied grin on his face. It's a shame, really. Typically Jaskier would be basking in the rare sight of Geralt smiling but at this moment it just sets his heart plummeting.

Jaskier would like nothing more than to leave Novigrad as soon as possible but it's growing dark and he'd like to indulge in some creature comforts only an inn of fine repute in a large city can offer, rich wine and a large tub and feather mattresses. Geralt doesn't argue, either in too good of a mood from his dalliance or simply because he enjoys said comforts just as much as Jaskier does, leading the way to the nearby inn while Jaskier forces enough enthusiasm to prattle on about how it was one of his own ballads that led to the particular naming of the Kingfisher.

He performs the very song that evening at Olivier, the innkeeper's, request, stealing surreptitious glances at Geralt in the dark corner he's claimed as his own for the evening as he sings of an unrequited love so painful and all-consuming that when the young maiden learned that the knight she so adored had eloped with a gorgeous princess, she threw herself into the sea. It was only the compassion of a sympathetic goddess that saved her from her fate, turning her into a kingfisher so she could sing of her lost love forevermore.

Jaskier thinks of the nearby harbor, with its fishing ships and sailors, and wonders what kind of bird he'd become if he threw himself to the mercy of the sea.

✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾

To Jaskier's disdain, the pattern continues for the next several months.

Any time that they're even remotely close to Novigrad, they make a detour to the city, booking a discounted room at the Kingfisher (the rate generously halved by Olivier who gives Jaskier his drinks for free and always insists he grace them with a performance or two of his ballad about the kingfisher) that Geralt scarcely uses, constantly at Triss' home.

Jaskier splits his time at the Kingfisher, catching up with Olivier or performing with Priscilla, or the Passiflora, baring his heart and soul to the Marquise Serenity's sympathetic working girls who always coo over him and let him wax poetic about the brave, stoic, unfairly handsome witcher who will never return his affection. In the evenings, when Geralt deigns to return to the inn, always smiling the smile of a well-fucked man, Jaskier forces conversation while Geralt plays Gwent with Olivier or other patrons of the inn.

But most of all, he aches.

It's harder, somehow, with Triss. With Yennefer, while just as powerful and ever-present, the jealousy he felt was accompanied by the fact that he simply disliked Yennefer altogether, even before she and Geralt started their weird, complicated, fucked up relationship.

It wasn't difficult to dislike her when she had threatened him, held him at knifepoint, demanded he make a damn wish at the risk of losing his manhood if he refused. She would've easily killed him in her pursuit of the djinn and never lost a wink of sleep over it, disliked him just as much as he disliked her.

But Triss, Triss is sweet and kind, unassuming and about as intimidating as a kitten regardless of the powerful magic she wields. She smiles warmly whenever she sees Jaskier, greeting him with offers of tea and sweetcakes or questions about how he is rather than with snide comments about his age or appearance or his singing.

She's altogether lovely, nurturing and generous and absolutely gorgeous. Someone Geralt deserves. And Jaskier hates it. Hates her, as petty and vindictive as it may be. Hates her kindness and her gentleness and her warm melodic laughter. Hates that the man he loves seems to love her.

He hates her. But not nearly as much as he hates himself.

✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾

Not a full month has passed since the last time they've graced the streets of Novigrad and here they are once again back in the city after hearing word of a siren that's wandered into the busy harbor to prey on merchants from Skellige and local fishermen alike.

Accustomed to sirens hunting in packs, the way fish swim in schools and seabirds scavenge in flocks, Geralt had finished the contract in record time, lugging the siren's head and tail from the harbor to the alderman's home to collect his payment. By now Jaskier knows that it's useless to waste time hoping that they can simply leave Novigrad now that's Geralt job is done.

So when Geralt abruptly announces he has business elsewhere in the city, Jaskier just sighs and informs him that he'll be at the Passiflora in the event that Geralt needs to find him. Rather unlikely given that Geralt will be occupied with Triss for the next few hours. Fucking witcher stamina.

He ignores the odd, irritated look Geralt gives him as they part ways. Like Geralt has any right to be bothered by him seeking out his own pleasure with the ladies at the Passiflora when he's off getting tangled up in expensive sheets with a bloody sorceress.

It's not as if Jaskier's actually going to the Passiflora to indulge in the services offered there. Geralt knows that he loathes the concept of having to pay for a fuck, not when he can seduce nearly anyone he chooses with his charm and wit alone, as evidenced by the scores of married men and women whose beds he's graced.

No, Jaskier's heading to the famed brothel for much more selfish reasons than wetting his wick. To strum melancholy chords on his lute and cry and complain about his one-sided love.

Which is exactly what he does. This early in the day the Passiflora isn't very busy, the ladies milling around the extravagant front parlor with its thick red brocade curtains and exposed wood beams, relaxing on red velvet chaise lounges and large tufted couches big enough to host an orgy on.

They greet him with kind smiles and calls of his name, like they're welcoming an old friend, and he manages a smile that isn't entirely forced. He sits on one of the chaise lounges and begins playing, another melancholy ballad about lost love and heartbreak, the ladies gathering round to listen to him sing, charitably ignoring the way his voice shakes.

He leaves the Passiflora a few hours later feeling a bit lighter for having aired his grievances to his enraptured audience, heading straight to Triss' house to collect his witcher for supper. Roach isn't waiting outside like she typically is but Jaskier just assumes Geralt left her in the warmth and comfort of the Kingfisher's meticulously maintained stables under the care of Olivier's best stablehand.

Jaskier isn't sure what exactly possesses him to actually head inside to collect Geralt, should know from experience to be wary about poking his head in on Geralt and his sorceresses. And yet he strolls right into Triss' home like a lamb to the slaughter.

The drawing room, filled with multiple bouquets of marigolds and orange dahlias, is empty aside from Triss' cat. The great orange beast is sprawled out on its side on the green velvet sofa, watching Jaskier with its pale yellow eyes rather judgmentally. Quite childishly, Jaskier sticks his tongue out at it.

He continues through the house to the kitchen, Geralt's name on his lips, and immediately regrets it.

Triss is leaning against the edge of her wooden kitchen table, nearly sitting on it to accommodate the large witcher standing between her parted legs, knees bracketing his hips. The dual swords, silver for monsters steel for humans, strapped to Geralt's back are all that he can see of him. That and one of his big callused hand as they slip under the rucked up hem of Triss' deep green robes to gently clutch at her bared thigh.

It's like Rinde all over again, helplessly watching Geralt in another's embrace as his heart shatters in his chest with enough force it could shake the earth itself. His entire chest aching like he's just been sucker punched, Jaskier averts his eyes and starts spouting half-formed apologies, stepping backward and accidentally knocking a mortar and pestle off a nearby counter with a loud clatter in his haste to retreat.

It's as he's still profusely apologizing that he belatedly realizes that Geralt doesn't have any scars on his left wrist. Unlike the wrist connected to the hand on Triss' exposed thigh. And that while he saw the broad shoulders and dual swords of a witcher, he didn't spot a single white hair, instead what appeared to be a thatch of dark hair.

He looks up sharply, trailing off, to see Triss hastily pulling down her skirts, cheeks darkened with a blush. And standing beside her is...

"Eskel?!" Jaskier gasps, looking the witcher up and down in shock. He's unmistakable with his dark wispy hair and spiked jacket and handsome smile, not to mention the rather distinctive scars running down the right side of his face.

They've only met on a few occasions, on contracts serious enough to attract more than one witcher. Such an occurrence would typically lead to the witchers trying to beat each other to finish the contract in order to claim the reward for themselves but in the case of two Wolf School witchers such as Geralt and Eskel, it simply led to the contracts being finished quicker than expected, the reward evenly split, and Eskel regaling Jaskier with embarrassing childhood stories about Geralt.

Now, Eskel greets him with a crooked smile, rubbing the back of his neck as though embarrassed about being caught. "Jaskier! You manage to drag Geralt to Novigrad?"

The mere mention of Geralt's name sets Jaskier alight, in an instant absolutely fuming as he cries, "What in the hell is going on here?! I would expect this from the likes of you — he points an accusatory finger at Triss, then turns to Eskel — "but you?! My gods, what's Geralt going to think?! His own brother...! Melitele's tits, how in the bloody hell is going to handle this-this despicable behavior?! You should be ashamed of yourselves!"

To his chagrin, Eskel merely laughs, turning to Triss who sends him a confused look. She turns back to Jaskier, still smoothing out her skirts, and opens her mouth, undoubtedly in an attempt to defend her cruel deception.

"I don't want to hear it!" Jaskier snaps, incensed. He throws up his hands in frustration and turns on his heel to stomp back out of the kitchen, through the drawing room, and out of Triss' home, slamming the door behind him, fully prepared to storm across the Square and retreat to his and Geralt's room at the Kingfisher.

He has no plan, no inkling of what exactly his next step is beside waiting for Geralt to return to their room and somehow explaining that once again his sorceress lover has hurt him with her selfishness. The thought of breaking such dreadful news to Geralt is daunting; Jaskier doesn't ever want to be the cause of such pain for his friend.

He may act the careless rakehell when it suits him, ricocheting from one whirlwind affair to another, but even he isn't immune to the sting that comes with being left for another. He's grown attached to lovers time and time again only to be cast aside in favor of someone else, someone younger, prettier, less annoying, the pain always just as sharp as the very first time.

He thinks of the careless way the Countess de Stael had abandoned him for her new lover, of how she had callously ousted him from her home and her life, of how he'd drowned his sorrow in women and wine and a wasted wish on a djinn that wasn't even under his command. Of the horrible pain he feels every time Geralt goes chasing after Yennefer, leaving him behind with his bruised and battered heart still on his sleeve.

He only gets a quarter of the way across the Square, still trying to sort out how exactly he's going to explain the horrid situation, before he quite literally bumps into Geralt, having paid no mind to the bustling crowd around him in his anger.

Geralt's clearly on his way to Triss' home; it's the only reason he ever steps foot in the busy Square, otherwise avoiding it like a plague even he wouldn't be immune to. Jaskier plants one hand on Geralt's chest and points back at Triss' house with the other as he resolutely declares, "You do not want to go in there!"

"Jaskier," Geralt grunts, rolling his eyes and pressing forward, making Jaskier slide backward across the stone-paved street, propelled by the unstoppable force that is Geralt of Rivia. Roach offers no assistance. "I need to see Triss about getting more wolfsbane, I'm out."

"Not right now, you don't!" Jaskier insists, holding up a finger in Geralt's face. Geralt ignores him, continuing to walk forward as Jaskier's boots make a horrendous sound as the soles scrape over the cobblestone. Jaskier lets out an affronted squeak. "Geralt! For once in your miserable life will you listen to me, you stubborn oaf! Especially when I'm trying to protect you!"

"Protect me?" Geralt echoes, abruptly freezing in his tracks. His hand immediately goes for his swords. "What's in there?"

"Oh, put your swords away, it's not a monster," Jaskier says, though he certainly considers anyone who would hurt Geralt in such a way to be quite monstrous indeed. Regardless, the swords aren't entirely necessary. Jaskier sighs. "I just... I don't want you going in there, alright?"

Geralt narrows his eyes almost imperceptibly, little more than a slight squint as he looks at Jaskier, dropping his hand back to his side. "Don't you trust me?"

"Oh please, Geralt," Jaskier scoffs, rolling his eyes. "It's not you I don't trust..."

"Jaskier," Geralt says again, patience wearing thin.

Jaskier sighs again, feeling absolutely awful about having to relay the terrible truth to Geralt. At the very least, he can spare Geralt the pain of witnessing it himself, from having the sight of his lover and his brother tangled together in an intimate embrace ingrained in his mind's eye forevermore.

"Geralt, I'm so sorry," Jaskier begins, unable to stop the nervous fidgeting of his fingers, alternating between wringing his hands together and picking at his cuticles. "I... I was looking for you at Triss' and I found her. With Eskel."

He hopes it's self-explanatory enough to be a sufficient explanation, that he won't have to delve into the lurid details, but Geralt simply stares at him expectantly. "And-And, oh Geralt, I'm so sorry. They were in a rather...compromising position."

"And?" Geralt demands when it becomes apparent Jaskier has nothing else to say, cocking a brow. He seems entirely unfazed by what Jaskier's just revealed to him, as though he had simply reported the weather and not an instance of infidelity.

"And? And?!" Jaskier repeats, aghast. "And, I'm sorry that your lover has been unfaithful! With one your own brothers of all people!"

His voice raises without his volition, the slightest edge of hysteria sharpening it. Fortunately, the dull roar of the marketplace around them drowns it out a bit and keeps him from making a spectacle of himself.

Still, Geralt does not react beyond the confused look plastered on his face. Jaskier doesn't exactly expect a jealous outburst or for Geralt to break down in tears but he does expect a reaction of some sort! Anger or resignation or upset. Anything! Something! Not confusion, not this otherwise blank expression.

Jaskier's about to ask if Geralt heard him when the other man finally speaks.

"Jaskier," he begins almost cautiously, like he has something of grave importance to inform Jaskier of and fears he might startle the bard. "Triss is not my lover."

Ooh, lovely, now Geralt's lying to him. It reignites Jaskier's anger with a vengeance.

"Oh, please, Geralt! Despite what you may think I am not an idiot! You hate cities, can barely tolerate them for more than a moment, and yet over the past year, you've made us stop in Novigrad whenever we're even remotely nearby! You spend hours with her doing Melitele knows what while I'm relegated to playing at the inn to earn coin for a room you scarcely even use!"

"You never gave the impression you wanted to sit with us," Geralt answers, as though that's what Jaskier is upset about, feeling unwelcome during their little trysts. "You seemed content keeping Roach company, but you were always welcome, Triss said so herself."

Jaskier lets out an outraged squawk, gesturing aimlessly in his frustration. "Welcome to what?! Watching the man I've been in love with for half my life and his new lover?! Well, no thank you! I may be a glutton for punishment but I am not a bloody masochist and I have no interest whatsoever in subjecting myself to such a thing!"

He barely has a moment to register what he's just said, what precious secret he's just so carelessly divulged, because as soon as the words are out of his mouth the bell tower across the Square erupts into sound, filling the afternoon with the clamor of bells. It's too much for Geralt, much too loud much too fast, the sound most assuredly deafening with his heightened sense of hearing. He immediately winces, squeezing his eyes shut and raising a hand to his temple.

"Oh, Geralt," Jaskier says, tone softening as he steps closer to Geralt to lay a hand on his shoulder. Geralt just hums, sounding pained. It immediately spurs Jaskier into action.

Keeping his hand on Geralt's shoulder, Jaskier sets his other hand around Geralt's right wrist, guiding him across the Square and letting him lean some of his rather considerable weight on him. Geralt maintains his light grip on Roach's reins like an anchor, earning a soft, soothing nicker from the mare as she gently bumps her snout against the side of his arm.

"Come now, we'll get you to the inn and get you some peace and quiet away from all this hubbub," Jaskier needlessly explains as he ushers Geralt down a less busy side street towards the Kingfisher. He bites his lip to keep from rambling the way he tends to when he's anxious or nervous, not wanting to exacerbate Geralt's migraine.

Fortunately, Geralt allows himself to be led to the Kingfisher and up the two flights of stairs to their room that's significantly quieter than the busy streets outside without any complaints, only speaking up to insist Jaskier make sure Roach is properly stabled. Jaskier leaves Geralt's side just long enough to ensure that Roach is content in her cozy stable with fresh hay and a few apples the size of his fist.

Returning to Geralt's side, Jaskier sits him down on the edge of the bed, helping him strip out of the heaviest pieces of his armor until Geralt waves him off to finish removing it himself, kicking off his boots in the meantime. As Geralt finishes removing his armor until he's in just his dark shirt and leathers, Jaskier bustles around the room making him some tea.

He boils the water over the fireplace, briefly lamenting the fact that he can't instantaneously boil it with a quick Igni, and prepares the dried chamomile flowers he keeps for just such an occasion. He digs a chunk of ginger root out of the bottom of his bag, grating a bit of it into the dried chamomile; just a touch so as not to overwhelm Geralt's sensitive palate.

He wraps the chamomile and hint of ginger in some cheesecloth as a makeshift teabag, setting it in a teacup Olivier has brought up at his request. The teacup is hand-painted, the delicate ivory-colored porcelain adorned with a ring of forget-me-nots and kingfishers in mid-flight. The irony of both symbols makes Jaskier's chest ache and a hollow laugh slip past his lips.

Once the water's done boiling, Jaskier pours some into the teacup, letting the tea steep for a few minutes before bringing it to Geralt who's still rubbing at his forehead. He instructs Geralt to drink it all then steps out to fetch a fresh pot of water from the kitchens, ferrying it back up to their room as quickly as he can. He dips an old rag, also taken from the kitchens, into the pot of cold water, wringing it out until it's damp rather than sopping wet before folding it and gently draping it across Geralt's forehead, setting his empty teacup aside.

He's holding the rag against Geralt's forehead, hoping it'll help alleviate his migraine to some degree, when Geralt's fingers curl around his wrist. His other hand comes to rest on the small of Jaskier's back beneath the hem of his doublet, reeling him in closer until their chests are nearly molded together, his shins hitting the side of the low mattress and his free hand settling on Geralt's shoulder.

Geralt's expression is significantly less pinched than it was in the Square as he looks up at Jaskier, pinning him in place with his gaze alone.

"Jaskier..." he rumbles, voice like an incoming thunderstorm. "What you said earlier..."

Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut, the memory of what he'd said outside Triss' washing over him like the rainstorm accompanying Geralt's thunder. Once again his careless tongue has gotten him into trouble, only this time instead of enraging some twopenny duke or sweet maiden's father, he's potentially ruined the most important relationship in his life.

He's said too much, like he always does. Always blathering on like the lovesick fool he is, using all sorts of pretty words and melodies to hide the ugly things he feels, like his jealousy and distrust, his petty resentment towards those whose only sin was that they'd had Geralt in the way that he's always wanted but can never have.

And now it's going to cost him Geralt, the way he's always known it would eventually. A foregone conclusion he'd tried to delay for as long as possible.

Now that Geralt knows that Jaskier's in love with him, now that Jaskier's so carelessly confessed his most well-guarded secret, he's sure to leave Jaskier in the dust the way he's always threatened. And Jaskier will be without the man he's devoted so much of his life to, with only memories and unsung love songs to keep him warm at night.

He waits patiently for Geralt to continue, pressing his lips together as he tries valiantly to steel himself for the inevitable. But bracing oneself for heartbreak is like bracing for a hurricane; being prepared did not alleviate the devastation that was wrought, it only made it slightly more manageable.

"Triss and I aren't lovers," Geralt says instead, and Jaskier just barely refrains from laughing in his face. "We're friends, acquaintances, really. Nothing more."

There's something about the tone of Geralt's voice, some undercurrent of steel and soft thunder, that makes it impossible for Jaskier to doubt the veracity of his statement, not when for all of Geralt's tendency to deflect Jaskier's prying questions he rarely ever lies to him.

Jaskier opens his eyes, looking down at Geralt with a confused frown. "But—"

"Last winter Eskel told me he'd met her on a contract in Novigrad, that they're...involved," Geralt elaborates. A small smile curls the corner of his lips up, it's the same small smile he wears when he teases Lambert or decides to make a joke at Jaskier's expense. "I've been visiting her to tell her about him. Old stories of dumb shit he's done, mischief he caused that led to a hiding."

Jaskier gapes at him, trying to wrap his mind around what Geralt's just told him. Once he does, he can't contain his incredulity. "You mean to tell me that for the past year you've been venturing into a city you despise solely to tell your brother's lover funny stories about him just to embarrass him?! Oh, gods, what am I even saying? That's exactly something you'd do you-you... You bloody muttonhead!"

Geralt's smile persists. "Muttonhead? You're the one who thought I was fucking Triss."

"Of course, I did!" Because you were always off slipping away to go see her at all hours, always whispering and cooing like a pair of lovesick mourning doves! What was I supposed to think? How was I to know you were just trying to embarrass your poor brother!" Jaskier defends, throwing up his free hand, indignation swelling within him before ebbing away to be replaced by a tide of embarrassment. He groans, hanging his head and closing his eyes. "I'm such an idiot, I cannot believe I've made such a fool of myself! Over a bloody misunderstanding of all things! Oh, sweet Melitele, I'm a fucking fool."

He draws in a sharp, ragged breath, raises his chin and tries to brace himself, staring over Geralt's shoulder. "And now... Now I'm sure you'll be taking your leave. Suppose Olivier will let me stay for a bit until I regain my bearings, as long as I perform my song about the kingfisher for him, he really does love that ballad."

"Jaskier," Geralt says, cutting off Jaskier's rambling before he can manage to embarrass himself any further. How very charitable of him. "Why would I leave?"

"Why would you...? Geralt! I just professed my love for you not half an hour's time ago! What else should I expect you to do? Pick me up in your arms and declare your endless devotion to me?!" Jaskier's impassioned diatribe trails off with a deep sigh. Still pressing the damp rag to Geralt's forehead, ever gentle to compensate for every hand that's touched him with nothing but cruelty, he breathes deeply and meets Geralt's eyes. "I told you, Geralt, I'm not a masochist. I would not torture myself with such grand delusions."

"I know well that you do not reciprocate my feelings. I understand, of course, and I've made my peace with it," Jaskier goes on, forcing himself to go on even when he feels his throat tighten. "I didn't intend on admitting it in such a way — in any way, really — and I apologize. I would be happy to continue traveling with you, truly nothing would make me happier, but I understand if you wish to part ways. I would never...hold it against you or any such thing, I swear."

"Did you mean it?" Geralt asks, catching Jaskier off guard. He's not sure what exactly Geralt's referring to.

He frowns at Geralt, sure his confusion is scrawled across his face. "Did I mean what?"

"What you said," Geralt says rather helpfully. Jaskier raises his brows expectantly. He's said a great deal this afternoon.

"When you said you love me," Geralt clarifies, meeting Jaskier's eyes with no trace of hesitation.

Jaskier manages another weak smile, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "Of course. With every breath in my body. Every line in every song."

"Jaskier..." Geralt breathes, sounding wounded. His eyes slide shut and he tips his head to the side until his nose and cheek graze the heel of Jaskier's palm. He presses his lips to the spot where Jaskier's wrist and hand, softly kissing it.

Jaskier's breath catches in his throat at the fleeting touch of Geralt's lips, his stubble rasping against the smooth skin of his inner wrist. Hearing the hitch in Jaskier's breath, Geralt opens his eyes, gazing up at Jaskier with those buttercup gold eyes of his that always make Jaskier melt, knees weak from naught but a look.

With the hand he has on the small of Jaskier's back, warm through the fabric of his chemise, Geralt pulls him even closer. So close that Jaskier has to straddle Geralt's knee to avoid falling on his ass.

The movement startles another gasp out of Jaskier. He drops the wet rag with a muted thump against the hardwood floor as Geralt places another barely-there kiss to his wrist, just shy of where his own fingers are still curled around Jaskier's forearm.

Geralt raises his head and Jaskier can't resist the urge to cup Geralt's cheek in his hand, only having to move it an inch or so to rest his palm against Geralt's jaw, his thumb automatically brushing over the sharp cut of his cheekbone. Geralt leans into the touch the same way that Roach leans into scratches behind her ear, full-bodied and surprisingly trusting.

Chests brushing and Jaskier's knees bracketing one of Geralt's, they're dangerously close together. He knows Geralt would never hurt him, knows he could likewise never be able to be truly afraid of him. But Jaskier's heart pounds against his ribcage like waves crashing against the rocky shore, the ebb and flow thundering in his ears like warning bells.

Geralt's face is close to his, only a few scant inches apart, a temptation like he's never known. Geralt's always been a temptation, a constant one dangled in front of Jaskier but just out of his reach, closer than a brother. But he's never been *this* close.

Jaskier's been good for the past twenty odd years. Has resisted all of his selfish urges and one-sided wanting. Hasn't let his hands linger longer than could be deemed friendly, hasn't succumbed to his ever-present desire to just throw caution and consequences to the wind and kiss Geralt with all the passion and longing he's managed to contain thus far.

He's been tortured with temptation over the years, nearly driven mad by it all. By the temptation of helping Geralt out of his armor and sullied clothes, face to face with miles of pale skin and mouthwatering muscle greater men than he would find hard to resist drooling over, ignoring his baser desires in order to help bathe him. By the temptation of waking in a shared bed with Geralt only an arm's length away, if even that far, his handsome features softened by sleep and the early morning sunshine bathing him in rays of pale gold.

But he could never make that leap of faith, could never close the distance between them even for the most chaste of kisses. He was too worried about losing what he already had and cherished so dearly in his pursuit of more, afraid he would lose his world while shooting for the moon.

He wasn't lying when he said he would be happy to continue traveling with Geralt, content to have Geralt in his life as a friend rather than the alternative of not having him in his life at all.

But Geralt's eyes flicker down to his lips for a long moment, a flash of brilliant gold promising treasure far beyond any precious metals or priceless gems and Jaskier can no longer resist the temptation, yielding to it instead.

He leans down toward Geralt at the same moment Geralt raises his head, pulled together like two magnets, binary stars drawn towards one another by mutual attraction. He's not sure who exactly kisses who first or if they simply crash together at precisely the same time, Jaskier's hand slipping into Geralt's hair when Geralt releases his wrist in favor of cupping the side of Jaskier's face in his big hand.

Kissing Geralt is like feeling the first rays of morning sunshine wash over him, like walking in the first rainfall after a long drought. It's like the rush of performing for a large audience at a prestigious event and like the intimate camaraderie formed when performing for just a small tavern full of attentive listeners.

It's honey and salted sea air, steel and silver and snow, blood and ambrosia. Like coming home and embarking on a new adventure all at once.

Jaskier never wants to stop. Knows he could easily get addicted to it if Geralt let him, could grow drunk off the bouquet of his lips like the finest wine. And, wonder of wonders, it seems as though Geralt just might.

Because Geralt's kissing him with the same remarkably focused, single-minded intensity he uses when completing an especially difficult contract, when he's sharpening his swords by the firelight, when he's taking care of Roach. Being the object of such intensity is heady, rather flattering.

Geralt's right hand is warm on Jaskier's back, his little finger dipping under the hem of his chemise, using the hand cupping Jaskier's face to guide his head just the slightest bit to the side as he deepens the kiss. His lips are slightly chapped but addictive nonetheless as he curls his tongue against Jaskier's in a way that nearly makes him see stars. Jaskier's knees are perilously weak, knees gone to jelly like the strawberry preserves Geralt fancies so much at the first touch of his lips.

The position is a bit awkward. With how low the bed is, Jaskier's forced to crane his neck at an awkward angle, head tipped to the side to avoid simply mashing his face against Geralt's like a schoolboy having his first snog. He can feel a crick in his neck that's going to plague him for days if he doesn't move but the thought of tearing his lips away from Geralt's is downright torturous and he'd rather stand there forever in slight discomfort if it means he can continue to kiss his witcher for just a moment longer.

But Geralt, ever vigilant, seems to notice the uncomfortable way Jaskier's head is angled, moving farther back on the mattress and pulling Jaskier with him until the bard's crawling on his knees on the mattress, now straddling Geralt's thigh rather than his knee. They're of a height now, easing the way as Jaskier pours all of himself into the kiss with renewed passion.

But even with the lungs of a singer, Jaskier has to break the kiss to catch his breath, chest heaving as he presses his forehead against Geralt's. Geralt shifts his hand from Jaskier's face to his hip as he brushes the tip of his nose across Jaskier's cheek, practically nuzzling him, and mutters, "Never wanted her, Jaskier. Just you. Only you."

Jaskier can't help the groan that's wrenched out of him at the hushed confession, lowering his head for another deep kiss, fisting his left hand in the fabric of Geralt's shirt. His heart feels fit to burst at the confirmation that his feelings aren't one-sided, that his love for Geralt is reciprocated to some degree, enough for him to be straddling the man's lap and kissing the daylights out of him.

A few moments later, he again reluctantly drags his lips away from Geralt's for the sake of breathing, smiling when Geralt grunts almost petulantly as Jaskier pauses their kiss. Catching his breath, he runs his fingers through Geralt's hair, the glide of the silk-soft strands through his fingers both soothing and exhilarating.

Geralt ducks his head to bury his face in the side of Jaskier's neck, peppering kisses down the side of his neck from just below his ear to the collar of his doublet. Jaskier lets out a soft breath, hand tightening in Geralt's hair.

"I... I should apologize to Triss," Jaskier manages to say in spite of the cloud of lust filling his entire body, mind clearing for a moment even as Geralt very lightly grazes his teeth up the long line of his neck. "I said some rather awful things to her..."

"Hmm... Later..." Geralt rumbles against his throat, lips rasping over the sensitive skin and making Jaskier squirm atop him. Jaskier shudders as Geralt starts laying open-mouthed kisses on his throat, wants him to leave a mark, a bruise in the shape of his mouth as proof that this isn't just another midday fantasy or late-night dream, that it's real. He doubts Geralt would be adverse.

"E-Eskel, too," Jaskier says shakily, eyes fluttering shut as Geralt continues showering his neck with attention, his tongue occasionally darting out to taste his skin. He gasps out a sharp moan when Geralt nips at a rather sensitive spot just behind Jaskier's earlobe, apparently not a fan of Jaskier saying other people's names while wrapped in his arms. Jaskier can't exactly fault him for that, dipping his head to press his lips against Geralt's.

The hand on Jaskier's back slips more fully beneath the hem of his chemise, fingers fanned out across the small of his back, Geralt's other hand on his hip squeezing gently. Jaskier shivers again, Geralt's bare skin on his own sending a frisson of pleasure down his spine, heat pooling low in his gut.

He blindly feels for the front laces of Geralt's shirt, humming happily when he finds them. He abandons his grip on Geralt's hair to settle both hands on Geralt's broad chest, sturdy and warm beneath his palms, fingers toying with the laces.

He unlaces them as much as possible, revealing a wide swath of his chest, scattered with old scars and dusted with hair. Jaskier can't resist running his hands over the bared skin, tracing his fingers over familiar scars he knew the stories of by heart: claw marks from a griffin, an old stab wound from a lucky bandit, a slash from the tail spikes of a forktail, all of them part of the man he loves so much, features rather than flaws.

He wants to touch more of Geralt's chest, wants to strip him of his shirt and run his fingers over every scar he can find, press kisses to each one. But he also wants to bury his hands in Geralt's hair again, to brush his fingertips through the silky strands that smell faintly of jasmine bath oil. He wants to cup Geralt's face in his hands, brush kisses across his cheeks and forehead and eyelids and chin. He'd also very much like to get his hands on Geralt's ass.

Years of wanting have left him with so many desires to touch, all of them getting muddled in his head in his haste to accept whatever Geralt's willing to offer even if it's just a few more kisses. But his mind is still clear enough for something to occur to him.

"Oh!" He gasps, pulling back for a moment, panting a bit. He winces theatrically, genuinely contrite. "You may not ever be able to go to the Passiflora again. I may have told all the girls there that you're a heartless cad who's quite thoroughly shattered my heart with your gallivanting ways."

Geralt quirks a pale brow, clearly annoyed that Jaskier's once again put their kissing on hold in favor of prattling on. But there's a smirk slowly tugging at the corner of his lips as he looks up at Jaskier. "Is that what you were doing there?"

Jaskier nods a touch sheepishly, chewing his lip. He runs his thumb over Geralt's bottom lip and the cleft in his chin, feeling a bit foolish as he admits, "You know I don't like paying for sex. I needed a shoulder to cry on. The girls were always rather sympathetic."

"Hmm," Geralt replies, reaching up to card his fingers through Jaskier's hair, brushing his thumb over his cheek. His eyes flicker down to look at Jaskier's mouth, lips pink and kiss swollen. "Somehow, I think I'll manage without their services. Now shut up, Jaskier."

And Jaskier, well, he's more than happy to comply. For now. The sea won’t be claiming him tonight. He’s found his halcyon days.

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier fic #witcher fic #my fic #amber writes #geralt x jaskier #hopefully the read more works if not I #am very sorry by this is long #fic

[thiswasinevitableid]

54. I’m not sure what you think I said, but you start calling me an asshole and whip a ruler at me and somehow, we both end up in detention

Indruck, sfw, please?

Here you go! Content note: spiders appear at one point.

I based some of this AU--namely the concept of the Crucible and how magic is channeled--on the Carry On series by Rainbow Rowell. And Duck is trans in this, because any good wizarding school is inclusive.

After three years at Amnesty Academy, Duck is used to the objects being magically propelled through the air. But a ruler zipping through the air and smacking the back of his head is a new, unpleasant experience.

He tracks it to two chairs to his left, the new third year with the silver hair. He hasn’t even been here a day, what the fuck the is his problem?

“Hey, what the hell man?”

“You know very well what.”

“Uh, no I don’t, and I don’t appreciate bein hit with a fuckin ruler!”

“The maybe think before you insult someone next time!”

“I didn’t fuckin insult you! I don’t even know your name!”

“Ahem.” Ned, their Charms professor, looks down at them reproachfully, “gentlemen, while I know the review of Zone of Truth is rather dull, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t entertain yourselves with mindless conflict.”

“Sorry, Ned.” Duck mumbles, sending his pencil shooting below desk level to whack the other guy in the leg at the exact same moment he whips his pen at Duck’s hand.

“OW!”

Ned sighs, “I hate to do this, but-”

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“Detention! Lovely, my first day here and I’m in trouble. Thank you so much, Duck Newton, for landing us here.”

“You started it!” He growls as they take their seats. God, he hopes this isn’t one of Woodbridge’s days.

“Huh, only two.” Mama wipes her boots on the mat, closes the door behind her, “Afternoon, Duck. And…”

“Indrid.” Says his nemesis, “It is nice to meet you Professor C-” he cocks his head, “you really prefer I call you ‘Mama?’”

“Yep. Never could get behind that more formal stuff. Let some of the first years call me ‘Ms. Mama’ if they really need to feel like they’re showin some deference.”

Mama is deputy Headmistress of Amnesty. The only reason she’s not fully in charge is that she’s not a witch and some families object to that. So The Quell technically runs the school while Mama does most of the actual day to day work. She also teaches a course of non-magic practical skills because, “some things you can’t magic your way out of. Like taxes.”

Duck loves her class and, while he doesn’t understand why someone would opt into this weirdness, he admires the guts it takes as a fifteen year old human to walk into a wizarding school and declare that there was plenty you could learn there even though you couldn’t so much as send a spark from your fingers.

As he and Indrid watch the clock tick down, Mama pulls a bag from her satchel. The contents are cookies, which she offers to each of them.

“Barclay tryin’ out new recipes?”

“Course he is. Kid is gonna be the best damn kitchen witch in the country by the time he graduates. Guess he’s plannin to spend the summer drivin around and learnin the food magic of different regions.” She smiles, “bet you’ll never guess who’s goin’ with him.”

“Joe?”

“Bingo. Apparently he wants to study niche cultural magic.”

Duck’s pretty sure there’s another motive; sharing a van bed with Barclay. It sounds fun, roving the country, discovering new places with someone handsome by your side.

All that’s by his side is a glower hiding behind red glasses.

“Mama? I, ah, would it be possible for me to leave five minutes early? I’m supposed to get my pairing from the Crucible tonight.”

The older woman looks between the two of them, “Better tell me how you landed here first. Ned just said it was an argument.”

“He threw a ruler at me outta nowhere.”

“It was not, you know what you said.”

“The last thing I said before you hit me was ‘“nah, man’ when Billy offered me a pizza roll from his lunch.”

Indrid goes still, “Oh. I, ah, I misheard you. I thought you said 'mothman.' I apologize. I ought to have given you the benefit of the doubt.”

He seems so suddenly downtrodden that Duck shrugs, “Yeah, you should have. But it ain’t the worst thing that’s happened to me here. Not by a long shot.”

“No kiddin” Mama leans back on the desk, “Two of you can go at five til.”

His evening turns uneventful after that; dinner, hanging out with Juno and Aubrey, half doing homework and half fucking around on his phone in his room (the agreement between the school and the government is that a long as the students don’t post vidoes of themselves doing sick stunts with magic, the government will ignore any explosions and/monsters in the vicinity of the school).

He’s never had a roommate; when the Crucible spat out his name in fire on his first day, there was no other name with it. Almost everyone else rooms in pairs or trios. So his belongings are strewn about the tiny cabin that makes up his home away from home. Which is why, when the door creaks open at ten p.m, he sits up and prepares to fire off a spell.

Indrid stands in the doorway, one bag over his shoulder and another in his hand. He looks tired.

“Hello, Duck. Ah, I guess that one is my bed, then.”

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

The class schedules for Amnesty are generated by the heart of the school itself. Indrid isn’t entirely sure what that means, but the heart must not be terribly creative. It stuck him in divination class. He’s been seeing the future since he was five, managing it with his drawings since he was eight. Even the professor has no idea what to do with him, since the images come in like a garbled T.V signal when he uses a crystal ball and the cup shattered when he tried to read tea leaves.

At least Barclay gave him a conciliatory caramel while they swept up the shards. It made him feel a bit better, though whether that’s due to enchantment or Barclay being exceedingly good at cooking is hard to say.

And now he has to go to “Magical Weaponry.” Magical Defense he understands; there are still lots of malicious forces out there, or even just everyday evils that it’s good to be able to ward against. Plus, Vincent is a good professor, enthusiastic and understanding.

Professor Minerva is just as enthusiastic but twice as loud. This is their first day in the actual gym, as opposed to at a blackboard, and his visions suggest it’s going to go poorly for him. As it should; he’s not a fighter, he’s a disaster.

At Amnesty, magic is channeled through objects. Most people use wands or their hands but some, like Aubrey, use jewelry (a necklace from her mother) or another accessory.

Duck Newton uses a sword. Or he’s trying to. The sword seems to be winning.

“Exert your will on him, Duck Newton, he answers to you!”

“I answeeer to only the capable.”

“Shut up, Beacon.” Duck adjusts his grasp, but nothing happens until he drops the sword and sends a spell through his fingers. The target explodes. Indrid suddenly feels a bit better about his own probable performance.

Duck notices him, indicates the practice area next to him is clear. While they started off poorly, his roommate is doing his best to demonstrate southern hospitality. He invites Indrid to eat with him, helps him when his visions offer no help in navigating the grounds, and even lent him a blue and green shirt (Amnesty's colors) for his first Spirit Day. Duck is the best thing to happen to him in his first month here.

By the time class is over, they have six broken targets, a shredded mat, and a knife that is now a very confused frog between them. They manage to laugh about it, even as Duck scoops up the amphibian and tucks him into his shirt pocket.

It’s then that Indrid realizes he has a crush.

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“You comin to the game tonight?” Juno measures her sapling.

“Assumin nothin comes up and nobody’s tryin to kill me, you know I’ll be there.” He loves cheering Juno on during her soccer games (hey, not everything has to be magic based, even at a wizarding school).

“Drat.”

The hissed frustration draws his attention to the far end of the work table. Indrid is trying to coax his Venus Flytraps to perk up, but they remain brown and limp.

“Need some help?”

“Please, as you clearly know what you’re doing.” Indrid tilts his head towards the sapling pine tree Duck is working on. If he does his growing spells right, he’ll be able to take it home as a Christmas Tree during winter break.

“You tend to picture words or, uh,pictures when you do your spells?”

“Images work best. The trouble is that the futures sometimes make it difficult for me to picture a spell clearly.”

“What if I try describing how I’d see it and you picture what I say?”

“It’s worth a try.” Indrid closes his eyes.

“Okay. Think about the roots drawin water up from the soil, about the traps absorbin nutrients from prey. That brown is goin green as they do, they’re stems are growin stronger…” he grins as the plant turns bright green, it’s mouths open, “hey, ‘Drid, look”

“Oh!” Indrid flaps his hands, “it worked! Now I can keep them healthy and big andohno, nono not again.”

The table cracks and collapses as the plant turns gigantic, blocking out the light from the greenhouse roof.

“Holy fuck, that’s great!”

“Language, sport, but I agree.” Thacker, the head of the magical Horticulture classes, whistles as he looks the plant up and down, “this is mighty impressive Indrid. Wonder if we could use it on some pumpkins come fall…”

“I don’t recommend it, unless you want them to chase people.” Indrid points to one of the heads, which is swaying in the air and lowering closer to him. It snaps and he leaps back, falling to a pile of potting soil. Thacker raises his walking stick and the flytrap returns to its proper size.

Duck helps Indrid up, but his friend stays quiet through the end of class and on the walk back to their room.

“You know it ain’t anythin to be ashamed of, right?” Duck flips on the light, “we all fuck up spells now and then. Hell, Aubrey is on track to be the best spellcaster this school’s ever seen and she still has trouble.”

“But mine go haywire constantly” Indrid flops, dejected, onto his bed, “forget mastering my powers, I’ll be lucky if I graduate able to keep them in check. If I graduate at all.” His hand searches the bed blindly; Duck sets the weighted, plush bat into so Indrid can set it on his chest.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never lasted more than a year at a magical school. Or a non-magical one. I started at Mt Vernon when I was fifteen. Tried Deep Hollow and Shasta the year after that. I’m powerful but I can’t seem to channel it well, and three different schools decided I was more trouble than I was worth.”

“Bullshit.” Duck rests a hand on Indrid’s knee, “you’re strugglin with somethin; that means you need more help, not less. And if anyone gets it into their heads to kick you outta Amnesty, I’ll raise a goddamn ruckus.”

Indrid chuckles, quiet and disbelieving.

“I’m serious. You know Aubrey and them would side with me, and Joe knows school policy well enough he could probably find a reason why them tryin to get rid of you was against the rule.”

“Thank you.” Indrid’s smile is a rare flower, fragile and stunning.

“You want one of those calm-down caramels Barclay made?”

“Please.”

Duck grabs the box from the cabinet of their little kitchenette, then snags a Coke and a pineapple soda from the fridge. Indrid is no longer horizontal, is instead sitting with his back to the wall so Duck has space to join him.

Under the fizz of fresh bubbles, his friend murmurs, ‘“Have people really tried to kill you?”

“Yep. Someone sent an assassin after me my first year, and there was a Dire wolf on the grounds last winter that was clearly locked on to my scent. Perk of bein a Chosen One.” He grumbles as he swigs his drink.

“...Who on earth sends an assassin after a fifteen year old?”

“Right?! Fuck if I know, they never got any information out of the guy. Fuckin prophecy I swear, I didn’t even want these powers, let alone to be some kind of hero.”

“I sympathize.” Indrid rests his head on Duck’s shoulder, “there are prophecies around my birth as well.”

Duck clunks their bottles together, “To bein’ fucked over by stuff we can’t control.”

Indrid drains his soda, then perks up, “Oh! Oh dear, you should go if you want to be there for Juno’s match.”

“Come with me?” Duck can’t get the image of the two of them sharing a giant pretzel while smushed thigh to thigh on the bleachers out of his head.

His friend grins, “Of course.”

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Duck hoped, after his not-great time in middle school, that a magic academy would be asshole free. But no, there are assholes everywhere, and these ones have even more tools for tormenting their targets. He’s never been one, nor have any of his friends. The one time someone tried to bully Barclay, Dani sicked three spectral hummingbirds on them until they apologized.

Indrid, odd and new, is an easy target, though he seems to hold his own just fine (and his proximity to the most powerful witch in school does scare off many potential antagonists). But three guys in their Magical Defense class have zeroed in on him.

They’re standing in line to practice against an evil eye when Indrid’s glasses, the ones he doesn’t take off even when he sleeps, hit the floor by Duck’s feet. Duck scrambles to grab them before they get stepped on, wondering why everyone is making such a fuss. Then he turns and backs up in alarm.

An eight foot tall moth creature is where Indrid should be, red eyes wide and claws clicking together anxious.

“Who let that thing in here?” Someone yells from behind him.

Indrid’s antenna flatten.

“Fuck, wasn’t expecting him to be that big a freak” one of the bullies scoffs.

Black wings twitch.

“Newton, give him the glasses back so we don’t have to look at him!”

Indrid trills, upset, and leaps into the air at the same moment Aubrey yells, “that’s enough” and Vincent shouts a reminder about no flames in enclosed spaces and also detention for you three. Duck is to busy climbing out the window Indrid flew through to pick up the details.

One two-story fall later, he’s chasing a dark shape into the Monongahela forest. While the parts of the woods near his hometown of Kepler are non-enchanted, this chunk is magic down to the moss (he plans to write his final year project on how those halves of forest mesh on an ecological level). One of the worst aspects of the enchanted portions is their tendency to re-shape around travelers. His usual way around this is to have an unwavering sense of where he’s going and pretend the woods are giving him an unchanging path to get there. But that trick does fuck-all when he doesn’t know his destination.

After two hours of searching he’s no closer to finding Indrid, it’s getting dark, and he’s debating heading back to the school for help. He hasn’t been this deep in the woods since he fled the Dire Wolf, and he knows the deeper you go into the trees, the wilder the magic becomes. Bad news for him, even worse for his friend who's out there somewhere, upset and alone.

Eight gigantic eyes glitter at him from the dirt, and he quickly rearranges who has it worse right now.

Throwing a burst of light into the trapdoor spiders eyes buys him enough time to bolt to a tree and climb. As soon as it crawls free of its burrow he freezes; if he’s remembering right, they use vibrations to locate prey.

Fuck, that thing is the size of a VW Beatle. Why is that even a thing? No spider needs to be this big!

In spite of his stillness, it spies him and sets its forelimbs on the tree-trunk. There’s nothing else for it; he draws Beacon, pictures the spider shrinking, and casts his spell.

A soft crunch of leaves signals it hitting the ground, now an unremarkable size for an arachnid. Just as he steps down a branch, a second trap door opens and an enraged spider bursts out, looking for it’s friend. When it can’t find it, it turns and snaps its mandibles at Duck. This time, Beacon does nothing, no matter how Duck commands and curses as his eight-legged doom gets closer.

A crackle of electricity and then this spider disappears as well. On the other side of the trunk, red eyes regard him with worry, “are you hurt?”

“Nah, all in one piece thanks to you.” He holds out his hand, “you wanna head back?”

“Yes, please.” Indrid flaps to the ground, Duck following him on foot and then turning them towards campus, “you did not need to come look for me.”

“Course I did, not gonna let my friend get swallowed up by the forest. Oh, here” he holds out the red glasses, “you want these back?”

“Not just yet. That is, if this form is not too alarming to you.”

Duck takes in the glossy feathers, the charming ruff, the way the face is still obviously Indrid yet excitingly new, “I’m good.”

Light flickers from black claws, stars and flowers spinning out with ease, “It’s so much easier when I’m like this. I never foresaw my disguise charm being an issue, but the older I’ve gotten the more it seems to influence my ability to control my spells. But, well, you saw how people reacted. Even you were startled.”

“In my defense, I thought you’d been eaten by, well, you.” Duck casts the same spell, vines of light chasing the red flowers, “I’m still sorry, though. You ain’t horrible like this, ‘Drid; you’re fuckin stunnin. Never seen anyone as incredible as you.”

Indrid stops, looking down at him, “Do you truly mean that?”

Duck rises on his toes, pecking his cheek, “Yeah, I do.”

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The Halloween Formal is the most elaborate event at Amnesty. Indrid feels that if there’s any day he’s within his rights to be in his true form, it’s when everyone else is dressed as monsters.

He doesn’t have a date. He thought Duck was in the same predicament. Then his friend left before he was half-done grooming his feathers, saying he needed to get flowers for his hot date.

Ah well. At least Indrid will get to see him there and spend some time with his friends.

He checks his reflection in the gleaming black walls, orange and purple lights glowing and jack’o lanterns floating above his head. He adjusts his robes, the nice red ones his father sent him, and prepares to enter the ballroom.

“Hold up.”

When he turns, Duck is standing there in his black dress shirt and green tie, looking for all the world like he’s alone.

“You got one more thing to put on” He holds out a bracelet of flowers, sized to slip perfectly over Indrid’s hand. There are matching flowers pinned to one side of Duck’s hair.

“Oh. Oh my. You really-”

Duck uses a small spell to bend Indrid into a kiss; it’s a bit messy, since their mouths aren’t meant to fit together, but Indrid would not trade it for all the magic in the world.

“Yeah, ‘Drid, I really do.” With that, Duck offers his elbow and they walk arm in arm into the great hall.

#indruck #indrid cold/ duck newton #meet ugly #wizard au