#I know the song has nothign to do with that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yunfeiz · 2 years

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july new releases!

i've picked 6 releases that i've listened to more than once and i'm ready to talk about them! i know there have been a lot more (chungha for example had one of my favourite album releases this month!) but i'm going to be talking about these 5 songs.

let's start off with....

Attention - New Jeans this hybe group caught me and my friend completely by surprise. i didn't really keep up with hybe's new gg since i thought they wouldn't debut one right after le sserafim BUT the girls are incredibly talent and at such a young age too. (that itself has a lot of problems i could talk about but i plan on writing a HUGE post about that in my drafts). their music has a really nice calming vibe and really was refreshing after a lot of some pretty badass groups who recently debuted. it's like i got brought back in time to a completely different era with really simple mv and sound. it was comfortable and easy to get through which is definitely what i needed this month. according to a random article i found, the girls are also incredible at writing. I'm pretty sure that hanni and danielle both took part in the writing process for attention and hybe boy (not respectively, i can't remember off the top of my head who did which song). in general, this release was a really nice surprise for me haha.

Beautiful Monster - STAYC when i listened to the highlight medley this song (and their iconic signature "stayc girls it's going down) was the song i was most excited about. now the song itself really isn't anything special. pretty stereotypical pop song with verses, pre chorus, chorus, bridge, high note, etc. but the instrumental just adds so much flavour to the song. like in the verses, prechorus, and bridge it's rather calming. there isn't much going on in the instrumental at all but all of a sudden, without even the infamous "beat drop" the chorus brings in a lot of sound and noise to sieun and yoons strong vocals. yes i know sieun and yoon strain and are basically straining (i did musical theatre for a bit) but i feel like even regardless of that, the song does what it needs to do. kinda like stereotypes little sister. the structure of the song is a lot like stereotype but the sound is rather different (tiktok doesnt' agree)

Girls - aespa i get why people wouldn't like this song. there's a lot happening in it compared to illusion which i saw is what people like better. less is more in some cases. in terms of aespa they're always loud so maybe illusion is a breath of fresh air for people. however, i think that the way girls is written makes the song a lot better. there's so much more happening. illusion is quite a simple song in of itself. yeah the prechorus is really nice but so is girls. girls has so many different sounds, different compositions and it really highlights the girls vocal capabilities. in general, girls adds a lot more flair to a typical kpop structure that i think makes it just in general a pretty good release. is it my favourite? no but it's still good nonetheless. although i really only know about chorale structure in music, i think this song in general has a little more to give than the bsides on the album, which makes it imo a little better choice for the title track than illusion. girls is just a better suited for aespas loud and confident nature

Que Sera Sera - ily:1 i absolutely love this song. yes its plain, yes there's nothign much going on in the background but this song just brings me so much joy. the gfriend sound completely disappeared from kpop after they disbanded and it was such a shame. gfriend really made themselves using their brand of music because it was good. in contrast to groups that use loudness to make themselves known which is a pretty good strategy in making your group well known (there are really good loud songs, like girls by aespa for example haha) gfriend went for an ethereal, simple, and calming sound. I was really upset when this kinda got lost in the years but ily:1 is currently bring it back in their own fashion. they add a little bit of perkiness and cuteness to a really beautiful sound and i'm so glad that their company has decided to take them on this route. que sera sera has the gfriend sound in the chorus and so much added ily:1 flair too it. i think they're an amazing group and heavily recommend people to check them out

Last Sequence - WJSN cosmic girls finally had their long awaited comeback and as always they did so well. wjsn kinda has a specific sound about them that you can always guarantee that their music is really good. as long as yeonjung is belting her heart out, it's always going to be a good song. last sequence is obviously not an exception. it is a lot like unnatural but it surprises me in a lot of ways. the instrumental hits hard and overall it's a good song. wjsn is one of those groups where i can't word how their songs sound like not because they leave me speechless it's just really hard to describe and make comparisons. the wjsn sound is really different in each song they put out but you can tell that like "oh this was made of wjsn" because there's a distinct quality to it that makes it wjsn.

Villain - PIXY originally i was only going to do 5 because most of my posts are 5 themed but then i remembered what probably is my top song this month and i realized i had to talk about it. pixy is largely known for their heavily themed dark rock music and this is quite different from what their title tracks usually are. i am a sucker for good "rock" music in kpop so when i listened to this song i was surprised but in a good way. every so often, when a group consistently releases a type of music that's quite similar each comeback, i sort of get numb. so villain compared to like addicted it's incredibly subtle. but since it's subtle you can do so much more with it. so much more vocal tone and flavours can get added into the song, in order to make it still pixy level dark. because before it relied less heavily on the vocals of the girls and more on the instrumental imo. i think with a song that's more subtle, in order to make it dark they had to really use the girls vocal and really interesting autotune techniques which makes the song a really fun listen each and every single time i decide to loop it. go check out pixy they're one of my favourite groups out rn!!

#kpop #kpop gg #New Jeans #stayc #aespa #ily:1 #pixy

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carcinized · 2 years

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9, 10, 15, 19, 20

9. what song do you think describes you best?

i just answered this one but i'll give another :D shine on top by surfaces is a beloved song to me ^_^ i try to be positive lol

10. is there any song you can't stand, even though you like the artist?

im going to be cancelled on tumblr dot com for this one but i cannot STAND lovejoys cover of knee deep at atp. ive never heard the original but i have this one color that makes me sick to my stomach practically, its sort of fuschia i cant describe it. but anyways a lot of songs and things have colors/smells/tastes/etc for me and knee deep at atp by lovejoy is THAT FUCKING COLOR FOR ME i cannot STAND to hear it. love all their other stuff and nothing against the actual song or recording i just CANNOT

15. is there an artist you wish more people knew?

oh for sure!!! theres an awesome guy called M.A.G.S. with some AWESOME music that isnt too popular, also a band called juniper with some good stuff, a band called goodnight, texas with some awesome stuff. OH ALSO JACK CAMPBELL HAS SOME REALLY COOL STUFF (ABSENTEE THE COOLEST SONG EVER!!!!!)!!!!! anyways probably more but yeah those are some faves of mine i wish more ppl knew!!!

19. do you have an exception to a genre you don't like?

tbh theres not really any genre i have a strong dislike for, i kinda feel like theres a time and place for all kinds of music i guess. im sure i have a song and genre that fit this question but nothigns coming to mind rn lol

20. do you listen to your music loud or quiet?

my hearing is kind of fucked so i genuinely dont know 😭 if its in earbuds or my car then i feel like sort of loud??? ish??? i like it to like fill the silence completely i guess, sorta envelop me, but if i play it on a speaker then usually pretty quietly i think. thats more for background noise. once again though my hearings fucked up so im not really sure LMAOO

#ask #six-frogs-in-a-trench-coat #thanks for the ask!!!! :D

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janetbrown711 · 3 years

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I don't know how much i can endure this - Yakko

“Yakko I don’t wanna go,” Dot complained, pulling on her itchy and puffy black dress that was just a little too tight.

“We all have to go, Dot, it’s not up to us,” Yakko sighed, adjusting the bow tying her ears together.

“But this dress itchessss,” she whined, tugging on the sleeves.

“You’re going to stretch it out if you keep that up,” Yakko warned.

“Why do we have to go?” Dot continued with her complaining.

“Because Grandma said so, and what grandma tells us to do now... we have to,” Yakko glanced at his younger brother who was leaning against the wall and not facing them.

“Why?” Dot asked.

“Because mom and dad can’t help us anymore,” Yakko sighed, taking her hand and walking towards Wakko. Wakko muttered something under his breath.

Thankfully, Dot didn’t ask “why” again.

“You ready?” Yakko asked Wakko.

“Yeah,” Wakko said. Yakko rolled his eyes, noticing his brother’s shirt was buttoned all wrong.

“Grandma would kill you if she saw you like this,” Yakko sighed, fixing it. Wakko muttered yet again.

“What on earth are you muttering about?” Yakko shot him a look.

“Nothing... nothing,” Wakko looked away. The older prince sighed. He really didn’t have the energy for this.

Then again, he could hardly say he had the energy for anything anymore. The most sleep he had gotten the past four days was when he got knocked out by the assassins. Other than that, he was unable to sleep, the words of his mom ringing in his head.

“Let him go! It’s me you want, not him!”

He shivered.

“Let’s just get going... the sooner it’s over, the better,” Yakko said, offering a hand to Dot and Wakko. Dot took it, but Wakko crossed his arms.

They carried on.

“Ready, you three?” Their grandmother asked, making that the fourth thing she had said to them since the day after the attack.

She still hadn’t taken off that stupid thick black veil.

“As we’ll ever be,” Yakko said, giving Dot’s hand a squeeze.

Slowly, the grand doors to the overcast courtyard opened, and Yakko’s eyes quickly went to the two caskets.

“Who’s in there?” Dot pointed as they went to their spot, which Yakko quickly made her put down.

“Not mum and dad,” Wakko mumbled, and Yakko gave him a look as their grandmother went to the podium.

“My people, we are gathered here today to do something no mother should ever have to go through. Today, we honor and mourn the memory of my only child, Princess Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca the Second, and her husband, Sir William the Good,” She said, her voice cold and numb to the ears.

Yakko felt a wave of anger wash over him. She had no right to speak in that way.

She hired the assassins. She wanted them dead and gone. It was all her fault.

“It is with a heavy heart that I am forced to retain my throne until my grandson, Prince Yakko, is of age,” she gestured to him. He didn’t know what to do, so he just nodded, trying not to let his rage consume him, allowing the numbness to take over once more.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could endure this.

His grandmother continued on with her speech, but Yakko paid it no mind, his eyes stuck on the empty caskets.

Wakko was right, his parents weren’t in them. Nobody told them why, but Yakko was smart enough to realize that just meant the assassins either burned them, threw them in a river somewhere, or buried them in the middle of the woods somewhere far, far away.

In some sense, Yakko was glad the caskets were empty. He wasn’t sure if he had it in him to look upon the dead faces of his mother and father, and he was much more sure that seeing that wouldn’t be good for Wakko or Dot.

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown, and heavier is the heart of one who has lost a child,” he heard her say.

Yakko growled, but controlled himself, burying the anger deep within himself.

Eventually, she was done, and other, more boring people spoke. There was a song and Yakko really wanted nothing more in the world than for this to end so he could go back into his room and be alone for just a moment, not standing in front of thousands feeling empty and hollow and numb.

The queen chose to stand on the opposite side of the podium than the trio of children. She had been distant ever since the attack. Yakko suspected that was likely to change very soon, but for now he was grateful. The last thing he wanted to deal with was her complaining that Dot was crying too loud.

Poor Dot... she was still too young to really understand what death was, no matter how Yakko tried to explain. All she knew was that they were gone, and they weren’t coming back. At first she thought it was because they abandoned them, but Yakko was quick to explain they’d never do that to them. After that though, she started looking around corners for them, expecting them to be there any minute...

Every night, Dot would wake up and start crying for them, but they never came. Instead, Yakko could come in and take Dot to his and Wakko’s room, and he’d cuddle with her until she fell back asleep.

It helped him with his nightmares too.

“Yakko, we’re going, it’s over,” Wakko said, snapping his older brother back into reality.

“Right, yes,” Yakko shook his head, taking Dot’s hand again, and they all went to the great hall for refreshments, though Yakko hardly had the appetite.

However, Wakko did have the appetite, so he stayed anyway, though he was unfortunately placed right next to his grandmother, looking evermore cold and blank behind that veil. He could hardly make out where her eyes were, until she looked at him, then he looked away.

“It’s rude to stare at a woman in mourning,” She said.

“Mourning my ass,” Yakko thought. He was so done pretending to care about her.

“Sorry,” he said instead. Knowing the new lengths she was willing to go to to get rid of people and things she didn’t like reminded him to keep his mouth shut.

“That brother of yours is causing a racket. Fix it,” She waved her hand at him, and Yakko looked for Wakko and whatever racket he was supposedly causing, but all he was him and a few other random boys lauhging and playing a game in the corner. Yakko frowned.

“I don’t see what the matter is?” He scratched his head.

“This is a funeral, boy, you aren’t supposed to be playing games,” She seethed, and Yakko left without a word, sensing her anger.

“Wakko, c’mon,” Yakko went to his brother.

“What? I’m in the middle of a-”

“Now.” Yakko snapped, stepping out into the hall. Wakko quickly followed.

“What did I do this time?” Wakko asked as the door closed behind him.

“This is a funeral, Wakko, you can’t be playing games with strangers,” Yakko pointed out. “Or did you forget why we’re wearing these black uncomfortable outfits?”

“I didn’t forget,” Wakko rolled his eyes.

“Oh yeah? Because it really seems like you have,” Yakko stepped forward angrily. Wakko blinked, not understanding where this anger was coming from.

“W-well... it’s not my fault it doesn’t actually feel like a funeral. I-i mean seriously Yakko, they didn’t even find their bodies,” Wakko crossed his arms.

“Wakko... they’re dead whether you like it or not,” Yakko said, feeling a lump in his throat.

“No,” Wakko shook his head. “I don’t believe it. If they were dead, they’d’ve been in those boxes.”

“Wakko, i know i-it hurts, but-”

“but no! They aren’t dead! Th-they can’t be dead b-because if they were-” Wakko paused from his shouting.

“I-if they were...”

“It’d be my fault...”

Yakko blinked. “Wh-what?”

“I-it was my idea to run i-in the garden a-and I ran through the flower b-bed and I tracked in the mud, a-and she took me to the tower a-and Dad broke me out a-and grandma g-got mad at mum a-and th-then everything was b-bad a-and n-now they’re gone,” Wakko shouted, a waterfall of tears streaming down his face.

“Wakko, that isn’t true,” Yakko was mortified.

“If they’re dead it’s my fault, it’s true,” Wakko didn’t listen, shaking his head and closing his eyes tightly, putting his hands on his head. Yakko quickly hugged him.

“It’s not your fault Wakko,” He stroked his head.

“It’s my fault- I’m such a screw up,” he continued to cry.

“Wakko, you are not a screw up and you are not an idiot,” Yakko adamantly denied.

“Th-then why are they gone?” Wakko looked up at him, tears still pouring. Yakko bit his lip.

He could tell them. He knew why, he had seen the letter.

But that would make them angry, and anger would cause them to lash out at the queen, which could get them hurt or far, far worse.

“Because evil people decided to hurt them,” Yakko sighed. “I’m sorry, there’s nothign more to it than that.”

“I’ll kill them,” Wakko sniffled and buried his head in Yakko’s shirt.

“I know Wakko, I know,” Yakko patted his head. For a long moment, the warner brothers remained in their embrace.

“S-so... they’re really... dead?” Wakko glanced up.

“Y-yeah... they’re really dead, Wakko.” He paused, before adding, “I’m so sorry.”

Wakko sniffled. “You don’t need to be sorry, it’s not your fault either.”

Yakko hesitated at that. It made sense, of course, but.. he sighed.

“Worrying yourself to death isn’t going to do any of us any good.” His mother’s voice reminded.

“Yeah... you’re right,” He sighed. “There’s no point in guilt anyway. We’ll just... have to move on.”

“...I miss them,” Wakko whispered.

“I miss them too Wak, but they’re gone, and there’s nothing we can do expect move on, okay?”

Wakko slowly nodded.

“Okay...”

.o0o.

“We’re almost there, I promise.”

THey had traveled for goodness knew how long, ignoring the stings, the rips, the sprains that burned throughout their bodies as they trudged through the snow.

Of all of the years for it to snow early, did it have to be this one?

Well, then again, the snow had been their savior, the ice caused their carriage to overturn.

That didn’t mean they weren’t injured in their escape, one was barely holding on as it was.

“We’re almost there.” the stronger of the two repeated.

“I-i can’t. It hurts too much,” they nearly collapsed into the snow, had it not been for the other catching them.

“Just a little bit further, please,” The stronger pleaded. The weaker shook their head.

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“They need you.”

“You don’t think they need you too?”

A pause.

“I’ll carry you.”

“Y-you can’t-”

“I can and I will-”

“Your arm-”

“I don’t care,” The stronger made their decision. They braced themselves, and with tremendous effort, picked up their dying partner, and continued trudging through the snow.

Slowly but surely a small town swelled on the horizon.

They had made it.

They carried on as fast as they could manage, ignoring the flairing pain shooting through their entire body when finally, they arrived.

With their free hand they pounded on the door. Shuffling noises came from behind, and eventually, a familiar curvy blonde woman answered the door.

“Dr Scratchnsniff’s Office, how can I- William?! Princess? What on earth are you two doing in Acme Falls? What happened?”

“We’ve had one hell of a week.” William responded, before collasping onto his knees, and passing out.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

#my fics #animaniacs #angelina 1 lives au #yakko wakko and dot #wakko warner #yakko warner #dot warner #tw injuries #queen angelina i #queen angelina ii #william warner #tw funeral #angst

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sayitaliano · 2 years

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Hi, can you please help me with the translation of "In realtà sono schifoso anch'io". Michele Bravi said this in an interview with zia Mara. She was quiet shocked by the words and even though I understand them all, I think they have another meaning. Thank you.

Ciao! I haven't seen the interview but I watched the video cause the actual meaning of the sentence can change according on the context in which he said it. So the two (Michele and Mara Venier) were talking about love, how they both were going to be alone on Valentine's day and should have met just to do something together (chat and similar: the whole time Mara kept saying she feels a strong bond with Michele that goes beyond what one can see with the eyes, she almost feels like he's one of her unborn sons/nephews, someone she may have met in another life, and believes there're a lot of connections between themtwo - i.e., Michele's grandparents who were totally in awe with her and that he loved deeply).

To actually come to your question: Mara asked Michele what he was going to do on Valentine's day and he said "caressing my dog... nothign much". So she started asking Michele why he's alone and he said "you have to ask others... find me a bf!" she replied "you can have whoever you want" and asked how this person is supposed to be like, and Michele said he has to be grounded/determined, most of all. Michele asked her when she found love and she said "I found my true love at 49 y.o." and Michele went "Oh, I still have a lot of time for that then!" and Mara "Yeah but I haven't been caressing my dog all my life... I used to go out before meeting him" (and see other men - she got married before, and so on. She didn't say explicity everything, but this is the meaning). Michele explained: "You know I portray this perfect, set up, serious artist through my look and songs but tbh... *sono uno schifoso anche io*" and Mara finally laughed of joy for he said this out loud lol. With that sentence he means he actually *does things* (meet other people/men, goes out, clubs.... whatever he may like Idk, but he's not a 'saint' -pass me the word- as he might portray on stage and publicy. Schifoso here is used in the acception "I'm a dirty person too in my private life". In fact he also adds "Mara I'm 30 y.o. I know things" or something on that note.)

Hope this helps you :)

#it #traduzioni #italian language #italian audio #italianblr #italian langblr #langblr #language #italiano #italian #lingua italiana #michele bravi #domenica in

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years

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Birds Still Sing When They Fall From The Sky

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7/ part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12 / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 / part 16 / part 17 / part 18 / part 19 / part 20 / part 21 / part 22 belongs to this

content warnings: injury, thinking one is about to die (Geralt gets badly injured, but he doesn’t die), a sick child (not explicit and only briefly), injured animal (Roach gets a bit injured but nothing explicit and nothign really bad)

(still not the final chapter)

Geralt stumbled out of the muddy water, the kikimora’s carcass lying forgotten behind him.

It would be of no use to get proof of his hunt now. The gash where one of the beast’s talons had pierced Geralt’s chest was too long, too deep. Geralt would be lucky if he even made it back into town.

His lips twisted into a bitter smile. As if luck would ever be on his side.

His knees buckled, the muddy ground gave way beneath him; suddenly he was rushing towards it, hitting the ground with a painful grunt as all air was pushed out of his lungs.

It burned, tore at him from the inside.

Geralt closed his eyes, listening to his own breath, his own heart that wouldn’t be beating for much longer.

He had always known it would end like this, with him bleeding out somewhere in a forest where no one would find him and with no one to mourn or even notice his death. He had made his peace with that months after becoming a witcher.

A sharp sting in his eyes made him blink rapidly. No. He couldn’t shed any tears over this. He couldn’t cry only because now this fate that was always meant to be his would come true, because now there was no one there who would wait for his return, who would be worried about him if he didn’t show up in town come the morning.

There was nothing to be done, nothing to grieve for.

It had been his own damn fault. He had been too reckless, too uncaring of what would happen to him. He got what he has had coming for months now.

This was no time for regrets.

But still … as he lay there with rattling breath and sharp pain seizing him at the smallest movement, he thought of Jaskier, as he always knew he would in his last moments. He thought of the letters Jaskier had written for him and that Geralt had been too much of a coward to read.

Icy fear closed its claws around him, caging him in. He was alone and cold and afraid and he was going to bleed out without knowing what Jaskier had wanted to tell him.

He wanted to – he needed to read a letter. Just one. He couldn’t go alone. He needed Jaskier’s words with him as he left, just as he had needed them when Jaskier had been the one to leave.

With the strength of desperation, Geralt crawled over to where he had dropped off his bags. His fingers dug into the dirt and his wound shot blazing fire through his chest as the movements tore at its edges.

None of that mattered, when finally, finally, Geralt reached the bag, clawing at the letters, desperate to find the one he needed, the one that would be a fitting farewell for him.

‘Read when you are injured’

His mouth twisted into a mirthless laugh. Jaskier had known he wouldn’t be good enough to survive on his own.

He blinked the dark splotches that crept up on the edges of his vision away, focussing all his strength into reading what would be Jaskier’s last words to him.

‘My dearest, Geralt,

I think by now I know you well enough to guess correctly how you feel right now. But I suppose if you are reading this that means you can understand better than before how I always felt when you were hurt and on the verge of dying; how I feel now, writing this letter knowing that one day you will need to read it because you got hurt again.

I wish more than anything that I were there to help you through this, but I need you to be strong and do that yourself, alright?

Can you do that for me?

Take your potions, take your time to clean your wounds and for the gods’ sake go to a healer. I don’t care if you think you can or should deal with the pain. I care about you and I need you to be alright.

So stop reading and make sure you’re not bleeding out.

And Geralt? I love you. I have never been prouder of anything than knowing and loving you.

With all my heart,

Jaskier’

Geralt’s chest tightened, the emotion welling up inside him almost strong enough to drown out the acid pain from the wound. Jaskier cared about him, needed him to get through his.

Yet Geralt could do nothing but reread the letter again and again until his vision became blurred, from bloodloss or unshed tears he could not say.

‘I care about you. I need you to be alright.’

The words repeated in Geralt’s mind, like a faint echo growing stronger and stronger until it became the rhythm of a battle cry.

Geralt’s body burned, threatened to crumble once more. He clenched his jaw and with inhuman strength, he lifted himself up.

A call for Roach, seconds that stretched into what felt like hours, while the glimmering determination inside him turned into a raging fire rivalling the one in his chest.

‘you can understand better than before how I always felt when you were hurt and on the verge of dying’

Oh, how he understood. How that ache of knowing was branded into his very being. He had lived with suffocating fear for years and had to watch it come true before his eyes.

He couldn’t let Jaskier’s fear for him come true as well. He couldn’t do that to him.

With the last effort before he collapsed, Geralt managed to heave himself onto Roach, trusting her to carry him where he could make sure he could do what Jaskier needed of him.

When Geralt came to, the agony in his chest had softened into a dull and throbbing ache. A light breeze brushed over him, making his hairs stand on end.

With a groan he tried to sit up, wincing when renewed pain shot through him.

“I wouldn’t do that,” a small voice piped up to his left.

Geralt turned to the side with a scowl, but froze when he met the wide eyes of a child lying in a bed next to his. His skin was sickly white and the skin around his eyes red.

Geralt stared at the little boy mutely, unable to even begin to form words.

The child didn’t seem to mind.

“You should be really nice to the healer when she comes back,” the boy said and gave him a toothy grin. “She was a bit angry at you because you kept trying to push her away while she bandaged you.”

Geralt’s frown returned. “I don’t remember that.”

“I do!” The boy had no reason to look as excited as he did. “You are so strong, even when you were half-asleep. You should have seen yourself when she tried to take off your necklace to better check the bandage.”

Without thinking, Geralt’s hand shot up to the necklaces resting on his bare and bandaged chest. The cool metal of his medallion was still there, but Geralt only felt himself relax once he felt the barely-there weight of the seashell necklace that had previously burned against his chest but that now was a pleasant reassurance.

The boy cocked his head to the side curiously. “Why is it so important?” His eyes lit up. “Is it magic?”

Geralt’s lips quirked up and he leaned back against the pillows of his own sick bed with closed eyes.

“It’s a good luck charm. Keeps me safe when I fight monsters.”

The child seemed to be brimming in excitement and Geralt could hear the sound of his fidgeting.

“Where can I get one of those?” the boy said in a tone as if he had been bursting to ask the question.

Geralt opened his eyes again, only a smidge, and let his eyes once more wander across the pale skin of the child and the way his hair stuck to his forehead as if glued there by fever-sweat.

Geralt hesitated. His hand tightened its grip on the necklace. The precious gift Jaskier had given him. Something to keep him safe.

With a harsh movement, so that he didn’t have time to change his mind, Geralt pulled the necklace over his head and tossed it over to the boy who scrambled to the edge of his bed to catch it.

Geralt’s breath hitched when he saw his necklace in another’s hands, but he forced himself to soften his expression.

“Thank you!” The boy sounded as if Geralt had saved his life. It twisted his gut, but the smile he sent back was sincere. “But what about you? Don’t you need the luck when you fight monsters?”

“I don’t need luck.” The rest of the tightness clinging to him loosened its grip, falling away piece by piece, with every one of Jaskier’s words telling him that he needed him to be alright, feared for him, loved him came back to him. “I have something better.”

His hands were balled into fists so tight that his nails would draw blood any minute.

Everything inside Geralt screamed at him to go, turn back and leave. Standing in front of the tavern door, steeling himself to go in was more terrifying than the monster he had faced not even an hour ago.

He had done what he came here for. He had his coin and food for Roach. He should leave, as he would have done if it wasn’t for the letter in his hand being crumpled by how tightly he gripped it.

‘Read when you hear another bard play one of my songs’

It wasn’t the only letter. The gods knew, there were so many more in Geralt’s bag, he could easily shove this one to the bottom of them and never read it, never subject himself to the white pain that threatened to pry him apart with every note of the lute that he heard even through the closed door.

He forced himself to think of the other letters he had read. Not a single one of them he regretted reading, even if it had stung to follow the instructions Jaskier had left him on how to make flowercrowns as he had watched Jaskier do so many times or how to take care of himself the way Jaskier would have done.

Reading the letters was hard, but so was his life and perhaps those letters were the only thing that would take away some of that crushing emptiness if only he managed to gather enough strength to read them all.

His heart beat painfully against his ribcage and he ground his teeth as he pushed the door open.

Immediately, the noises and smells of the tavern threatened to overwhelm him, but Geralt set his jaw and pushed through.

As much as he wanted to shut out the noise, he couldn’t stop listening to the bard. The music was so achingly familiar.

Geralt had been prepared for it to hurt, for it to be unbearable.

What he felt now was so much worse.

Though the bard was far less skilled than Jaskier had been, he sang his songs with the same bright-eyed hunger for adventure.

And Geralt – Geralt found his heart slowing down, calming at the familiarity and joy in the words and melodies Jaskier had written.

Geralt should hate this, but he couldn’t.

The need to flee still sat deep in his bones, but he forced himself to listen, note all the imperfections and all the thrills of excitement in the bard’s voice.

With hands that should be shaking but were eerily calm, Geralt opened the letter.

Taken aback, he frowned, when he saw how short it was. He didn’t know what he had expected.

Maybe a grand analysis of what Jaskier’s lyrics meant or maybe a fond recounting of what he had felt while he had gone on the adventures that had inspired him to write.

What he found instead was so wonderfully unsophisticated in its bluntness that Geralt couldn’t keep the snort in.

The paper only had a single sentence on it: ‘I am better.’

A grin spread across Geralt’s face. It wasn’t particularly big and some might have confused it for a grimace, but to Geralt it felt so unexpectedly sincere that he was sure his cheeks might begin to hurt from it.

He leaned back and watched as the bard brought the song to a close.

He stayed to listen even after he had moved on from Jaskier’s songs.

It took Geralt a while to enter another tavern. His dread still spiked up at the sound of a lute and sometimes he would succumb to it and leave. But more and more often, he stayed to listen to the bards he came across - On some rare occasions he even sought them out, when his own meagre playing wasn’t enough for him anymore.

His resolve to listen to the music didn’t make it any easier, at least at first. He still gripped the edges of the tables he sat at tightly and he tensed up at every first note that reached him, but slowly, he started to come to truly enjoy the music.

More so, when they were Jaskier’s songs. Seeing bards’ eyes light up with a spark put there by Jaskier’s creations and see an audience cheer for the poet that had touched them with his words settled something warm and comfortable within him.

But the best part was, whenever someone recognised Geralt. What would have been terrifying and reason enough to leave a town and never return started to feel like a comfort.

Of course, people would know he was a witcher, it was hard to miss. He couldn’t expect anyone to know him as someone who had been loved by Jaskier.

And yet there were few times that people called him a witcher without adding that he belonged to the bard. Somehow, though years had passed since they had been seen travelling with each other, they still belonged together, and Geralt was witness to the fact that the world knew it, celebrated it even.

He might be a witcher again, be alone again, but Jaskier’s legacy made sure that he would always be known as Jaskier’s.

Geralt stared at the notebook in his hands. He couldn’t tell how much time had passed in which he held a quill in a death grip as if it could force the words that wouldn’t come to Geralt onto the page.

That damned blank page that was just waiting for Geralt to mess up.

His jaw clenched. He couldn’t risk it. The notebook was Jaskier’s. His unfinished work.

Anything written in it should be perfect, filled with wit and elegant letters, so unlike anything that Geralt would ever be able to put to paper.

While he had been travelling with Sera, he had told himself he couldn’t fill in the notebook as he had promised himself at Jaskier’s grave he would do.

She wouldn’t have laughed at him, of this Geralt was certain, but she still was a bard, a word-smith, a silver-tongue. And she wasn’t Jaskier. As much as she wouldn’t openly judge him, she couldn’t understand him the way Jaskier had.

So he had closed the book, time and time again, always telling himself he would start writing once he was alone again.

He had been for almost a month now, and still not a single drop of ink had been put on the page.

It was easy to write. So easy. As easy as life.

He couldn’t do it.

He had to.

He had promised, himself and Jaskier. He had promised he would tell him about his hunts, he had promised he would see pretty things, even if most days the Path seemed grey and barren of anything that could elicit a smile from Geralt.

With a forcefully steady hand and a heart that sat in his throat, Geralt wrote down a single sentence.

It was nothing special, no rhetoric masterpiece. Just simple words describing how Roach ate a dandelion today.

The quill hovered over the page, the tip almost touching it, almost writing about how it had made Geralt smile.

He put the quill aside before he could write anything like that. His one sentence was good the way it was; it didn’t need Geralt’s smile. Jaskier would have liked the sentence.

And yet. The longer Geralt stared at the words, the more did the wrongness of them gnaw at Geralt’s gut. He shouldn’t have written them. He should have waited until he saw something truly worthwhile to note down.

Instead he had wasted precious space by writing about a stupid, silly thing that no one but him would think important enough to even look at.

His hands balled into fists and he had to restrain himself from crossing out the words or tearing out the page.

But he couldn’t stop himself from forcefully snapping the book shut and stuffing it into his back. Tomorrow he would find something better to write about. Something that wouldn’t have made Jaskier be ashamed of him.

Tomorrow came and went and all that was left in the notebook by Geralt was the one damned sentence that didn’t need an ugly twin.

The colours spread over the sky as if an artist had spilled their paints.

It was stunning, but Geralt barely looked at it, his mind too preoccupied with the letter in his hands.

‘Read when you see a breath-taking sunset’

There was no doubt that now was the perfect moment, but despite the many letters Geralt had read already – Jaskier had seemingly prepared for any situation in which Geralt might need his input – breaking it open never became any easier, though something had changed in Geralt. His heart was no longer racing solely out of fear and desperation, instead anticipation made his breath catch in his throat and his chest tingle.

Slowly but steadily the sun crept closer to the horizon, every moment shortening Geralt’s chance to read the letter.

A thrill shot through him as he finally opened it, his eyes roaming hungrily over the words in much the same way that Jaskier might have looked at the sunset.

The letter was shorter than many others, but Geralt felt no stinging disappointment. The words written before him in hurried and shaky letters looked almost the same way Jaskier’s voice had sounded like whenever he needled Geralt for details about his hunts.

‘My dearest, Geralt,

What are you doing reading this letter? Look at the sky! Knowing you, the sunset will be almost over by now. What does it look like? You’ll have to tell me all about it. Is there a lake where the last rays of sunlight are bleeding into the water like it does here? Or are there mountains swallowing the sun?

I would love to be there with you and hold your hand while we watch it. You are always radiant in the golden light of the sinking sun. Have I ever told you your hair takes on nearly the same colour as your eyes when the sun hits it just right? Well, it does. And it’s a sight I look forward to seeing many more times. And don’t you groan about that, you and I both know I will make you enjoy watching sunsets with me. And I’ve I like watching you…well, it’s not my fault if I like looking at beautiful things. And you, dearest, are the most beautiful of all to me.

I wish I was there to see you now, reading this letter still despite me telling you to look at the sun, you rascal!

I love you,

Jaskier’

Geralt looked back up, the tiniest smile on his lips and a sweet crack in his heart.

“I wish you were here too,” he whispered, but despite the feeling swelling in his chest, his voice didn’t break.

He sat back and watched the sunset, doing his best to notice every single facet of it.

He stayed like this until the light was well and truly gone. Only then, did he took out the notebook whose presence had been burning in Geralt’s mind ever since he had written down the first and only note of something that had made him smile.

As before, Geralt hesitated. He couldn’t mess this up. He didn’t have the right words while Jaskier would have been able to write verses about the sunset.

Something in Geralt’s chest grew warm and fuzzy. He could almost hear the way Jaskier’s voice had been so full of joy and softness as he had described his last sunset to Geralt. He too had looked too beautiful to put in words in the golden light.

The tip of the quill touched the paper and as if a dam had broken, words spilled forth. They were still clumsy and looked more like a list than a poetic description; some words and phrases were borrowed from Jaskier, but it felt right somehow.

A letter back to Jaskier.

The warmth in his chest felt like a hug.

He should set up camp for the night. He had answered Jaskier’s questions and he had found something worth remembering. He should be done for the day.

Still, he didn’t move, as he watched the stars twinkle into existence one after the other. He could rest just a little longer, describe just a little more beauty and allow himself to smile at it.

Sleep still didn’t come often and if it did, Geralt tossed and turned, plagued by images he would rather forget, unless exhaustion took him into its sweet embrace and granted him black nothingness.

But no matter whether he slept or not, whether he had nightmares or was blessed with darkness, he made a point of spending the night in a real bed as often as the coin allowed it.

It wasn’t good by any means. No matter how comfortable the matrass and how warm the blanket, there was still an empty space next to him, there was no head resting heavily on his chest and no breath on his neck to tickle him as he drifted off to sleep.

So no, it wasn’t good. But it was better. Only a little bit, but better nonetheless.

If he gave it more time, it might even become good enough to deserve a mention in the notebook.

The cut on his chest from the leshy lying dead at his feet stung and Geralt’s breath rattled in his chest, each inhale painful like swallowing shards of glass.

He knew he had been sloppy. He knew he should have been better. Months on the Path had erased all pretence of having an excuse for being unable to fight like before and yet his injuries hadn’t gotten any less.

The one thing that had changed though was that now, he managed to drag himself over to his bag and take out the letter – the first one he had read - no matter how serious his injury.

By now the letter was crumpled, its edges torn and some words covered by the odd blood splatter.

It didn’t matter. Geralt had read it often enough to know its words by heart.

He hissed as his broken fingers traced over the words until his heart settled into a steadier rhythm and Geralt found the strength to push himself up and try to find a healer.

The words Jaskier had written for him had saved his life over and over, not always solely from physical injury.

It was hard. Not a day went by without him missing Jaskier.

It was hard and lonely and it didn’t seem to end. But such was a witcher’s life. And yet, Geralt had what no witcher was meant to have: a beloved who made sure to save him even now, to tell him to stay safe and that it mattered that he was alive and well. A lighthouse looking out for him, even if it was too far away to see.

Sometimes Geralt wondered if it was harder this way, if perhaps he wouldn’t have noticed how cold his bed was or how quiet the road if he had never met Jaskier.

Maybe. Probably.

But there were other things he started to notice too. Things he would never have noticed if it weren’t for Jaskier.

It became a habit to linger when Geralt saw a patch of wildflowers and think about how well they would look in their little garden, to rise early not to be off on the road as soon as possible, but to catch sight of the colours the dawn painted across the sky, to look at the clouds more often, not solely to judge the weather, but to trace fantastical shapes in the clouds with his eyes.

The once empty half of the notebook was quickly filled with all sorts of pretty things Jaskier would have liked to hear about. Not a day went past without Geralt finding at least one thing to note down.

Some days his notes were pitiful and Geralt almost snapped the book shut in frustration.

‘I woke up before the nightmares got too bad’, ‘It stopped raining’, ‘I bought some bread’.

Stuff barely worth being called good things and so mundane he considered not writing them down at all.

He still did.

Other days, it was hard to choose what to write down for the opposite reason: because there had been more than one good thing happening to him. Eventually Geralt gave up on choosing just one thing good enough to tell Jaskier about and noted every little thing that made him smile.

What started out as a chore became a habit he didn’t mind.

Eventually, the last page of the book was filled with no space left to write down even one more thing, no matter how much he squeezed the letters together.

A sinking feeling lodged itself in Geralt’s chest as he stared at the notebook in his hand that had forced him to see little specks of colour on the dull and grey road.

He had fulfilled the promise he made to himself. There was no need to force himself to notice wildflowers or stick around to watch his contractors’ faces morph into gratefulness when he told them he had gotten rid of monsters.

He had done what he had set out to do, now he could go back to the bleak Path he had walked for decades before meeting Jaskier. He could go back to the life of blood and pain. There was no need for stupidly romantic notions like a whispering wind or a life of adventure.

With a heavy sigh Geralt closed the book and put it in his bag for the last time, ready to face the Path as it had always been meant to be seen.

And yet, the sun had not even begun to set, when Geralt found himself listening to a choir of birds, a tiny smile on his face.

The little warmth Geralt felt as he rode on didn’t fade, though the song of the forest in his ears was nowhere close to the joyful way Jaskier would have experienced it. No one could see the world how he had done. Still, Jaskier had done everything in his power to teach him and whether Geralt wanted to or not, he had learned.

Out of all the letters, one stood out. While every other letter was addressed to Geralt, this one had a different recipient.

Whenever Geralt looked through the envelopes and stumbled across this one, he would smirk and put it back at the very bottom of the stack of unread letters.

Withholding the letter from Roach felt almost like the playful back and forth whenever Geralt told Jaskier not to coddle her, as if he hadn’t loved every moment of watching Jaskier try to befriend his horses. Not reading the letter addressed to her was the closest he could get to grumbling when Jaskier had tried to sneak his old horses some treats behind Geralt’s back.

Now though, with Roach lying on her side and neighing in distress, Geralt thought of the letter, of how Jaskier would have surly moved the world to comfort the injured horse.

The gash on her flank from where a drowner had caught her wasn’t deep, but it must have been the first time the young horse had gotten injured badly enough to bleed.

Geralt didn’t work as quietly as he normally would as he looked after the injury, mumbling soothing reassurances and stroking her sweat-soaked neck.

She would be fine. All she needed was some rest and reassurance that she wasn’t alone, that Geralt was here to take care of her.

Despite the gruffness of his voice, it seemed to help Roach calm down. Her ears twitched in irritation when his voice eventually died down, running out of words and ways to comfort.

Without really meaning to, his eyes drifted to his bag.

The next words that left his mouth to calm his companion weren’t his own. They were written by a bard so full of love for the world that he needed to even describe it to a horse he would never get to know.

While reading out loud Geralt’s voice broke off more than once, but not caused by sobs or a tight throat any longer. Instead he chuckled as he read how Jaskier formally introduced himself to Roach and told her that he would have loved to meet her.

Geralt snorted and put the letter down briefly to pat Roach once more.

“You hear that, Roach? He really thought there was something he needed to tell you about himself, as if I wouldn’t have told you all about him by now,” he said with a grin. “What do you say, should I even keep reading or is it unnecessary?”

Roach only huffed, but despite his words, Geralt continued to read.

It was a silly letter, filled with nonsense that normally wouldn’t come out of Geralt’s mouth even if someone held a sword at his throat. His eyes narrowed as the creeping suspicion entered his mind that while writing Jaskier had cackled thinking about Geralt reading those sickeningly sweet words to Roach. That wonderful bastard.

The grin didn’t leave Geralt’s lips while he read the letter over and over until Roach seemed calm enough to not need his voice any longer.

As he finally put the letter aside side - on top on the stack of read letters for the first time - something made Geralt halt.

A thought, only half-formed but loud enough that it wanted to be heard nonetheless.

He hadn’t needed the letter. Sure, it had helped with Roach and Jaskier’s words never failed to make him smile, but it was more because they were Jaskier’s. The actual meaning of his letters had started to become less and less important. No, not less important, just…redundant.

Geralt had stopped to enjoy the cold water of a river before even remembering that Jaskier had written a letter to remind him to take time off to treat himself to a nice bath. He had stayed in towns and accepted thanks and smiles without even thinking about how surely there was a letter in the stack somewhere telling him to let others be nice to him.

Something came loose in Geralt’s chest and he caressed the worn paper of the letters he had reread time and time again. They were treasured and would continue to be so, because they were from Jaskier, because they were proof that Jaskier wanted to see him happy.

But maybe, just maybe, he didn’t need them to tell him how to get out of the emptiness that had haunted him, for much longer.

#geraskier #witcher #fic #witcher fanfic #my writing #injury #sick child #injured animal #geralt #Birds still sing when they fall from the sky #accidental multichapter #tfw you need a character to write letters but you are horrbile at writing them yourself

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peikonlainen · 3 years

Note

Just a quick question but what often gets you inspired?✨

Oh boy ehhhhhh - here we go to the never ending rabbit hole!!

Sometimes small things gets my attention like e.g. squirrels paws, unique red face of a person at a cold day or seeing chair upside down on icy lake (honestly I am now working on long comic about trolls inspired by that chair).

Comic art and animations inspires me greatly! Lately I have been inspired by animations gems like the thief and the cobbler, treasure island from 1988 (and other Soviet Union animations) and the king and the mocking bird. The animation process fascinates me greatly, how can one make smooth and imaginative animations is wonderful! I can't get enough of it all.

Also concept of kindness inspires me greatly. I have gone throw...lets say a lot. I love stories that show kindness where it is needed, e.g. Tove Jansson's story of invisible child. The child was bullied by their family so much that they turned completely invisible and lost their own voice, eventually they found confidence and selfworth in themselfs thanks to kindness of Moomins. I want my feelings to be seen and heard but sometimes world or people are overwhelming. Kindness is important, otherwise we will fall apart or at least I do. I am still on my way to be kind and understanding of myself and othets but those qualities are more important to me than ever.

Couple weeks ago I started to collect stuff that inspires me or I find interesting. I will list most of them below. If I am not saying anything about certain box, it means I enjoy the show/comic/meme/animal but cannot put my finger on why. Usually those make me smile and give new pespective about life. Somethings might be there twice because I am forgetful baboon!

Junji Ito's horror comics are visually out of this world! But my fav is his humorous comic about his cats. It was so different from his other comics that I fell in love with it.

Emma manga made by Kaoru Mori. Usually I can't stand romantic stories but the characters but the story and the art works perfectly together in her comics.

Comics and animations of @cecameron are gorgeus and fun!

Tove Jansson's books, comics, art and life in general.

Rainbow Road from Muppets is my favourite song and I wish it would be played at my funeral one day. Its hopeful song that fills me with joy.

Entranta from Shera. She never gives up, I wanna be like her! I wanna see failure is part of the process and helps me get further little by little + its nothign to be shamefull of.

Ponyo's fathers frustration is relatable, also the whole movie is wonderful and colorful. Its maybe my favorite ghibli movie.

Scarr my beloved weirdo! The image was in the tarot pack of the grim adventures of Billy and Mandy and he is of course the hermit (which is my personality card)

@deep-dark-fears comics surprise me by giving new ideas to express fear.

Hugo Simberg was Finnish artist at 1900's. Symbolism and sympathetic characters of devils and death has inspired me since I was 8 years old.

Treasure planet is one of my favourite disney movies. The father son relationship between Silver and Jim is great and makes me cry everytime.

Hypnopotamus and Warren Stone from ROTTMNT. Their relationship is wholesome and inspiring + the show itself is fun, full of action and passion! I love it!

Tintin comics are almost religious in my family. It was one of the first comics I saw different from different parts of the world and how tintin could become friends even the most oddest (looking at you captain Haddock) people is marvellous.

The penguin my belowed ❤❤❤

Mörkövahti is Finnish children book that accidentally inspired me greatly. The world of troll like creatures, magical elements in the story and research of the creatures made me fall in love in the world of the books. I often love to read books for kids or teens, they are more interesting and I don't have to fear to be faced with rape, sexism and other nasty stuff.

Stop motion animation and expecially Arman animations have been always part of my life. I have soft spot for the pirates movie thanks to it's humor, naivety and animation style.

Adventure time is one of my favourite series and couple of things stuck with me. Some people are build different, you don't have to understand it but you need to respect them. I love this idea greatly and I try to live by it.

Pinsir is my favourite pokemon and it says a lot.

Mr Pogo and other smart ape characters inspire me greatly. No wonder new planet of the apes trilogy is part pf my movie collection. I am not sure why I love smart apes as characters but it always works.

Wander over yander whole concept is to be kind and help people out, I love it.

Peto was made for me by @elle-eedee at lgbtq trolls discord server. Peto ended up becoming my ultimate comfort character and I love to draw him and make stories for him. I loved the way elle-eedee combined my favorite things to create him ❤ also their colorful art inspires me everyone I see it.

@alioutfit blog is blog of style choices of man named Ali. I want to find my own style like Ali.

The murder she wrote is nostalgic for me and I wanna get into that series again! The fact smart older woman is the main focus inspires me. I love Agatha Christi stories too so it checks out.

Hugs + rottmnt. I love hugs and the show has a lot of good hugs!

Don Rosa's Donald Duck comics are the best! Those who don't know, Donald Duck comics are big in Finland!

Heikko Peikko (meaning Weak Troll) was stop motion animation series in Finland at 70's. Its wonky, basic and charming story of Heikko Peikko's everyday life.

The meme that made me less depressed

@foxing_around had wonderful comic that made me think over my friends over my sad ass.

Squirrels, I like them a lot. They remind me of my grandpa who loved forest and nature.

My sandwich with a face

Monsters petting each others! My friend has a lot of arkham maddness board games that comes with monsters. I like to play with the figurines, they are so lovely monsters!

Concept art of toothless from how to train your dragon. Why toothless couldn't look like this little ugly thing??? I would have loved him from bottom of my ❤

Kingdom of lonely bananas sign was at supermarket. Little imaginative ideas like these are great.

Pasila series is good stuff, it was said to be Finnish South Park.

My photo of snail ❤

WoY faces are glorious

The snow queen movie from 1957 gives me live. Its one of my favourite Soviet Union animation movie.

My photo of my special secret place at summer

I know only these two from Transformers comics and their love is wonderful. Truly I haven't read the comics...I wish I could tho!

Sherlock Holmes books are awesome

New ducktales series had so many characters from the comics I couldn't believe it at first! Finally I had my favourite characters like Fethry on the show!

I love odd looking animals because I am one too

Animal Crossing is a game I thought I would never play. It looked like a baby game when my big bro gave the it to me at the time gamecube was new console. He bought it because it had a memory card and he know nothing about the game. I tried it and never looked back ❤

The ping pong animation is my favourite animation series from Japan. I got the manga even I can't read it since it's straight from Japan. It's more about the lifes of the characters and how they grow as people than the game itself (or at least it feels like it). The story feels real in a way, that the characters are three dimensional and their reactions are natural. Some charachters stop developing as players, some loose interest completely, some work hard to be the best, some forget why they played in the first place and some found new ways to live their lives. The story is good for my soul.

Comic of @catmilks made me realise there are other people like me. The feeling of the comic is relatable and hopeful, things will pass and life goes on + make sure you take care of yourself.

Comics of @ stuffnoonetoldme made me reflect my life and how I see myself.

@diva-humon has good points of life. I realised I have very christian way of thinkin even I am not religious or have ever been part of any religios.

Suomenlinna, I loved it!

#ask #long post #inspiration #thank you for asking!

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honestsycrets · 4 years

Text

The Gilded Cage IV: Arranged By The Prophet

❛ pairing | ivar x reader, brother!oleg x sister!reader, Katya x Oleg

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | oleg makes a choice. the reader finds out some unsavory information about ivar-- and the old bulls keep cover

❛ warnings | Spankings, Angry!Oleg, Arranged Marriage, reprimanding, sneaking around, Katya being a bitch, Possessive!Oleg, incest (slightly nsfw)

❛ sy’s notes | igor is placed around ivar’s age at 4B, making ivar mid to late twenties in this piece.

“Get in,” Oleg says.

His bruising grip grinds down on your wrist. Waves of terror come over your chest-- not for your safety -- but for what reason had Oleg taken you away from your sweet, old bulls? In that moment, the trembling wall of muscle that is Oleg was what concerned you. Perhaps you upset him. His eyes are trained on you out of everyone, everything, and you don’t need to guess to know where he would take you. Only that as he shoves the door ajar, it slams behind him. He orders the guards standing watch in his room out.

“Oleg I--”

“Hush,” Oleg says curtly, cutting the distance to you in a short few furious strides. Your eyes train on his short black beard, legs quivering despite your innermost resolution to stand up to Oleg. Today would be the day! The day you told Oleg what you wanted of your life.

“You will stay in your room unless I call,” Oleg says, catching the loose edge of your furry robe, then the thin one underneath that. With a tug, he pulls both from your shoulders. A gasp slips from your lips, bunching your shoulders up to slide your arms around your breasts. “Enough.”

“Oleg--”

“Enough!”

Your mind is torn into bits when Oleg’s hand fell over your naked bottom with a harsh slap, causing your hips to jerk forward. A cry falls loose from your lips, marked out by another prompt smack. His palm radiates with heat from the blotchy red spot. You cradle onto the black and gold woven tunic, shuddering when another strike lands. Your round butt bounces after each powerful smack. Upon the fifth, you sob into his shoulder.

“Please--” through his heavy tunic, you get feel him-- the bulge that presses at your core. Your eyebrows knit together almost imperceptibly, but it’s something that Oleg catches when the last of his strikes finish upon your bottom. He draws his hand back, shaking off the tingles of excitement in his palm from your discipline.

“Do you know what showing off does to men?” He prompts a stupid question. Of course— you saw Ivar’s murky eye, washed over by the flood of lust. He wanted… something. If it was not Katya, could it have been you? And now… Your mind races as to why he hardened between the legs. Perhaps it’s his anger. A state where men excite themselves without realizing what they are doing.

Oleg snatches your wrist, taking it to his covered member, forcing you to feel the hardness that is there. Your eyes force shut, backing up until you hit his desk. One full of wooden shavings from Oleg’s newest statues of the first wife he once lost, freshly spilled ink, and parchment. He pinches your chin with firm, insistent pressure and forces you to gaze into his eyes.

“Well?” Oleg presses, an insipid smile splitting his lips. “Do you?”

“I…” you say after a while. “I don’t.”

“Of course you don’t,” Oleg leans forward, dropping the hand between his legs, scratching your neck with his finely trimmed beard. He hovers over you, words dappling across his skin. With a warm huff of air, he speaks against your neck. Flecks of heat break off against your neck. “You’ve never known a man because I have never allowed you to know one. I keep you safe! Me! Not Dir, nor Askold-- and not that lunatic.”

“Oleg… you are my brother,” you start, reaching for his beard. Your hands settle on his scratchy beard, caressing it with your thumb. He casts his glare aside at your next words. “Not my husband. Why would you discipline me like that?”

The way you say it settles wrong in Oleg’s mind. He rips his head around, catching you with a hot stare. “What difference does it make?”

You force him back, pressing your fingers to his lips to shush him. If it were anyone else, you might have thought something else than touching him in such a way. But this is Oleg. Your Oleg. Your sweet brother.

“What is changing?” you ask.

Oleg looks at you, dull and long, considering your words. There’s no answer to your question.

“I cannot tell anymore, Oleg, if you are angry with me or… aroused by me. The more sense I try to make, the less sense this makes. You have always been a good brother. Fair to me. But now I am… I…”

“Don’t make sense of nonsense, (Y/N). I am not aroused.”

If he weren’t aroused, what was… his hardness for? You convince yourself of what you previously speculated. It was a reaction to the adrenaline of your spankings. “Then what is your concern with Ivar and I?”

“None.” Oleg insists. “Because he isn’t interested in you.”

At his words, your stomach flares. Maybe it’s the insistence that Ivar had no interest in you. “What do you mean?”

“Katya has told me she reminds Ivar of his dear dead wife. So that show of your body? Wasted on him.”

If your body had been slick— excited for Ivar, it dried now. Ivar, you had thought, was excited for your body. Of course, you thought with Katya fucking Oleg, it could have easily been that… but something in you hoped.

“Oh,” you find yourself saying. It’s the best you could work out with a hot spike of disappointment in your eyes. “I see. She is the prize.”

Oleg dips down, lifting you into his arms, and settles into his grand bed. You fall to the side of him, in the middle, as Oleg strips his shift off. You’ve snuck below the sheets, burying your nose in pillows stuffed with bird feathers. He replaces himself behind your back, settling a small kiss to your shoulder.

“You are,” he commends to you.

You glance from your fingers which have bunched up the fabric under your head. Oleg’s fingers prod your hair away from your neck, placing a small kiss at the side of your neck this time. His lips drag, lingering there at your neck. His small puffs of hot air cause your shoulder to roll, almost laughing.

“Stop,” you say gently. “It tickles.”

“Bear with me,” Oleg hums. “It will be the last time.”

Tomorrow, Oleg would be marrying the strange princess. Despite your reservations to a woman you never knew, you attempted to keep a smile upon your face. After all, there was nothign you could do but support your brother. At his words you turn in bed, stroking your hands over his pale upper arms in consolation.

“You’ll leave me all alone again,” you tease. The last time-- you cringe to think of the dead woman far down under in that place you were forbidden to go. “I will be so lonely.”

“I have been thinking whom I might marry you to..”

“Should I not be married by now?” you tease Oleg gingerly. His head bows to watch your fingernails dancing across his arm. Then, sliding between your legs, his eyes wander over your breasts. You wonder what he’s thinking when his eyes surface again, dark and wild, lost and yet-- found.

“There have been proposals, my beautiful sister,” he admits. “But I couldn’t accept.” Oleg tilts his head, inspecting your face framed by your long hair, spilling over the pillows beneath your head. His voice is almost even and tempered, but even then, you hear the distress wilting behind his words. “I would have to send you away.”

“I would not mind,” you say. “I would like this. To have a purpose more than… seeing children and sitting in my room.”

“I would,” Oleg replies. “Things are… complicated.”

“Do they need to be?” you protest, and lean up, placing a small kiss to the corner of his lip and cheek. Oleg’s eyes widen, clear with the confusion building. Behind his dark eyes, you find his thoughts racing. Your hands caress over his shoulders, cupping his jaws happily. A small, soft smile forms, causing your eyes to crest-like soft moons. “I would like the chance to start my own family, to make you proud.”

“You… think this would make me proud. To have you lay under some foreigner, let him fill you with his seed, have… children,” Oleg mumbles to himself. “Why would I have someone else take you away?” He looks toward you, looking for an answer to his question. There is none. Only the confusion in your eyes, waiting for this game of dancing around one another to meet its end.

Your chest pulls at his words as if all he needed to do was pull a loose seam for it all to come apart. Maybe he does-- because when he speaks again, it does come apart in front of his tight and pinched features.

“This, here, is where you belong. You are mine-- mine. My sweet, beautiful sister. I would not have someone fill you,” Oleg grates out. “I love you.”

“And I, you,” you say easily.

“I need you to stay with me.”

He asks too much of you. You suppose it is your fault for being there in his time of need, loving him like no other— but Katya should be his rock now. You stroke his hair. Smile. Caress the stress and hidden fear from his limbs.

“Sleep, Oleg. Your mind is full again.”

Oleg hums-- of course, he couldn’t just sleep on his own. Reaching deep in your heart, you pull forth a rhythmic hum. Something old and ancient, one carried on ethereal hums of your voice, raking your fingers through his dark, murky hair. A deep and old song professing your love-- for you dear, lost brother.

The wedding goes off without a hitch. You stood beside your sweet nephew, hands pressed together, his admiring eyes twinkling at Ivar. The boy seems to admire Ivar a good amount. As a young man who has recently become a man, you know how important a figure like Ivar is.

“I have an announcement,” Oleg spoke smoothly from his side of the table. Katya glances over to her new husband. A curl of amusement on her lips.

“What is it?” Ivar says jovially.

“The night in the bathhouse revealed a vision to me, my sweet.” Oleg leans over, flicking your chin to force it to raise. You force a smile.

“What have you seen?”

Oleg glances over to Katya who slides out of her chair and walks over to seize your shoulders. “You will marry Prince Igor,” she informs you. “When the time is right.”

“I… why?” you plead as you glance over to Oleg. Your brother cranes his head, working on a indignant smile.

Ivar, who usually holds his silence, parts his lips for the sake of his young prince. In his words, you hoped he would see reason. “He is a young man— and she is his aunt.”

“These are plans for the future, Ivar.” Oleg offers up his hands from their folded position. “It is not an immediate bond— like it would be if I were to marry her, they are removed. It will be fine.”

You push out from Katya’s hands, gripping your embroidered dress as you come behind him. Your head bows and you whisper gently in his ear. “You’re punishing me.”

“You wound me, my darling. Come here.” His hands stretch toward your hips and you avoid them, storming past Vasilii and Dmitrei who fall in line behind you. Both of which hold frozen gazes as they guide you from the room.

Clipping behind you, as you hear your name again called out. Your hands slap against your hips, whirling around to the expectation of Oleg. Standing there is not Oleg, but Ivar, straining to catch up to your long steps. You even your steps to a stop.

“Yes?”

“Come to my room tonight.”

Just after saying that, he disappears down the hall. You look between Dmitrei and Vasilii, both of whom leer back at you. It was a bad idea— you admit it to yourself as you walk back to your rooms. Vasilii and Dmitrei enter first. Both searching the room. They resurface as you take out the jewels from your ears. Oleg’s pups come beside you, sitting and waiting.

“Vasilii,” you glance over your shoulder, slipping the temple rings free. “What do you think?”

“Of what, Princess?”

“Of seeing King Ivar tonight,” you say. “Oleg informed me Princess Katya reminded him of his wife. That is who he was aroused for.”

“If you would like to see him,” he looks between Dmitrei and the wall behind him. “Do so. We will make cover.”

Oleg had been clear. You would not leave that room. But he had also been clear— you would marry within the family. To keep his selfish interests near to home. You ran a comb through your long hair, at last standing up, and plucking what clothes you had laid out for bed.

“Hm,” you mutter. “We will see.”

We will see became an agonizing fight of when to leave. To early, and Oleg’s men would be patrolling. Too late, and Oleg’s men would be waking from their half shift slumber. In the middle, you noted. At the very least you could say you went— out of respect for him.

Vasilii guides you past the guard. His cousin whom easily bought into his words. You slip between the two of them and into Ivar’s chambers. As suspected, Ivar is fast asleep. His head rests on his pillow, blankets drawn over his naked back. The moonlight streams on his pale skin. You unwind your headscarf and set it aside in a chair, slipping out of your shoes and approaching the bed.

“You’ll have to forgive me, my dear Viking.” You whisper, caressing the loose strands away from his face. A handsome jawline, cut cheekbones and broad nose— he looks as you remember him. Your fingers graze his full sideburns, running the expanse of his jaw with ghost like touch. “Oleg has forbidden me from leaving my room. I am like one of his dogs, trapped until he makes use of me.”

Making use of you— using his bond with you to secure his hold on the crown. Undoubtedly; he thought he might use you in regards to Igor. That was why this marriage was arranged. You are sure of that.

“It will be too dangerous to visit again. Goodbye,” you kneel before him, leaning in to set a chaste kiss to his lips. In his contorted position, you are barely able to scrape your lips over his. And yet— as quickly as you do so, a hand seized your wrist at the side of the bed. You’re suddenly flung onto his bed with a bounce.

“Oh!” you squeak.

“It’s you again,” the Viking says, as if it’s an afterthought. His hand grasps your chin, forcing you to look up to him. His body encompasses you. His slender hips fit nicely between your splayed open legs. “Why do you only kiss me when I sleep?”

“I… you were awake?”

“I am a man on the run,” he states. You acknowledge that much. “And you are a loud princess.”

“Loud?” you repeat after him. All this time— you thought you were quiet.

“You don’t exactly speak quietly.”

There was truth in that. Oleg never questioned how loudly you spoke. Your cheeks warm underneath him, never having been so close to a man who wasn’t Oleg. Dir… Dir was different. He held you in different esteem. As did Askold, who gave you limited affection, due to Oleg’s nature.

“I wanted to see you.”

“That much is clear,” Ivar teases, relaxing onto his forearm, sandwiching your body underneath his own. He’s built… thickly. Your eyes flutter shut, trying to think of anything but his large frame on top of you. It’s impossible. Even the fluffy bedsheets are no distraction to Ivar’s large body. He smells like honey and mead. “You kissed me. You must have enjoyed it.”

“I’m-- I’m sorry. I did not mean to insult you.”

“An insult?” Ivar laughs. “I’ve never been kissed in my sleep by a princess.”

You settle your hands on his forearms with nothing else for them to do. Your cheeks are, yes, pink. Embarrassed. Shy. But… you’re damningly interested when Ivar leans in again. “I see why Oleg is so fond of you.”

“Why?”

Ivar doesn’t respond, not at first, simply running his eyes over your neck to the coin necklace you wore. It is large, made up of adorned balls, then beautiful coins with encrusted jewels. His finger taps one for emphasis, catching Oleg’s marred name. His eyes flicker back up-- toward yours, and you can’t discern the emotion behind his eyes entirely.

“You’re so innocent.”

@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44 @readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @beyond-the-ashes @supernaturalvikingwhore @mblaqgi @wuxiesalt @hopplessdreamer @therealcalicali @rekdreams-fandom @moondustmemories @athroatfullofglass @poisonedjoinery @strangunddurm @shookforyoojung @peachesnpisces @tierneygonzalez @hexqueensupreme @nohemi2500 @queenmissfit @alicedopey @dmv49 @sallylebecks @terrainhead @mybarnesmyhero @youurkryptonite @lif3snotouttogetyou @vikingsmania @looneytunes20033 @bat-fam-blob @oneofthelothbroks @lovelynerdytraveler @chinduda @whatamood13 @honeyofthegods @ilvebeenabad @queenbeeta @heavenly1927 @holydream @kingniazx @cynthianokamaria @starrmoondaisy @tgrrose @stillreadingfantasy @the-jess-life

#Oleg x Reader #Oleg/Reader #oleg the prophet x reader #oleg the prophet/reader #Ivar x Reader #Ivar/Reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless/reader #vikings imagines #vikings imagine #honestsycrets

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beetlebitchywitch · 5 years

Text

Dissonant Notes, Part 3

Guys, I was messaging @scribblepigeon, and if you know anything about Pidge, it’s that they are FANTASTIC to bounce ideas off of and I literally cannot restrain myself from writing Part 3, despite the fact that I LITERALLY just posted Part 2. I’m a college student who can’t sleep because of caffeine, sue me.

WARNING: LIL SMUTTY. This will have some smut towards the end, but nothign major!

Part 1 Part 2

It’d been 3 months since that first night with Dewey, and you couldn’t imagine being any happier. Your relationship has been a major source of light in your life, and your students have noticed- you’re happier in class because you get to see Dewey every day, sharing hidden kisses in abandoned corridors, holding hands during lunch, and, on occasion, letting Dewey serenade you in the music room, his performances always as outlandish as he is and never failing to make you laugh. You could not be more grateful for Dewey and how much fun and love he’s brought into your life.

You could, however, stand to show him a little more.

And so, you got to work. You spent late night after late night practicing, praying, and debating selling your soul to the Devil in order to be ready for him. You wanted him to know how much you appreciated him, and you couldn’t see any better way to do it.

Your weekly Friday Date Night arrived sooner than you thought it would, and with it, all the nerves that had been building were about to boil over. Fuck, you couldn’t do this, you were just gonna fuck it up and Dewey would laugh at you and-

No. You stopped yourself before you prattled on, taking a deep, steadying breath. Even if you’re awful, Dewey won’t mind. You were awful before, and he’s still here. This is for Dewey- focus on him.

When the tell-tale knock rang through your apartment, your nerves had been sufficiently calmed, though seeing his smiling face made butterflies swarm in your stomach. Without a word, Dewey swept into your apartment and took you in his arms, dipping you and planting a long, slow kiss on your lips.

“Woah there, Casanova,” you chuckled as he brought you back onto your feet. “What was that all about?”

“You just looked exceptionally gorgeous today,” he answered with a shrug.

“You said that yesterday.”

“Your point?”

You snorted, taking him by the hand to drag him to the couch, resting your legs over his lap.

“How was the rest of your day, babe?” you asked, hoping a bit of small talk would distract you from your growing nervousness.

“Oh it was alright, the kids and I were working on a new song and Katie was having some issues with her part, not to mention Zack broke a string on his accoustic aaaaaand I’m rambling,” he laughed, shaking his head. “How about you, what’ve you been up to on your day off?”

“Well...funny you should mention that,” you said shyly, leaning down to pick up the guitar Dewey bought you for you birthday from under the couch. In case you ever need an emergency guitar! he’d said, not at all explaining what need anyone would have for an “emergency guitar”. Still, you appreciated the gift all the same, especially now. “I’ve been working on something. Care to hear it?”

Looking at you curiously, Dewey nodded, moving to a cross-legged position so he could face you. You took a deep breath, sending him a small smile before you began to play.

You’d come a long way from the first time you’d ever even touched a guitar. That whining, dissonant noise has been replaced with a fairly pleasant chord progression. You stumbled, of course, as you always do, a few chords coming out wonky, but you simply focused on getting your fingers where they were supposed to be. This was for Dewey- you could do this.

You wouldn’t dare look at Dewey lest you mess up your finger placement, so you didn’t get to see the look on his face as you began to sing.

Your love is my turning page...only the sweetest words remain...

Every kiss is a cursive line...every touch is a redefining phrase...

You heard a sharp intake of breath, but didn’t let it distract you from your song. Your voice was soft, a bit breathy if you were being honest, but not at all unpleasant. By the end of the song, your throat hurt a bit, and your fingers were sore from strumming, but your feelings for Dewey swelled in your heart and kept you going to the very end. You ended your song with one final strum, your final chord coming out just a bit wrong, causing you to curse under your breath. Your face was burning red and you couldn’t even look at him- you’d messed up so many times and you couldn’t even get that last chord right, and you were so embarrassed that you’d done it all in front of your rock star boyfriend.

“Dammit, I’m sorry Dew. That chord really doesn’t like me, I’ve tried so hard but I just can’t get the finger placement righ-mmph!” Your spiel was interrupted by Dewey’s insistent kiss, his hands pushing your guitar off to the side before wrapping around your waist and pulling you close. His lips were firm and warm against yours, as were his hands at your hips, and you felt yourself melt into his arms as you returned his kiss. He pulled away with a pop, his eyes sparkling as he looked at you in wonder. “Dew what was tha-?”

“That was so hot, oh my God,” he groaned, leaning in for another hard kiss. “You worked so hard and you sounded so gorgeous Jesus Christ I fucking love you.”

You giggled as he pressed tiny kisses all over your face, pulling you all the way into his lap as he lavished you with affection.

“Dewey, I literally fucked up so many times. My stupid hands could barely get the chords right!” you said between laughs, your self-conscious tone still managing to shine through. Dewey groaned and grabbed your hands, pressing even more kisses to your sore fingertips.

“Don’t you dare insult these magical little babies,” he insisted, rubbing your palms with his thumbs. “So fucking beautiful, Y/N, you have no idea-”

He leaned back in for another kiss, this time intent on taking his time. He slowly slid his hands up your back, holding you close as he laved his tongue over your lower lip. You groaned against him, running your hands down his chest to fist them in his sweater. The air around you two was suddenly much warmer, and Dewey was so firm against you, and you were suddenly very aware of a bulge growing harder in his pants and pressing against your ass. You chuckled against his lips, pulling away to shoot him a salacious grin.

“Are those drumsticks in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” you drawled. He laughed darkly against your lips, using his firm grip on your hips to drag your forward, bucking up against you with a groan.

“You tell me,” he retorted, shooting you a knowing look. “Y/N...Jesus Christ, I want you so bad...”

“Well then...show me.”

And oh, the callback to that first night together was enough to pull a growl from deep in Dewey’s chest as he picked you up and pressed you into the couch cushions, hovering over you with that goddamn smirk pulling at his lips that told you just what kind of night you were in for.

“That, sweetheart, is music to my ears.”

I think that’s it guys! Thank you so much for being interested in this little story, I hope that it was all you guys hoped it would be!

#school of rock #school of rock broadway #dewey finn smut #dewey finn nsft #dewey finn fic #dewey finn fanfic #dewey finn fanfiction #dewey finn x reader #dewey finn/reader #smut #nsft #warning #dewey finn #alex brightman

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ferallymine · 5 years

Note

WIP ask game! 📝 Answer these questions and send to five mutuals! Get to know each other’s writing processes and learn some tips from other writers! 1. How long have you been working on your current WIP(s)? 2. Do you have any tips to beat writer’s block? 3. What is a current fic you’re reading? Is there a fic/writer who inspired you to start writing? 4. What’s the first and last sentence of a current WIP you have written? 5. Do you have a fave OC? (if any?) Why?

this has been in my box and tbh i forgot about it im sorry ;-;

1- I’ve been working on/off some WIPs for my OCs for about two years now. Maybe three. idk sometimes i get inspired and other times im like “sit here and contemplate your meaningless existence.”

2- I listen to music/watch youtubers and hit that sweet creative high. Game Grumps is good bc their banter can spark a “what would your OC say.” Other things i’ve written, like Air Catcher and Someone You Loved, were inspired by the songs of the same name

3- Not currently reading any fanfiction besides what i find on tumblr. I am, however, reading Poisoner in Chief, which is a book about the CIA’s research/experiments with MK Ultra and LSD. I’ve read a fair amount of books so HMU if you want a good recommendation~

4- oof.... i have too many wips... Here’s something from an idea I’m toying with for Aria Evelyn:

"How could you betray me -... the Black Hand like this?"

"....I promise." Lucien's whisper ghosted against her lips

5- Oh DAMN i love all my babs. If you’re gonna make me order them by favorite...... probably Mardea Lin, Aria Evelyn, Celaena Raijin, Taeko Adachi, Aed Thana, Reylin Stones, Diana Fore, Moonstone.

I know I’ve done like nothign for Diana and Moonstone but like hey they’re there......somewhat.... XD

I’m always down for OC asks, or generic Fandom asks. Bnha, danganronpa, code lyoko, skyrim, oblivion, RWBY (though i haven’t seen V7 yet....) and steven universe (though i’m not caught up with Future...whoops) So stop by if you’re curious!

#dani rambles #ask #anon #oc #wip #stuff

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thesnapewecandreamof · 5 years

Text

I’m so glad you liked Matthew’s character Anon! Let’s get the continuation first and then I’ll ramble on so people not interested could skip that part! Song is Everything Stay from Adventure Time.(Part of the reason this took so long was bc I was searching for an appropriate song and I always get lost in youtube!)

Everything Stays

- Despite regaining consciousness, Severus was not out of the woods yet. It took weeks, many potions, and an infinite supply of patience for all parties involved.

- The healers informed Matthew that there was nothing they could do for the nervous damage Severus suffered and Matthew insisted he be the one to tell Severus the bad news.

- He was a healer himself and he has been tasked with telling the bad news to many families before but despite that he tried to stave off the inevitable. But he knew the pain would be greater the more he stalled so one night, after the Hogwarts staff have left and Severus just finished his meal, Matthew sat on the edge of the bed and took the potion master’s hand in his. His heart panged at the title.

- Severus looked at their interlocked hands and sighed, “It will never go away would it?” Matthew has once again underestimated Severus, his eyes met black and he bit his lip to hold in the tears. “You have been looking a bit anxious the past few days and since the healers are certain I wouldn’t be keeling over any time soon-” Severus shrugged, not finishing his sentence.

- “I’m sorry.” Matthew tightened his grip as Severus’ arm twitched. He refused to let his emotions get the better of him and the healer in him took the wheel. “I’ve contacted some colleagues, they might find something to help with the spasms and the twitches but-” Matthew stopped, electing to shrug himself.

- He felt the pressure of Severus squeezing his hand and he smiled as tears fell.

Let’s go in the garden, you’ll find something waiting.

Right there where you left it, lying upside-down.

- It was difficult. Severus eventually grew weary of maintaining the mask and Matthew found it frustrating how he cannot heal the person he cared for most.

- “You should have left me to die.” Severus said once when the fits got too much, when his whole body seized. Matthew sees it in his eyes whenever he knocks over a glass of water. All of their utensils are now plastic and Severus scowls at it whenever he could. “You know I couldn’t do that.” Matthew replies, ever patient.

- “I have no use. I was a potions master, Matthew, now I can’t even hold my own spoon for Merlin’s sake!”

- Matthew himself couldn’t always be the patient saint. He was a healer and he had a duty to his patients. When he comes home, exhausted and wanting nothing but to sleep, he sometimes let’s out the infamous temper of his and he and Severus would get into a row.

When you finally find it, you’ll see that it’s faded

the under-side is lighter when you turn it around.

- They now have someone to always watch Severus when he was away. During a week-end when it was only Severus and Matthew, the healer had to put a vial of muscle relaxing potion in the bedside table so that he could answer an emergency floo call. When he returned it was as if a fog rolled in their bedroom despite it remaining the same. There was something different but he couldn’t quite place it. He asked Severus if everything was alright and he said that nothign was out of place so Matthew chalked it up to nerves and stress.

- That night he heard shuffling and soft muttered curses. He woke up to Severus trying his best to remain silent as he packed away clothes. “Are you planning a surprise trip? Our anniversary isn’t for another three months.” He yawned though he was alert and awake.

- Severus sighed and sat down, facing away from him. “I don’t belong here, - no, don’t say anything- I don’t Matthew, I-” Severus took a deep breath, “I’m tired.” And Matthew listened to Severus as months of pain and frustration is finally let out. How he feels worthless, feels like he’s holding Matthew back, making himself a burden to the healer. Matthew’s heart broke as he saw Severus trying to keep himself together, his muscles twitching, making him even more frustrated. The grace his love once had is gone and Matthew feared something more was missing.He lowered himself to the floor and leaned his forehead on the back of Severus’ shoulder.

- He whispered every argument he has, planned responses to what he knew as coming and added new things he thought of as he spoke. Severus remained silent through his talk and he allowed Matthew to help him back to the bed.

- The next day Matthew and Severus spent a day in the garden and though it was difficult, Severus was set on ushering life to Matthew’s lifeless plot of land. Any distraction was welcome and should this fail, surely there were others he could turn his attention to? He already received a dictaquill from a former student, but he could only talk for so long before growing bored himself.

Everything stays, right where you left it

Everything stays, but it still changes

-It wasn’t an overnight fix. They still had fights, normal rows that couples have. They still work through Severus’ depression and Matthew always makes sure that any glass in the house was charmed unbreakable.

- When the first row of flowers bloomed, Matthew nearly teared up at the sight of Severus’ smile.

- When Severus grew more confident and grew some magical plants, Matthew was stunned at how Severus could say such a self-deprecating joke and have the gall to wink at him.

Ever so slightly,

daily and nightly

- When Matthew found himself with Severus, lying under the shade of a tree and the smell of flowers surrounding them, he looked back on all the things they’ve been through.

- All the pain of thinking it was the last time he and Severus would see each other, the worry every time he had to treat his lover, the anger at how Severus could leave him every time in order to play the perfect spy. Matthew still had nightmares about finding Severus on the verge of death, nightmares only Severus himself could comfort him from.

- He could feel his eyes water when he thought of how things could have ended so horribly. He felt Severus’ hand jerk in his before the comforting pressure he grew to love. He looked to the side and saw Severus with his lip upturned and he grinned.

In little ways,

when everything stays.

I didn’t want to make it too angsty! Anyway, so glad you enjoyed Matthew’s character anon, I wasn’t too sure people would like him. I don’t create too many ocs and I prefer to use canon characters only in my fics because A. it takes me so long to find a good name, B. I already live in fear of making canon characters a mary sue, I think ocs are a higher risk in that department but that could be just me.

I’ll write more of Matthew and Severus when inspiration strikes or if someone has a prompt for them.

I’m working on yet another wip in which Severus suffers from long-term cruciatus so I didn’t want to elaborate too much on stuff here lest I become even more repetitive.

#Severus Snape #Matthew #anon #asks #post war #post-dh #angst #but kinda sweet too #everything stays

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maddieforrest · 6 years

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What Do I Want To Do?

I don’t know why at this point in my life I’m feeling a bit baffled. What will make me longterm happy? I feel like recently my brain has been stuck in this weird loop, thinking of all the things I could want to do and trying to figure out with one of them will make me the happiest, because to succeed at any of them, It seems like I have to either choose one to be really good at and get greater and greater at it and also post about it constantly.

I love indie comics! I love reading them and they feel like such a unique infinite artform where you can use so many beautiful techniques to make them and i love designing within the format of the comic, pushign panels into each other and having monsters lumber through one to another and talk to you and each other through this portal. I feel like I can create a world within them that my monsters inhabit and it could make me happy.

I love Jewelry, I looked at it as my true love and the medium was infinite and that I could design within the sculpted format and think three dimentionally, and my days, when I focused on that completely were so fruitful and fullfilling and I dreamed up such a life for myself and saw the end of the road as a famous jewelry maker and thought oh my what a thing to dress people up in costumes and let them see themselves as extravagant and otherworldly in my jewelry, it is the perfect life mission and one that I like all the steps of conducting. The mold making is such a fun puzzle and makes me feel like im really hands-on working, like i like. I love seeing each piece as it came out and seeing how the glitter concoctions i made came out. I loved buying all the materials and just surrounding myself with weird tactile beauty that never existed before i made it. I love the feeling of resin in my hands and making the organic shapes I did felt so rewarding to touch, like magical artifacts from a world that never existed inside my heart. Sappy I know, but I’m in a sappy mood right now, I’m trying to determine my stupid destiny, let me have this!!!!

I could see making beautiful illustrations and strange sculpted gallery-hanging things my real art and something even more precious. This used to be my main main longterm goal and I was so set on it for a long time but i don’t know how much i like the gallery world and focusing so much on one piece that goes away. plus the people that buy it are all rich and i don’t know how lovely that life would be, selling my stuff to rich people who life a life i don’t. who knows maybe i will be rich then. that seems unlikely but also i know im speaking completely about a world and people i don’t know.

why did i stop singing? Why am i afraid of that? I see people around me follow their singing dreams and i envy them but also see how there’s nothign in their way and there’s nothing in mine. Even if i don’t win the game and get followers and find people who want to pay me for what I’m making, even then. I think it would be fine because I would be doing it. Making songs is hard though. But i don’t even know if that’s really true, songmaking is just more nebulous, all the information is being made in my mind and i have to look at it in my mind and remember it and sculpt an invisible thing in my mind and that has frustrated me but maybe i just have to let myself play. That was my first dream, to sing for a living.

I heard about polymaths, who are people who are pulled toward many different avenues and collect those skills and just ARE many things. Many great people of history were polymaths, like Childish Gambino!!

I can do that, I’m already doing that with working as a hand model, which i like very much and it makes me feel important and necessary, and also doing stop motion which also makes me feel important and necessary and makes use of my visual eye and ability to make good art choices! I think as I take jobs and do things i learn more about mysefl and what I can do and all I can ask is to have fun along the ride of experiencing me. I want to just do that, have fun experiencing me and seeing what that’s like. Who am I? what can I do? What things define me, I don’t like being defined as one thing, but also my life is too short to be all the things I see, so i just have to work really really hard, but aslo have a life of leisure would be nice too how to do it all, I imagine if i work really hard now the future can be a little leisure but also i see so many people later in life where that never happens to them. Is the point just to ponder this into infinity till we die not knowing anything? I’m not happy just sitting and watching a movie, i have to be acomplishing something. building towards something all the time or taking a break from doign that for an afternoon or day but never does it leave my mind. i dont know. im figureing it out.

I love stop motion fabrication. It is the smartest option of all the art futures i can see for myself. I get to be around loving and beautifully creative people with weird perspectives and dreams and the same attitude towards life as i do, and i can see it being lucrative, no rich maddie future, but thriving maddie future. I am feeling more positive towards it and i am starting to get jobs in it and i am thrilled and nervous and frightened and in love but cautious. This next month of my life, starting the 20th, im going to be on my biggest stop motion job yet! It’s going to be hard work that I feel i can accomplish but that I know i have to really focus for because it could really jumpstart my career i think. it’s 18 days total and 5 days per week at $250 per day and i don’t know what’s going on. I was asked to do a stoopid buddy job and had to turn it down because i was already booked on a hand modeling job and I kindof feel crazed about that but i only remembered that that was true right now recalling it. Gosh. A while back, i got to talk to Jessica Dalva about her career, very briefly. I was thinking about this so much, as i seem to do once in a while, and she has a similar path that I have had i think. She was in stop motion and then went to just making what she really wanted to make, figures on a wall in the most elegant and haunting of poses. She explored beautiful emotions and surreal artifacts, but not full stories.

I suppose, if you think about it. I don’t need to lead the whole lifepath to appreciate the end goal, the object. When I look at some comics, i know i could never even get near making the majesty that they are, so I’m so glad someone else dedicated their lives to showing me how great a thing could be if you went all the way with it and learned everything about it and sought such perfection with the path. I know then that I shoudln’t try to go down every path maybe or I wont get to the end. but is the purpose in the end to have an end that is great or to have enjoyed the journey to your full ability to enjoy it, and the monotony of one thing is too boring even if it could give many people the feeling of complete awe for a very small duration of their lives.

in my research of this world and what it has to offer, i feel like im coming to a thought recently, that the best way to explain whats great in the world is through stories, those get to the heart of things, not object making but story weaving. Maybe? But i also feel like stories need support roles. the depiction of good emotions and the correct deep emotion weaving is part of good depictions of stories. What would a pixar movie be without every little part that one person added to the big puzzle. Individually, did each person feel the same amount of fulfillment from doing one of the more menial parts? I need missions. I need things to feel a part of, even if those things are things I just make up but also things that already exist. Like with mattel, i feel like im part of making something that affects children and tells them what’s good and lovely that they could play with and make believe with. toys are so magical and i really believe that. I puppet the dolls really well, i think and I take pride in my work, and it feels good that it pays a lot for such a task, it feels like they’re saying what I’m doign is so worthwhile. It just has increased my confidence a lot. which is so weird because i got the job accidentally kind of and had never thought of such a field as a way i would identify in any way and for a while i rejected it so much, but i think everyone is just themselves and who they are isn’t defined by the things that society has already made me feel they are defined by. It’s so hard to shirk that internal feeling that i am what I do. I am how nice i can be, how witty i am, how i feel about music, how i feel about other people’s beauty, and how i want to know you.

to be continued, i just typed until i was less confused and down, and now I shall continue to figure it out and shit.

#diary #art #artist #whatamidoing

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