#they hat like brief moment of reunion

[katyspersonal]

*boots down door*

You mention Bloodborr OC's

GIMME ALL THE BACKGROUND!!!!

Allllllright, I think I will tell you about my favorite!

Strangely enough, I did only draw her ONE whole time so far, back in, what?.. June 2022? And it is only a headshot! But I always imagine her wearing cyan/indigo/grey clothes, fashioned after Old Hunters' aesthetic, and... a particular iron helmet with only one eye hole, yes. She is an OC based entirely on how you choose to read this line:

She appeared in my head based off a few factors; that we can clearly see Valtr being summoned with both eyes visible (not a single effort to obscure the second eye, unlike with Djura), we know that Impurity rune that LETS you see Vermin was discovered 'within a forbidden Beast Eater' (so, Valtr himself), we know that Valtr curses not only beasts but the 'freakish slugs and mad doctors', and we know that Clocktower Dial has a rune similar to Impurity but not exactly it:

(Thank you @val-of-the-north for handy refs ( x ))

That gave me a thought, aboutl Valtr being taken right into Research Hall labs upon his (rather dramatic) arrival in Yharnam; as someone who ate a beast, he was expected to be very much contaminated, and, well... Research Hall offered the so-called voluntary-obligatory treatment for such people. Either get killed before you became a beast, or be "treated" to not become a beast :') And this is where he met an Old Hunter Geranea, that was likewise dragged into research - and already missing one eye, since all patients get one eye removed to become an Eye Pendant + for easier access to their brain.

I always presumed runes system was a deciphering system more than it was a set number of the runes, since Ludwig and Adeline were able to envision their own runes without Caryll! So, Impurity rune is special - it is a concept. Every person has their own alternative of Impurity rune, as it appeals to the individual concept of what IS evil. Geranea quickly caught up that there was something abnormally filthy in Valtr and insisted that he should not have gotten 'water' treatment under any circumstances lest he'd erupt under it flourishing and die right after. People that yearn to exterminate evil see 'human dregs' as pests, but people who yearn to treat it peacefully see evil as flowers. Geranea was able to see the flowers akin tomb mold that you find across dungeons and Hunter's Nightmare sprouting from people before they died, as indication of how 'dirty' their blood was, and... let's say, Valtr had an extraordinary amount of them because of what happened to him.

She helped him to envision his own idea of evil as someone familiar with Caryll's runes language, deciphering the weird sounds his body was emitting, and helped him to escape by giving him her eye pendant to use as a bait on the string for a giant crow that was frequenting Research Hall's balcony - think of holding a carrot on the string before a donkey! As for her own fate? Well, she was able to see through utter corruption of both 'Sea' and 'Stars', rejecting both and becoming one of the few if not the only one patient that banished the Arcane from her body with raw hatred and willpower alone.

She would manage to escape the Research Hall and cover her identity in new costume and with the new weapon, to not get caught by the Assassins. And... of course, she'd get the bucket helm, to obscure her face! She was to contact Valtr later under new identity, but their friendship was just not meant to last; they had drastically different ideas on how to treat human dregs and fell apart in a very nasty conflict over it, parting their ways.

Ever since then, Geranea was a strange cross between a Hunter and a Blood Minister (don't confuse with Blood Saint!). She would find people afflicted with human dregs through seeing whether they displayed 'flowers' sprouting from them. Her having banished the Arcane influence from her very body and soul via spite alone granted her blood a special immunity against both Beast and Kin afflictions, so her treatment? It included taking the blood from a person, transfusing it into her own body, putting up the mental fight against this person's darkest impulses (or corruption of Great Ones), and, after immunity has been worked up, she'd give the 'healed' blood back to this person. Just... Giving them free antibodies against their OWN afflictions that she'd work on her own. Doesn't it sound like too good to be true?

Well, that it was. Not only effect of such immunity still COULD virtually wear down, but also poor Geranea would let evil, insanity and pain of people through herself over and over. And over and over and over and over and over... In the end, it cracked her up, and she grew to be corrupted and no longer able to process all this - becoming evil and twisted herself. Her last sane thought however? That was Valtr.

She crawled back to him, being terribly mutated and having twisted thoughts, reflecting empathy to all afflicted people she healed from their darkest impulses. Their last meeting in long time was essentially her telling him that he was right and begging to be killed, that he did. He knew what exactly ruined her, and his conclusion was: "The filth of this world doesn't deserve compassion of a kind soul".

He took her helmet though, as a further reminder to himself to always stay relentless before human dregs extermination, and never had a heart to alter it even one bit, despite having both eyes. However, he later met Yamamura, who reminded him of her with his tender, sensitive heart, and he was not to make the same mistake twice; so he was to send Yamamura away as a "spy" for Healing Church in hopes he'd find new friends there and forget the mission. Granted, Yamamura appeared to be a very stubborn and prideful man, so the mission still inflicted insanity on him - especially since he saw it through Valtr's rune, not his own.

So yeah, that's for the story..; In general, Geranea was a kind person willing to tolerate a bit too much and to sacrifice too much, that is a stark contrast to her resting bitch face and kind of a rude demeanour. I can't even call her a jerk with a heart of gold, she is just a good person that might appear slightly too forceful with wishing to help.

And! Flowers thing comes from my idea that many patients had lumenweed subtly growing on them during treatment! Here are Adeline's and Rom's for example:

Geranea's faded and died upon her rejecting the 'cosmos' with both her body and her soul, but she never got around removing them as they became too entwined with her hair. But I like to think that when she finally broke mentally, those flowers in her hair were glowing and flourishing again, as if to seek for salvation.

...Aaaaaanyway, I can't believe I never really drew her that much ;-; That face ref is like... this is IT. Boy, I gotta fix myself.

[mynameismckenziemae]

Unbroken

Part 8

(previous part here, next part here)

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x You

Summary: You fall for Bradley more and more with every day that passes. Someone from your past shows up.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Smut, p in v, brief oral (m receiving), fooling around while driving (again), asshole ex-boyfriend, a sprinkle of violence, fluff, etc.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Days turn into weeks and the weeks pass quickly. Soon the days get shorter as summer fades to fall. Your feelings for Bradley keep growing stronger with every moment spent together; which isn’t nearly as much as you’d like with your packed schedule and Bradley’s early mornings.

You’ve only been able to spend the night together once since the night of the rodeo with you being on-call and Bradley on the carrier training, so to say you’re excited for the long Thanksgiving weekend off is an understatement.

Charlie: You and Bradley want to go to Buck Wild tonight with us? There’s a band.

Emma: I suppose. You do realize it’s going to be a high school reunion, right? Everybody’s home for Thanksgiving and everybody goes out the night before. 🙄

Charlie: Perfect time to show off your hot boyfriend 😉

Emma: Oh. That’s true 😏 What time?

Charlie: 7ish.

Emma: Perfect. Just a heads up-I’m blaming you if I’m hungover tomorrow.

Charlie: That’s fine. Ruth loves me, you know it’ll somehow be Jake’s fault though, right?

Emma: Exactly 🙂

Charlie: Being the only child wasn’t always so bad.

You laugh and get back to work.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“Hey sweetheart, sorry I’m late,” Bradley says, giving you a quick kiss before opening the door to the Bronco for you. “The last hop went longer than expected.”

“It’s okay, I was none too early, I just finished getting ready a few minutes ago,” you reply, pausing as you buckle in. “You know, we could just take my truck,” you smirk, unable to resist teasing him.

He scoffs, taking your seatbelt to finish buckling you in. “Nope. The Bronco is just fine. I still don’t get what you have against her.”

“It’s a Ford, Bradley,” you reply with disgust. “Back in the day, driving a Ford was a dealbreaker for me. You’re lucky I’ve gotten lenient in my old age.”

“I am pretty lucky,” he chuckles as he reaches for your hand to place a kiss on the back.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

The place is packed as expected but Jake and Charlie snagged a table in the corner.

“How’d you manage to get a table?” You ask over the noise once you make your way over, drinks waiting.

“Willie gave us a reserved one when I told him you were coming,” Jake responds with an eye roll as he hands you both a beer.

You catch Willie’s eye behind the bar and blow him a kiss, laughing when he catches it before placing it on his cheek.

“Must be terrible not being anyone’s favorite,” you tease, jabbing Jake with your elbow.

“Whatever,” he huffs. “I’m Charlie’s favorite,” he says as he puts his arms around her.

“Ehhhh…I don’t know about that. You were until your socks missed the hamper-hey! I’m kidding!” Charlie laughs when he tickles her sides.

“Drinking tonight?” You ask when you count four whiskey shots on the table.

“Yeah, the last pregnancy test was negative but I figured it would be since Jake was on the carrier this month when I was the most fertile, according to the app at least,” she replies as she pushes a shot glass over to you then Bradley. “I’m not worried though, it hasn’t even been 2 months. We’re also having a lot of fun trying.”

“Gross,” you blanch before clinking your glasses together. “Cheers.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Charlie tells Bradley when he sets his glass down, shuddering at that burn of the whiskey.

“Hope so,” he laughs.

“Almost forgot,” Jake says, producing a cowboy hat from the chair beside him and handing it to Bradley. “Gotta have one of these if you’re gonna live in Texas.”

“Thanks,” Bradley smiles, putting it on and turning to you. “What do ya think?”

“You look good,” you reply before leaning in. “Might steal it later.”

“Oh yeah?” He asks as heat flashes in his eyes.

You bite your lip as you nod. You both have been so desperate for one another that you haven’t tried many positions yet, always so eager to get him inside you. But with Bradley taking the lead you were getting more comfortable and confident.

Taking him for a ride in nothing but his new hat sounds like a great idea.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Just as you’d expected, it’s like a reunion in the packed bar. Thankfully, you’re able to avoid a lot of the small talk when the music starts

Soon you’re feeling good; drinks are flowing and the band is playing songs everyone knows.

“I’m stealing Emma to pee!” Charlie yells to Bradley as she grabs your hand.

“Girls can’t pee alone,” you explain when he gives you both a puzzled look.

He looks to Jake who’s just as confused as he is but they just shrug before following you off the dance floor to head back to the table.

“Oh my gosh, Emma! Hi!”

“Hey Britt,” you say, turning around with a fake smile. “Go agreed, I’ll be there in a minute,” you tell a dancing Charlie.

You nod as the old frenemy prattles on, not letting you get a word in edgewise before she leaves you to find someone more interesting to talk to.

The men’s room door swings opens as you walk past and you bump into the person coming out

“Oops, sorr-“

“Hey Em,” the man interrupts and your blood runs at his voice.

“Chet,” you nod curtly as you move around him but he grabs your arm.

“Too good to say hi?” He says, pulling you close. Close enough to smell the whiskey on his breath.

He’s drunk, and he’s always been mean when he’s drunk.

“Yeah, Chet. I am. I’ve always been too good for you,” you spit, trying to pull your arm free.

But he’s stronger and he pushes you against the wall before crowding you against it.

“That’s rich,” he chuckles darkly, “weren’t good enough to keep our baby alive.”

Your eyes close as the weight of his words sink in. While it hurts, it doesn’t crush you like it would’ve in the past.

You’re healing.

Before you can respond, he’s on the ground, knocked out cold.

“Ow,” Charlie mutters with a grimace, shaking out the hand she just clocked Chet with.

“Holy shit, Char,” you gape at her.

“I’m sorry-he was in your face, and then he said that about you not-about the baby,” she stutters. “I just saw red. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. Don’t be sorry, he deserved it,” you say, holding your arm out for her to take while she steps over his snoring body. “Let’s go before he wakes up.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“Tabs paid?” You ask when you reach the table.

Jake nods.

“Okay good. ‘Cause we have to go. Like right now,” Charlie says, turning for the door.

“Everything okay?” Bradley asks as he follows them out.

“Uh…,” you stall until you get outside in the fresh air, feeling like you can finally breathe. “Yeah, we’re okay.”

“What happened in there? You look like you saw a ghost,” Jake asks, leaning against the bumper of his truck.

“I ran into a girl I knew from high school on the way and told Charlie to go ahead while we talked for a minute. I was headed to the bathroom and ran into Chet as he was coming out,” you sigh. “He’s drunk and he started saying stupid shit-“

“It was awful. He said she wasn’t good enough to keep the baby alive,” Charlie says quietly, tears heavy in her voice.

“Oh Em,” Bradley says, wrapping you in his arms.

“He’s fucking dead,” Jake growls, rising to head back in, but you stop him.

“I’m okay. I promise. I know it’s not my fault. He’s drunk and gets off on hurting me,” you say. “He’s gonna be the one hurting tomorrow though.”

“I dunno, I might too,” Charlie laughs, looking down at her hand. “It’s not broken but it’s gonna hurt for a few days.”

Jake rushes to her side to check her hand out. “What the fuck happened?”

“I came out of the bathroom and heard the horrible things he was saying…the next thing I knew he was on the ground,” Charlie explains, as if she can’t believe it either. “I’ve never punched anyone before. I must’ve gotten got lucky and hit him in just the right spot in the jaw.”

“Well, you did something right. He was out cold,” you say, leaving Bradley’s arms to hug her. “Thank you.”

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat, Em. I love you,” she murmurs.

“I love you too,” you reply with a sniffle.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“I’m sorry for tonight,” Bradley says on the way home after saying goodnight.

“Why are you sorry? It wasn’t your fault,” you reply.

“I know, I just feel bad that you had to see him and that he’s still trying to hurt you. I should’ve gone with you,” he sighs as he puts his hand on your knee.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” you say. “If you would’ve hit him, he would’ve pressed charges and you’d be in trouble. There’s no chance in hell he’s going to tell anyone he got knocked out by a woman; if he even remembers it in the morning,” you laugh. “I’m not gonna lie; what he said hurt. But it didn’t suffocate me like it would have in the past.”

You can tell he’s still beating himself up when he nods, so you reach over to pluck his hat off and place it on your head.

His lip quirks and his hand on your knee slides up your thigh. “Still wanna give me a ride tonight?”

“Mhmm,” you reply, placing your hand over his to guide him between your legs. Your head drops back with a sigh when he rubs over the seam of your jeans. “Been thinking about it all night.”

“Me too,” he admits. “Hell, I’ve been thinking about it since the last time we were there and you rode the bull.”

“When you hid to the bathroom ‘cause you got hard?” You tease breathily.

He nods, fingers still rubbing you through your pants. “You looked so good up there. Then the way you kissed me outside after? Fuck, I couldn’t think straight until I back to the hotel and finally jerked off in the shower.”

“God,” you sigh as you picture him. “That’s so hot.”

By the time he pulls into your driveway, you’re soaked.

Inside your bedroom, you help him out of his clothes first, nipping and sucking at the flesh you expose.

“W-wait,” He chokes, hands flying to your hair to pull you off when you suck on the head of his cock. “I’m too-I don’t wanna cum yet.”

You smile as you straighten up and gently push him onto the bed, keeping your eyes on his as you strip down to nothing but his hat.

You grab a condom and crawl over him, tipping the hat back to kiss him deeply, pulling back with a bite to his lip to tear open the condom.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he breathes as he watches you put it on.

“So are you,” you murmur as you line him up to your entrance.

You mean it too as you look down at him laid out beneath you; skin flushed, chest heaving, desire in his eyes.

The sounds of your harmonized pleasure fill the room as you sink down on him.

“You’re so big,” you whimper when he bottoms out.

“Doing so good, sweetheart,” he praises, bringing his hand between your legs to circle your clit while you take a second to adjust, grunting when you clench around him.

“Keep-keep going, I’m close,” you gasp when you feel your orgasm approaching rapidly.

His free hand reaches up to pinch a nipple and that little bite of pain pushes you over the edge with a surprised cry.

“Fuckkkkk,” he groans desperately, trying not to thrust his hips up, “you’re squeezing me so tight.”

He’s still trembling with restraint when you come to.

You plant your hands on his shoulders and begin to move your hips; tentative at first but quickly growing confident.

“Feels so good,” you whimper before you lean down for a filthy kiss, murmuring against his lips. “You’re so good, Bradley.”

His eyes close and his hips stutter at your words; he likes being praised too.

You bite your lip to not smile as you tuck that information away to use later.

You’re getting close and you can tell he is too by his breathy sounds and the way his fingers on your clit are getting sloppy.

The hat falls off your head and is quickly forgotten as you lean down to kiss him while your fingers trace over his chest as you toe the edge.

When your fingers find his nipples and pinch without warning, he groans shamelessly against your lips, filling the condom.

A satisfied moan leaves you when his release triggers yours and to shiver at the overstimulated whimper he lets out as you contract around him.

He presses a kiss to your hair as you recover on his chest.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Not long after, you fall asleep to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat in the same position.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

A/N: Can you tell I hate Fords? 😂 Chet had it coming and I couldn’t resist letting Charlie bring the one to give it to him.

Also…I wrote the majority and edited this from 2 AM to 5 AM when I couldn’t sleep 🥴 so if something doesn’t make sense or there’s errors, let me know!

As always, any interaction is appreciated but I love hearing what you think in comments/reblogs!

Tagging (please let me know if you want to be added/removed!):

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@sweetwhispersofchaos

@shanimallina87

@blindedbythelightt

@getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth

@lexixstewart

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[yujo-nishimura]

Red Hair or Red Nose?

Comment: I haven't written anything like this in 20 years, so please be gentle with me and my attempt to be creative. ;) Buggy, Shanks x fem reader - I had the idea that the real reason for their rivalry was a love interest. This is rather fluffy and romantic, I tend to write SFW but I might continue adding some spice later.. ;)

Also don't hate me for the title <3

Warning: English is not my native language, I only write for the enjoyment, I have been a One Piece fan for 20 years, but not as dedicated as I am supposed to. ;)

It has been several years since you made the decision to part ways with the Red-Haired Pirates and embark on your own journey. The initial entertainment of the constant rivalry between Shanks and Buggy, which was funny at first, had gradually transformed into a farce that grew increasingly tiresome. As a young girl, you felt incapable of pledging your loyalty to either of these captains. Instead, you held your own vision of adventure and exploration on the Grand Line.

Having spent some years on Gold D. Roger's ship, you reached a point where you felt it was time to forge your own path. With a heavy heart, you bid farewell to your fellow crew members, leaving behind a profoundly saddened Shanks and a furious Buggy. You recognized that it was necessary to discover your true self and create some distance from those who sought to control and dictate your life.

However, deep down, you held onto the hope that someday you would cross paths with your childhood friends once more. You eagerly anticipated that, as they matured, Shanks and Buggy would overcome their rivalry and conflicts, transforming into an unbeatable duo, renowned as the most daring and fearless pirates on the Grand Line.

Little did you expect that fate would bring you together again, reuniting all three of you in one location. To your dismay, you discovered that nothing had changed in their immaturity and insatiable desire to outdo one another. The relentless competition and quarrels went on, defying your hopes for a more harmonious reunion.

Seated in a cozy pub within a small town, you found yourself taking a break while your modest crew of five ventured out to gather supplies for your journey. Beside you, the navigator quietly sipping his drink, engrossed in studying the surrounding islands' charts. With a sense of tranquility, you sipped on your third whiskey, relishing the calm that washed over you. The previous days at sea had been harsh and tiresome, and this brief intermission served as a well deserved break.

Reflecting upon your role as captain, you couldn't help but acknowledge the absence of a warning about the challenges and responsibilities that would accompany your departure from Gold D. Roger's crew. Sometimes you were just really tired and wished you had chosen a different path. Not being the one to everybody was relying on, but having someone to rely on yourself. Your crew loved you and was loyal, but you knew that it was not always easy to make the right decisions.

Amidst the silence, your thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a quarrel coming from outside. A distinct laughter, filled with warmth and familiarity, pierced through the peaceful atmosphere, contrasting against an enraged voice that screamed:

"What did you say? You were lying about the treasure map? Damn you!"

"It was a spur of the moment thing, Buggy!"

As the words reached your ears, a surge of disbelief washed over you, leaving you momentarily speechless. The voice, the name—it couldn't be true! In an instant, you rose from your seat, causing your navigator to stumble in surprise. "Captain...?" With determination across your face, you swung open the pub's door, your eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before you.

There they stood, the two individuals you hadn't laid eyes upon in years. Buggy the Clown, his face split by an angry grin, standing confidently at one end, his blue hair hidden under his hat. Shanks, the charismatic captain of the Red-Haired Pirates, standing at the other end, his trademark red hair shining in the moonlight.

As your gaze fixed upon the grown men before you, disbelief washed over you once more. Both Shanks and Buggy had transformed into striking individuals, tall and muscular. Shanks, draped in a dark cape, possessed an air of tranquility and composure that radiated from him and his charming smile. In contrast, Buggy's flamboyant attire, adorned with vibrant colors, accentuated his clown nose and his face adorned with flashy makeup. They were undeniably stunning.

A gulp escaped your throat as a peculiar sensation stirred within you, similar to fluttering butterflies or perhaps little caterpillars partying in your intestines. It might also just be the Whiskey. When had those two teenage boys blossomed into these charismatic pirate captains? And more importantly, when would they notice your presence, frozen in astonishment, between their encounter?

To be continued...

[turtleduckscribbles]

Close to Home

“No matter where I go to offer aid, Link remains at my side…”

~A brief exploration of Zelda’s personal journey toward home, and how she finds it in Link.

Read on AO3 or continue below.

<< Chap 1 <<

~o~o~o~o~o~

Chapter 2: "The Whole Picture"

On their trek south, back across the Lanayru Wetlands and back again through Kakariko, it became painfully obvious to Zelda that she was not the same peppy adventurer she used to be. Where once she had sprung with boundless energy over rocks and crags, now she ached and toiled over the slightest slope. Slips and stumbles became increasingly commonplace the longer she walked. Now, as they reached the bridge at the bottom of the steep hill outside the Sheikah village, she fell heavily against the stone supports, huffing up a storm.

“Princess?”

She winced, her insides twisting unpleasantly at the word. Compared to her physical discomforts, it was nothing to bat an eye over, a term of address that was old hat. But something about hearing the honorific from his lips didn’t sit quite right with her anymore.

“Not to worry,” she breathed, putting on a brave face, hair stuck to her clammy forehead. “I’ll just… be a moment…”

Without missing a beat, Link was there. Like he had countless times throughout their travels, he offered her water flask and a steadying arm, both of which she welcomed.

“Almost there,” he said. “Stable’s just up the road.”

Zelda nodded, too weary to provide further speech. They hadn’t even been on the move a full two hours that morning and already she was spent. She quaffed her water, gasping when she came up for air. Link stood patiently by until she gave her cue, then helped her up, her fingers gripping his arm for support.

With the added assistance of her knight companion, the last leg of the trip proved much more manageable for the careworn princess. Link matched her pace perfectly, taking things slow, his hand over hers on his bicep. Zelda squeezed him gently in appreciation.

Thankfully, Link was right. Half an hour later, the Dueling Peaks Stable came into view, the equine edifice towering overhead. It hadn’t changed since their last visit weeks before; patrons and livestock flocked the area, going about their daily routines. Goats bleated and quirky merchants chaffered their wares. Cuccos clucked and scratched at the dirt. Link guided her over to a stump by the communal cooking pot and, once she was comfortable, made a beeline for the proprietor.

Zelda stretched out her legs, relieved to be seated. The burn in her calves really nagged at her. She looked around.

Eyes encircled her from all sides. Blatant, curious eyes. She felt her stomach drop. Caught off guard, she gave a strained smile that swiftly turned grimace; her gaze fell, hands clenching in her lap.

She remained like this, folded in on herself, until a shadow passed over her. Timidly, she glanced up and was met by a relief. Having returned from the stable counter, Link had moved to disrupt the examination, blocking her from view of the unabashed patrons. He placed himself deliberately next to her on the stump and stared back at them brazenly, leaving no room for debate.

The onlookers dispersed. Heart rate slowing, Zelda released a pent-up breath and nestled into her protector. Gradually, she felt the tension leave Link’s frame too, and he laid claim to the cooking pot, his arm flush against hers all the while. 

They commenced their lunch of fried egg and rice until the stable master approached with their horses, then they were, once again, on their way.

With the unpaved wilderness before her and the strain of society behind her, Zelda relaxed into the saddle. What a blessing to be off her feet. More to soothe herself than anything, she ran a hand down the broad, bristly neck of her steed. The noble white stallion snorted merrily, maintaining its leisurely walk. She hadn’t yet decided on a name for him; upon their reunion post-Calamity, Link had sweetly gifted him to her prior to setting out to Kakariko. He looked so much like her former mount that it sent a pang through Zelda’s chest—another one of many ghosts of her past. She looked away, eyes seeking out comfort.

Sitting astride his bay mare, Link was the epitome of the gallant knight. Shoulders squared, he rode abreast with Zelda on the road, letting her set the pace. The sacred sword, sheathed in its royal scabbard, at home on his back. The blue of his worn Champion’s tunic accentuating the luster of his eyes… Those same eyes currently held her captive, brimming with a tenderness that cut her to the core.

Those eyes… She could fall into those eyes… 

Zelda’s mind wandered. There had been a time in years past when she hadn’t a clue what was going on behind those eyes. Wistfully, she recalled how mad it drove her, how discouraged she’d felt, that she was, for whatever reason, not privy to the unspoken ruminations of his heart. At the time, she had taken this as a personal failure, another shortcoming of her own volition; but, as was her wont, she had completely missed the mark. As it so happened, Link too had his own demons—and it was only after accepting this truth that the barriers between them had finally come crumbling down.

And Link… oh, Link.

Ever since her return to the plane of mortality many weeks ago, Link hadn’t left her side. Where once he’d trailed a few steps behind her, like a constant, looming shadow, now he walked in parallel with her… like an equal. Though their relationship was presently on tentative ground—it was only natural, really, that they would need to reacquaint themselves with one another after a separation of time and memory—Zelda could confidently say that the two of them were far past any point of discord. Gone were the days of her misplaced animosity toward him; gone were his inveterate inhibitions around her. No… they were something much, much closer now.

Zelda tamped down a smile. While her Link was still the same reserved soul she’d always known, he also seemed… different. Freer, somehow. He was much more demonstrative in his behavior than he used to be, for one thing. Just the other day, she had watched him bounce in place, giggling as he celebrated a successful attempt at a new recipe. Link, giggling! She couldn’t recall that ever happening before. The sound had sent her soaring. His speech was markedly less restricted than it used to be too. And his touches…

Yes. He was far more liberal with his touches.

Zelda’s cheeks warmed. Images of their time on the road together flooded her mind: the grazing of elbows as they shared meals; his strong, supportive grip when hoisting her up inclines; the light brushes of his fingers whenever she’d fall and dirty herself.

And at Kakariko…

During their first overnight stay in Kakariko, shortly after the Calamity’s banishing, Impa had kindly suggested that Zelda lodge with them. Her granddaughter, Papaya (Zelda was still adjusting to the fact that Impa had a granddaughter), had graciously offered her bed to the displaced princess, to which she’d accepted with flustered thanks. Come night, however, before they’d all turned in, Zelda had found herself unreasonably tense. Objectively, she knew she shouldn’t be—she was staying with dear friends, after all—but even so, she couldn’t shake the feeling. The worst part of it all was that, for the life of her, she seemed utterly incapable of voicing her fears. Link must have picked up on her agitation; for that was when, in front of the chieftain’s entire house, he had taken both of her wringing hands in his own and held them with gentle care.

He had departed for the local inn soon afterwards, but all the same, he had left Zelda with the calming impression that he wasn’t going far, and, despite the instability encompassing them, everything would be okay.

A peal of distant thunder shook her from her thoughts. Overhead, a dense layer of cloud cover had rolled in unnoticed, groaning with the threat of rain. Zelda took in her surroundings.

She really shouldn’t have.

Death. Desolation. Decay far and wide. Mounds upon mounds of scorched ceramic rubble. Disintegrated ruins. 

Death.

Memory like never before seized her. It coiled around her, twisting and constricting, squeezing the air from her lungs. She felt the scene spinning around her, replaying the worst moments of her life: a red Malice-ridden sky heralding its arrival; their desperate flee from the decimated castle; the crackle of static on the Slate, cutting off the Divine Beasts, dooming her allies. And Link. Link, her dearest friend and protector, absorbing hit after hit intended for her, brought to his knees, gasping for breath, bleeding out before her very eyes…

“Princess?”

His gentle voice yanked her from her spiral. Breathless, she turned from the battered and broken Link of her memories to the healed and whole Link of the present, his eyes exuding concern. 

Blinking rapidly, Zelda allowed him to steer her away from the fragmented guardian husks of Blatchery Plain to the northern cliff face. They sought shelter from the incoming storm in a recess of the rock wall partially obscured by trees. After a graceless dismount, Zelda took cover from the slicing wind as Link went to situate the horses at the mouth of the hollow. Facing away from the turmoil outside, she collapsed onto the stony ground, her face screwed into a rictus.

Paralyzed in the past, she sat besieged until approaching footsteps announced his return. She didn’t look as he lowered himself next to her, their knees touching—but a light poke at her side shook her to her senses.

Link gestured to the Sheikah Slate at her hip. Zelda stared dazedly at his hand before his query registered in her mind; numbly, she unclipped it from her belt and handed it over. Link’s deft fingers flew over the screen, swiping and tapping, until he seemed to find what he was looking for. He shoved it back into her hands.

It took Zelda a second to process what she was looking at. When her vision finally focused, she found herself gazing at an image: A group of snout-nosed bokoblins stood awkwardly before the camera. It was only after considerable study of this image that she realized she was actually looking at a picture of Link.

Posed at the center of the group, Link was the star of the composition. What she had originally taken to be another bokoblin was in reality a bokoblin mask—or rather, helmet—and he wore it proudly. It had a bulbous nose with stitched-in button eyes, and a gaping, toothy mouth where his head fit snugly inside. He appeared to be having a grand old time; with one hand on his hip, he saluted the sky in a show of theatrics, a look of mock seriousness on his face. The encircling bokoblins all gawked at him in utter stupefaction. They clearly had no idea what to make of him. One of them was sniffing his armpit. Another was attempting to wedge its finger into his long felt ear.

It was, simply put, the most ridiculous, the most adorable thing she’d ever seen.

Zelda slapped a hand to her mouth, failing to stifle the strangled noise that bubbled up past her lips. What was the story behind this photograph? Was Link not in danger here? Had the monsters somehow accepted him as one of their own? Where did he even get that helmet? Questions such as these ran rampant in her mind as feelings of mirth crowded out the waves of despair that had threatened to drown her since their abrupt arrival at Fort Hateno.

Link hadn’t taken his eyes off her. He seemed to be waiting for something, some sort of cue or signal, stuck with bated breath in a limbo of uncertainty. Zelda’s heart melted. Even in a sea of stormy, violent tumult, his only concern was for her. She offered him a watery smile.

It was as if she had personally granted him permission to breathe again. With his shoulders loosening, Link smiled back, and to Zelda, it was pure light.

~o~o~o~o~o~

>> Chap 3 >>

[shibaraki]

TU ME RENDS HEUREUX ┊ TENDO SATORI

tags: GN reader, bilingual timeskip tendou, childhood friends to lovers (ambiguous — this can be read as pre-established or a QPR), reunions, lots of fluff and some french cursing lol

wc: 1.5k

Satori punctates every wide step he takes with a melodic hum. He sways as he goes, always just slightly ahead of you, so he can spin on his heel and stumble backward as he talks. The canopies above have shed their coats, yellowing leaves spilling out onto the pavement. He changes his path for the simple goal of stomping on the crunchiest ones.

“C’mon, hurry it up,” he drawls, all while still maintaining your pace. “Slowpoke”.

A soft smile is tucked secretly behind your knitted scarf. You’d expected France to have changed Satori, if only a little. Twelve months in a new country would reshape anyone — and you cannot deny that he has grown into himself; shorn some of his youth but none of his vibrancy. His hair, too, has been shaved into a buzz cut.

He had arrived home this morning bearing new stories and tacky little gifts. Satori liked ugly things. You had clipped the gaudy chef's hat keyring onto your house key unprompted, soaking up his wide grin. Sharp features softened by the dewy afternoon sun, you seek to refamiliarise yourself with him and find that while he did grow into himself, he did not outgrow himself.

At the end of it all, he is still your Tendou.

“What’s the rush for?” you reply, side stepping to bump against his shoulder, “We’ve got the whole week”.

His cheeks puff slightly, his expression petulant. “Only a week,” he stresses, scuffing the heel of his shoe and sagging his weight against you. Your hands brush, his fingers lithe and cold in the autumn air. For a brief moment they curl outwards as if to reach for your own, only to retract with the returning distance. You notice how he restrains a smirk, “Are you trying to hold my hand right now?”

“Shut up,” you huff, burrowing further into your coat for fear of what he’ll see in your answer.

A malignant nostalgia pulses in your chest when you look at him. His eyes have always been so bright and inquisitive, wide, as if seeing something you couldn’t. Just as he cannot sit still, his gaze continuously scans his surroundings as they change, never wanting to miss a thing. While it unsettled your classmates and frustrated your teachers when you were children, you’d been drawn to his peculiar nature. He led you to a window of the world that you’d never thought to look through.

Your shared destination is near. Beyond your childhood homes, following the winding streets to an old, off beaten path, is a large maple tree. Blooms of red. Memories are embedded here, just like concentric rings within the trunk. This is the heart of it all, a returning point for the two of you. Now that you’re older, it seems so much smaller than you remembered it to be.

Through the fog of your thoughts, you tell him, “I really have missed you, y’know?”

“Oh?” Satori croons, delighted by the confession. “I knew it. You only ever kept a freak like me around for entertainment”.

“My own personal jester,” you roll your eyes amusedly, shivering against the tepid breeze as it creeps through the gaps in your sleeves. “Didn’t you get bored without me?”

He hums playfully, pinching his thumb and forefinger to his lips, turning to signal that they’re locked. You pout, and he dodges the halfhearted smack sent his way.

Closer now, the two of you are careful to avoid the overgrown roots where they burst from the ground. You can feel the warmth of his arm where it waits precariously by the small of your back, in case you might trip.

You come to a stop at the foot of the maple tree, where her bole has spread and warped to create a small depression in the trunk. “Ah. There it is,” he says, surrendering to his urges and poking along your spine. “Our demonic little cradle”.

Then he comes to settle behind you, wandering hand slipping to your waist as he lowers his chin to rest on your shoulder. Satori has always been physically affectionate, and you should think nothing of it; still the beat of your heart is always much louder in your ears when he touches you, and you find yourself instinctively relaxing.

Recalling the beginning, you exhale a faint laugh and sink into him, pressed to his chest. When you were much younger, the older children would tease him. They spread a rumour one summer that ‘Tendou the Youkai’ had been born from this very accursed tree, and being so closely associated with him, sometimes they would say the same about you.

“I remember… We even fell asleep here once. Had the whole neighbourhood looking for us,” you mumble, wondering what expression he’s making at the unearthed memory, as you often did in his absence.

Tilting to take a look, Satori naturally turns with you until your noses touch. He blinks, seemingly unaffected and comfortable sharing air, while your thoughts rush to remind you that his mouth is wind bitten, pink and dangerously close to your own.

“Tu m'as tellement manqué,” he quietly chimes, lightly knocking your foreheads together. The enunciation doesn’t quite fit, like the words are swollen on his tongue, yet they fall naturally from his lips as if he has practised them a thousand times before.

“What does that mean again?”

Your voice sounds terribly weak. His eyes lower, half lidded and heavy with amusement. Rather than moving away, you remain curled into one another, the weight of his limbs keeping your seams together. “Wow,” Satori drawls, his large squeezing at your waist. “Your beloved best friend moves to Paris and you don’t bother to learn French? For shame! Atleast Wakatoshi-kun made an effort”.

Heat rushes to the surface of your skin, emphasising the chill as it bites your cheeks, “Toshi-kun does not know French! You taught him how to ask where the toilet is!”

He nods sagely, the corners of his eyes wrinkling, “It’s an important thing to know”.

“And I do know a little French, connard,” you continue childishly, defiantly lifting your chin. “...Va te faire voir”.

He begins to laugh in synchrony with the wind as it dances through the crown of the maple tree. The sound is spirited, loud and unabashed, just like him. Contagious, too. The branches sway and he comically bends, pulling you along with him. Clinging on to him for balance, he swaddles you in a tight hug, and in that ephemeral moment the rest of the world falls away.

Your entwined laughter eventually tapers, and Satori exhales dramatically as he nuzzles into your hair, buzz cut prickling skin. “And who taught you those terrible, terrible words, I wonder?” and your chest tightens at the unexpected warm sensation pressed to your temple. Fleeting, a feather light kiss. “C’mon. We came here for a reason! No more dawdling”.

Satori untangles himself and ambles forward. Either side of his head, the tips of his ears have turned pink. Lowering onto his haunches, you watch him attempt to fit in the tree’s cradle. There is a spot beside him for you, in the crook behind his ridiculously long legs.

It isn’t often that he has to look up at you. He pats the earth with an assured smile, squinting against the sun, before sliding a manga volume out of his coat's hidden inner pocket.

You join him and fill the space left. The breeze picks up ever so slightly and he reflexively lifts his arm, inviting you onto his chest. “Buzz in and let me know when to turn the page,” he instructs.

Somewhere in your old album, there is a photograph exactly like this. Two peculiar children huddled together in their favourite spot, happily over their favourite book. All you needed back then was each other.

“Satori?”

He hums, gaze still raptly gliding along the panels. “Eh? Read this bit already?”

“No,” you reply, reaching to fiddle with his coat buttons. “I just wanted to tell you another phrase I learnt for you in French before you got distracted”.

“Hm?” The manga volume closes around his thumb, keeping the page as he gives you his full attention. “Just for me? Do tell,” he needled, a gleam in his eyes.

You swallow against the swell in your throat and look up at him, “Tu…? Tu me rends heureux. Is that right?”

Satori’s face visibly opens, the mirth slowly slipping away. Lips parted and eyes wide, your heart breaks at the pure expression of wonderment. “Yeah,” he exhales and you hear the shake in it. Blinking away the haze, his arm tightens around your waist and he dips to press his nose against your cheek.

“You make me happy too”.

[imakemywings]

Bingo time!

Daeron obviously, and Thingol

Hehe sending me the unpopular favs...

Alright, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, allow me to put on my defense attorney hat.

Daeron:

Okay #1: THIS FANDOM IS SO MEAN TO HIM.

Look. Listen. Daeron fucked up. He was selfish. He was jealous. He ratted Luthien out because he was pissy. And he almost immediately regrets it. He clearly underestimated what Thingol's response would be and in fact he feels so bad about it he ends up helping Luthien escape. And she forgives him. Even Luthien did not hold his actions against him, but this fandom is determined to paint him as a gross creep which is all the more flooring when Maeglin gets all his far more problematic actions towards Idril handwaved (and in some instances, Idril is criticized for not "giving him a chance"!)

That aside, I love Daeron as a character. He is the greatest musician ever produced by Elvenkind and he dies (presumably) alone and in obscurity. He was chief loremaster of a realm whose record-keeping was almost entirely oral--how much of Doriath's culture and history disappeared with Daeron? He invented an alphabet from scratch and was known to be talented in woodworking and other crafts as well. I would venture to say he is one of few, if not the only, Elves who comes close to Feanor's levels of accomplishment.

He's impulsive, which comes off both in the curse he lays on Doriath (unintentionally?) in the Lay and also in his reveal to Thingol. And yet he also clearly regrets getting Luthien in trouble, almost right away, and he goes with the team that goes looking for her, and self-exiles from Doriath when he fails to find her. Tolkien repeatedly emphasizes in the Lay how "delicate" Daeron is which makes me think he was never much of a fighter, but he went anyway because Luthien was important to him and he wanted to make up for what he had done, even though she had already forgiven him.

Also, personally, I enjoy the notion of him as a bit of a spoiled little shit who will go stirring up a fight and then run behind Thingol the second he might actually be in trouble. Thingol spoils him so much and it's really gone to his head 😔 I also like the notion of Daeron as someone who makes his own instruments and whose style is overall very simple and not flashy.

I think he and Luthien were very close for a long time, even though she was never in love with him and I like to think their reunion after the remaking of the world will be very happy <3

Finally: He has a luxurious mane of microbraids and no one will change my view on this now that I've finally settled on one

P I'm also linking direct to your Daeron defense post for readers who may have missed that.

Thingol:

As with Daeron: The fandom so often seems determined to take Thingol's actions in the least charitable way possible, which I am convinced comes down to 1) He distrusts the fandom faves, the Feanorians (who I think it stands to remember were openly threatening Doriath well before the Second Kinslaying); and 2) He stands between Beren and Luthien and no one likes a guy who gets in the way of a love story.

Also, some of Thingol's best moments come in Children of Hurin, which not every Silm fan has read. I think Thingol also gets hit with a bit of "tell not show" because Tolkien tells us that Thingol was a wise and beloved king, but most of the close-ups we get of him in Silm are of his mistakes.

That said, I have seen some truly batshit takes on Thingol in my brief couple years in this fandom. As with all characters in this story, he made mistakes--some of which had far more serious consequences than he could had foreseen. But I don't think he was a bad person and I think he did try his best, and clearly even he rethought his response to the Beren debacle, because he comes around on Beren.

"Then Thingol's mood was softened; and Beren sat before his throne upon the left, and Luthien upon the right..." (Of Beren and Luthien)

The symbolism of seating Beren at the left hand of the king cannot be overstated and that he does this in full view of his court is a huge gesture of acceptance both of Beren and of his relationship with Luthien (and through her, his relationship to Thingol).

Then, they all go out hunting Carcharoth, and Huan springs on him:

"...but in the howls of Carcharoth was the hate of Morgoth and malice crueller than teeth of steel; and the rocks were rent by their clamour and fell from on high and choked the falls of Esgalduin. There they fought to the death; but Thingol gave no heed, for he knelt by Beren, seeing that he was sorely hurt."

Huan and Carcharoth are having a death battle here but Thingol's only concern is for Beren's safety.

Which I think illustrates one of the most overlooked characteristics of Thingol's: He learns from his mistakes. He recognizes when he's fucked up and he demonstrably works to do better. He's very dismissive of Beren and Men in general at the start of Beren and Luthien's chapter, but later, he takes Turin in to foster, the only time an Elf lord ever fosters a human, and he treats Turin as his own son. He tries very hard not to repeat his mistakes, and in line with Silm's tragic nature, it spares him nothing.

I'm also deeply attached to monsterfucker Thingol. You will not find an Elf in Middle-earth who is more down to dtf in the most bizarre of situations and ways than Thingol. He will let Melian try almost anything at least once and she loves to experiment. They are the sappiest couple in Middle-earth who will address each other with the most sugary saccharine pet names known to man that make everyone else cringe and they will do it in court. Luthien gets that stan gene from both sides.

I'm also just going to link some other Thingol metas here:

Thingol didn't want the Silmaril

Thingol's sense of humor

General Thingol defense

Thingol in "Beren and Luthien"

The Quenya Ban

Thingol allowing Noldor refugees into Doriath

Doriath is not as isolationist as you think

On Thingol's mistrust of Celegorm and Curufin

I think I spent forty minutes on this. I'm normal about Elves, I promise.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

The Bugle's been going for sixteen years, as of October 15, 2023. I like that date, because it's only two days after my birthday. I enjoy that around my birthday every year, The Bugle also has a little birthday celebration. And they do. On their very first birthday, in October 2008, they had cake in the studio in England where Andy Zaltzman was and in New York where John Oliver was and they celebrated their project surviving for a year and it was really sweet. And every since then, they do something like that. Last year, they marked the big fifteenth anniversary with a tour of live shows, and a special John and Andy reunion episode that made me laugh so hard I had tears in my eyes while listening to it on a bus, prompting me to pull my mask up and hat down to hide my reaction, but it wasn't quite enough to avoid getting a few strange looks.

No big tour this year, but Andy Zaltzman did write a special In The Bin section with some nice callbacks, that I transcribed for the Bugle fans on Tumblr who might not be following the current version of the podcast but enjoy references to the original:

Andy Zaltzman: As always, a section of this podcast is going straight in the bin. This week: a special Bugle sixteenth birthday commemorative section. At sixteen now, The Bugle can start voting in some parts of the world, including, crucially, Ecuador, and the Channel Island of Sark. So that’s very exciting, that we can now vote in those parts of the world. Anuvab Pal: It’s time to rig some elections in Ecuador, that’s what I’m thinking. Andy Zaltman: Look, Bugles, if you want an election near you rigged, just email us and we will do what we can. The Bugle can now buy cigarettes, although obviously it wouldn’t want to; if a podcast starts coughing and spluttering it’s not a great listen. It also means that The Bugle is, depending on where you listen to it, now legally allowed to consent to, um, uh, be played at the same time as another podcast, also over the age of sixteen, I think. Sadly, the minimum age for marriage in the UK was recently raised from sixteen to eighteen, so the planned wedding between The Bugle and the 2001-born TV drama series 24 will not be happening yet. Bit of an age gap, but it would have been fascinating to see Jack Bauer’s comedic take on the week’s global news, and to see what storylines they came up with for The Bugle. Could the Los Angeles counter-terrorist unit stop The Bugle’s Machiavellian scheme to establish a professional four-day cricket championship in California before it was too late? I, personally, would have watched that repeatedly. Also, The Bugle can, at the age of sixteen, and this is not a moment too soon, now go and get a proper job. It can also change its name, legally, and from what I’ve heard, from sources close to The Bugle, it is considering a change of name, at this point, at age sixteen. Amongst the possibilities: The Barak Obama Interview Show – apparently there are certain legal issues with that; Zaltor the Merciless Dispenses Wise Judgement to His Adoring Yet Fearful Subjects – I can see that working; Bible Studies with Mildred and Herbit – bit of a mix-up; Andy Zaltzman’s Fashion, Style, and Romance Tipscast – let me live my dream; Tonight Last Week – I’m not sure that’ll work; and Two Celebrities Phone it in and Take the Cash – I mean you have to adapt to the changing podcast market. Or, uh, Hot Rod and Dragster Ride Again. All those are possibilities, but that section is in the bin.

I think I said "Aww..." out loud about three times during that part. The little references! To Hot Rod and Dragster, that time in 2011 when Chris Skinner made a brief joke about those being fun nicknames for Andy Zaltzman and John Oliver and it was meant to be immediately forgotten, but the fans addressed emails to those names for years. The little reminder of how John Oliver and Andy Zaltzman spent the first few years of The Bugle really into the TV show 24, which sounded especially weird coming from Andy because he never likes anything that isn't sport or the music of Boney M, it's so rare to hear him be a normal person who gets excited about a mainstream thing in popular culture, to the point where he first started referencing 24 I thought he was being ironic, but eventually it became clear that he had actually binged every episode and just wanted to talk about it. And obviously he also threw in a reference to that show Week Last Tonight or whatever. Small references to Bugle history in the 2023 anniversary section.

[stormyoceans]

okay I woke up and chose violence today SO

TOP THREE VV EPS. IN ORDER. AND WHY.

...*squints for a long time*

FINE, TOP FIVE. BUT!!! THE OS2 EPS ARE INCLUDED.

[[mine would be:

5. ep 4 (the first serious kiss, the formation of friend credits, the communication of boundaries)

4. ep 10 (the emotional goodbyes! the nomnomnom! fuse's doggo! the pink!)

3. os2 ep 1 (the 30 day challenge! the cute soft domesticity of it all! the surprise bebé!)

2. ep 8 (the greyllery confession and kiss! the single tear! the cats!)

1. ep 11 (the angst! the yearning! one of the best reunion hugs to ever! the way I cry every damn time!)

...now you!]]

ANON I HOPE YOU KNOW I THREW UP ALL THE BLOOD IN MY BODY WHILE TRYING TO ANSWER THIS AND THAT A MENTAL HEALTH CRISIS INTERVENTION TEAM HAD TO KEEP ME SEDATED THE ENTIRE TIME BUT ANYWAY HERE’S WHAT I GOT

1. episode 11: real red. CHANGED ME MY LIFE MY OUTLOOK THE FOUNDATION OF MY PERSONHOOD THE CHEMICAL MAKE UP OF MY BRAIN AND MY ENTIRE BEING ON A MOLECULAR LEVEL. it also fundamentally changes the entire narrative of the show starting from episode 4 and it forces you to go back to rewatch everything that happened and look at it with a whole new understanding of the characters, especially puen. the first part of this episode alone is such a masterpiece in both writing and acting and should be shown in every single filmmaking class around the world as an example of incredible storytelling techniques. not to mention how the reunion in the glasshouse is the epitome of parallelism romanticism soulmatism the me before and after this scene are two completely different people.

2. episode 04: deep magenta. I CAN'T BE NORMAL ABOUT THIS EPISODE IM SORRY I SIMPLY CAN'T. every single scene just makes me mentally deranged in ways so profound they will only become apparent years down the line like shy!puen!!!!! the glasshouse!!!!! "so, will they fall in love?" "i guess they will"!!!!! puen comforting talay!!!!! THE WEDDING!!!!! the way they look at each other at that wedding!!!!! THE KISS!!!!! I KNOW I PROBABLY SHOULDN'T BUT I LOVE THIS KISS SO MUCH!!!!!!! truly the way this was one of my least favorite episodes while the show was airing and now it's at the top of my list and i could literally spend the rest of my life writing essays about it is, quite frankly, fucking insane.

(LOOK AT ALL THE VERTICAL LINES SEPARATING THEM THROUGHOUT THE EPISODE UNTIL PUEN CLOSES THAT DISTANCE AND THE DOOR OF THE GREENHOUSE IS LEFT OPEN IN THE BACKGROUND TO SHOW THEIR HEARTS OPENING TO EACH OTHER THIS EPISODE MAKES ME WANT TO SEEK PSYCHIATRIC HELP)

3. episode 09: midnight black. no other episode makes me experience every single emotion present on the spectrum of human consciousness every time i rewatch it quite like this one does. the fight!!!!! talay being triggered by the water!!!!! the beach reconciliation!!!!! doctor jimmy displaying unprecedented unparalleled unmatched levels of derangement and improvisation by taking method acting to a whole new level and reinventing tenderness reverence adoration wonder LOVE with the look of his eyes alone!!!!!! THE BUCKET HAT REVEAL BEING THE MOST SCENE IN THE HISTORY OF TELEVISION!!!!!! no one has ever been this in love this connected this linked AND I FEEL SICK ABOUT IT

4. episode 03: soft blush. another episode i just cannot be normal about like drunk!puen!!!!! talay trying to cheer puen up and giving him advice on how to fix things with up and aou!!!!! the date-not-date!!!!! the pinky promise and the helmets at the end!!!!! NIVEA BATHTUB SCENE MY BELOVED!!!!!!! there are people who don’t need to be forcibly escorted into a padded room every time they hear puen say “if this can be used to wipe away dust, i should use it with your heart. i think your heart hasn’t been used in a long time” AND GOD I WISH THAT COULD BE ME. my own personal equivalent of the famous pride and prejudice hand flex scene: a moment so delicious i instantly knew i was fucked.

[PLEASE ENJOY THIS BRIEF INTERMISSION AS I GO THROUGH YET ANOTHER EXISTENTIAL CRISIS BECAUSE EXPECTING ME TO CHOOSE BETWEEN EPISODE 6, 8, 10, 12 AND OUR SKYY 1 SHOULD BE ILLEGAL]

5. episode 12: crystal clear. okay i had to go to this one in the end because there's just something so deeply satisfying about this episode, about puen and talay finally getting to be puen and talay after such an insane journey. there's also just SO MUCH LOVE in it: the quiet domesticity at the beginning, the joy and playfulness every time they're together, the sacrifices they're willing to make for each other, the comfort the understanding the tenderness the contentment, "where there's you, there's happiness", "without work i can survive, without him i can't", "i don't want time to go by without you from now on"..... THEY PAINT EACH OTHER'S LIFE PINK FOREVER!!!!!!!! also i don't care what anyone says the lay's marriage proposal was PERFECT.

(NOW EXCUSE ME AS I GO DIE IN MY BACKYARD OR GET DRAGGED INTO A PADDED ROOM WHICHEVER HAPPENS FIRST)

[nerdstreak]

a lost future and found present

wrote a thing bc ofc im thinking about hurt/comfort 👉👈🥺

~🎩~

“You can’t go! I don’t want to say goodbye again, I can’t! I won’t!”

Such an outburst, that would seem restrained if any other man had made it, gave everyone in this small alley pause. Layton hardly ever raised his voice, too well-mannered to do so. But this was different. His lost love was going away once more after a brief reunion, doomed to die as she faded away from the present into the past.

His apprentice Luke, and colleague Hannah, stood behind him watching this all unfold as his dear Claire gave him some final comforting words.

“I know you. And I know you’ll stay strong. After all… that’s what a gentleman does. I must go now, Hershel. Thank you for everything... Goodbye.” And with a brief, hopeful glance at the two behind him, trusting they would take care of him, she turned away and walked off around the corner.

But not without Luke giving chase, running past the professor, Hannah running after him.

“Luke, wait, don’t--!”

But as they turned the corner themselves, Claire was gone without a trace. So that was it.

The young boy turned to Layton, to call out their obvious discovery. “She’s gone--!” A hand on his shoulder suddenly quieted his shouting.

“Luke…” Hannah softly chided, looking toward Hershel herself. She saw him turn away, shoulders slightly shaking, and… was he crying…? He even removed his hat, watching fresh snow fall from the night sky.

Oh gosh, this was serious. Her heart broke for him as well. She considered him a dear friend, and perhaps more, as she’d come to know him, but did she really know him like Claire did? How do you even comfort someone like him? What do you even say…?

She couldn’t muster anything. So she silently approached him as he seemed to be quieted now, placing his cherished top hat back on his head, and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “Hershel, I--”

In his grief, he had nearly approached some form of acceptance, before snapping back to denial and bargaining feeling a gentle touch. He swiftly turned towards her, naively hoping that Claire had returned. But it was only Hannah. 

No, no, not “only,” that was such a harsh and ungentlemanly thing to think of her. She was a close friend, one that was trying to comfort him. His emotions getting the best of him, he suddenly tugged her into a tight hug, tears spilling forth once more.

She let a small noise of surprise out as she was pulled in, processing what was happening for a moment before returning it as hard as she could, hand cradling the back of his head. Tears of her own finally welled up in her eyes, swallowing thickly as she finally said something.

“I’m so sorry… It’ll be alright…”

Luke soon joined in as well, tiny arms doing their best to wrap around the both of the adults. “Yeah, we’re here, Professa’…” he gently spoke, the gravity of the situation finally settling in on him.

In sorrow and loss, it was important to remember the people that were still here for you. And having such people here now, Layton cherished it dearly as he held them both closely, crying out the last of his tears for now. “Thank you both… So very much…” he muttered into Hannah’s shoulder.

He then finally straightened up, loosening his hold on them but not letting go. Not just yet. He looked into her blue eyes, seeing her empathetic tears, the poor girl. “We should get going now, hm?” he offered, giving her the smallest smile he could manage to muster.

Hannah was a bit surprised at this turnaround, but then again she wasn’t. Claire was right, it seemed. She returned the smile, nodding affirmatively.

With that, the three of them made their way back to the Laytonmobile, arm in arm.

[greensparty]

Movie Review: Stop Making Sense & Album Review: Talking Heads "Stop Making Sense" Expanded Edition Remaster and TIFF Q&A Coverage

In Dec. 1983, NYC art rockers Talking Heads did four concerts at Hollywood's Pantages Theater. Those shows were filmed for the concert documentary film Stop Making Sense that was directed by one of my all-time heroes Jonathan Demme. After some 1984 film festivals, it was released theatrically in October 1984. Today it is considered to be one of the greatest concert films of all time. For music geeks and film geeks it always comes down to this and The Last Waltz. This month, A24 is celebrating the 40th anniversary of those legendary concerts with a re-release in 4K and IMAX. Last month, Rhino re-released the companion live album originally released in 1984. I got to cover both of these releases this week as well as the Talking Heads reunion that occurred at the Toronto International Film Festival following the IMAX screening with a Q&A moderated by Spike Lee.

original 1984 movie poster

I guess you could say I’ve written a great deal about Stop Making Sense (for proof, read here). In 2015, my documentary was screening at Noise Pop in San Francisco and the night before my screening I caught an anniversary screening they had of Stop Making Sense at The Independent. It was an amazing sound system and the packed audience was dancing and singing along throughout. I later read an interview with Jonathan Demme and he said when Stop Making Sense first opened, people were getting up and dancing in the movie theater during the movie and that was exactly what we wanted from the film. In 2020 when I interviewed Talking Heads drummer Chris Frantz he said “ That’s what we wanted. We were going for a live concert experience. Without a lot of superfluous stuff like interviews between the songs. The thing about Stop Making Sense was the entire crew, the band, the camera crew - everyone was at the top of their game. The cinematographer Jordan Cronenweth had recently shot Blade Runner! It was a top notch operation. And the people who recorded the live album from The Record Plant Mobile, they did an excellent job too. So hat’s off to everyone involved.” As I said at the time of the Noise Pop festival, I was truly honored to know my film was at the same festival as this legendary film! 

Movie Review: Stop Making Sense

2023 movie poster

By 1984, Jonathan Demme had graduated from the Roger Corman school of exploitation films into more offbeat character driven work like Handle with Care and Melvin and Howard. By the early 80s he had attended some Talking Heads concerts and was blown away by the visual elements of their music. At the very moment Demme was directing these Talking Heads concerts in late 1983, he had been in the middle of one of his worst filmmaking experiences on Swing Shift, a film where star/producer Goldie Hawn had final cut. So the creative solace he was finding at the time was in this concert film, which marked Demme's first documentary and first concert film, two genres he would return to quite often over his career.

Demme and Byrne circa 1984

Unlike other concert films, each band member comes out a little at time. First - singer David Byrne comes out with a boombox and plays along to "Psycho Killer", then he is joined by bassist Tina Weymouth, then drummer Chris Frantz, and then guitarist Jerry Harrison. They then are joined by guests for these shows including keyboardist Bernie Worrell, percussionist Steve Scales, and more. Each song is like it's own iconic moment: Byrne singing to the lamp during "This Must Be the Place", the legendary big oversized suit and so many more. Every musician here is tight and they all look like they are having fun. There was also time for brief interludes like Frantz and Weymouth's side project Tom Tom Club's "Genius of Love" (yes we all know, later sampled by Mariah Carey, but the original is superior), and some solo Bryne soundtrack songs.

I am by no means an expert on Talking Heads or their biggest fan, but this concert film is legendary! You actually see the sweat on the forehead of the performers, the scratches on the instruments and the incredible lighting even more so on the big screen than you do on the small screen. I have to acknowledge this: I saw this IMAX screening at a unnamed movie theater and there were some projection issues. A colleague of mine actually walked out as he was disgusted with the aspect ratio cutting off the heads during some shots. I am not going to give this a bad review based on the one specific projection at this one particular theater I was at, as I am judging a movie itself. Over the last few years several movie theaters in the area such as the Coolidge Corner Theatre and the Somerville Theatre have done revival screenings of Stop Making Sense and it's always an event. Any excuse to see this movie on the big screen is worth cancelling your plans and going!!! The 2023 cut also had an incredible music mix too. It's kind of impossible to watch this movie and not tap along to the music. Very little can possibly compete with my experience of seeing it at Noise Pop in 2015 when fans were getting up and dancing along to each scene (not possible in stadium seating unfortunately), but this movie shows both Demme and Talking Heads in their prime, a meeting of the mind that still stands up today!

IMAX release is on 9/22 and standard 2D release is 9/29: https://tickets.stopmakingsense.movie/

5 out of 5 stars (I rarely give 5 stars BTW)

Album Review: Talking Heads Stop Making Sense Expanded Edition Remaster

2023 album from Rhino

Talking Heads were co-founded by Chris Frantz with his college girlfriend bassist Tina Weymouth and studious singer David Byrne. They soon moved to NYC and became a big part of the Downtown NYC scene. They were hip and cool enough to get played on MTV and college radio, but artsy and edgy enough to be a non-punk band accepted by the CBGB’s crowd. Just as the band was taking off, Frantz and Weymouth formed a side group Tom Tom Club. For me, I always dug the Talking Heads, but I never got heavy into them. Probably because by the time I was getting into music, it was towards the end of the band. But I always liked their sound and had great respect for them being early music video pioneers, i.e. “Once in a Lifetime”, “Burning Down the House” and “Road to Nowhere”. In the last few years I've actually gotten way more into them and have picked up a number of their albums.

Talking Heads with their additional Stop Making Sense musicians

Which brings us to the Stop Making Sense live soundtrack album. By 1984, Talking Heads had released five solid studio albums, notably Remain in Light (got my copy on vinyl!). The band was mostly big in the college radio scene, but they bubbled up to the mainstream with some Top 40 hits like "Take Me to the River" and "Burning Down the House". Their groundbreaking music videos that were popular on MTV definitely introduced them to a whole new audience too. When the concert film was about to be released, Sire released the companion live album in September 1984, but it only featured 9 songs clocking in at under 40 minutes, hence not the whole concert. In 1999, there was a special edition released to coincide with the 15th anniversary, this one featuring 16 tracks. For the 40th anniversary Jerry Harrison oversaw the full concert which includes some tracks that were actually cut from the film itself.

Something very noteworthy about both the film and the album is that it was one of the very early uses of digital audio. The sound is incredible...even as I listened to a digital download. It also serves as a great example of what a good soundtrack should do, which is being both a companion piece to the film and a souvenir of sorts for the excitement of what that film did for you upon seeing it. For big fans who already have the previous editions, this does mark the first time the entire concert is on vinyl and it includes a reproduction of the original booklet as well as notes from the band members [NOTE: the edition I reviewed did not include that booklet] and it might be worth trading in the old one for the new one.

For info on Rhino's 2023 re-release: https://store.rhino.com/en/rhino-store/artists/talking-heads/stop-making-sense-2lp/603497832835.html

4.5 out of 5 stars

TIFF Q&A on 9/11/2023

In the years that followed Stop Making Sense, Demme worked the members of Talking Heads a few more times: Byrne and Harrison contributed music to Something Wild, Byrne did the score for Married to the Mob, and Byrne acted in Demme's episode of Trying Times. But sadly Demme didn't do another Talking Heads concert film. The band broke up in 1991. Bryne announced the band was over, but the other three recorded and toured as the Shrunken Heads and later as The Heads. While there was some bad blood between them, they did reunite in 1999 for the 15th anniversary of Stop Making Sense. One of those Q&As was featured on the blu-ray. In 2002, they reunited and actually performed music together when they were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. But the closest we came to a Stop Making Sense sequel was in 2020 when Spike Lee directed one of Byrne's broadway shows David Byrne's American Utopia for the HBO concert film. I named it my #1 Documentary of 2020 and in my review I wrote "Byrne and Lee have come together with something to say in 2020. I just hope we don’t need to wait another 36 years for Byrne’s next epic concert doc!"

Byrne, Harrison, Frantz, Weymouth and Lee at TIFF

At the 2023 Toronto International Film Festival screening, all four Talking Heads reunited for the screening and Q&A moderated by Lee, which was simulcast at the IMAX screening I attended. Here were a few of the highpoints:

Spike Lee said "Give it up for the late great Jonathan Demme! The great director Jonathan Demme" Amen! Chris Frantz said "I miss Jonathan Demme! He would have been so happy to see this tonight and hear it".

David Byrne said "When I was watching this just now I was thinking, this is why we come to the movie theaters! This is different than watching on my laptop." Big applause!

Spike Lee declared this the "greatest concert film ever"! Hard to disagree with that!

They discussed working with Demme. Frantz even mentioned Caged Heat (impressed they saw that early film Demme did for Roger Corman). Byrne said after he saw an early cut Demme did with editor Lisa Day, "I realized that he was looking at it as an ensemble film. Like you get a bunch of characters in a location and you get to know them each one by one, get familiar with them, and then you watch how they all interact with one another. I thought, I'm in my own world, but he saw that and he saw what was going on there."

Frantz went on to say that Demme really made everyone involved feel "what we were doing was worthy of being a movie and worthy of being remembered".

Jerry Harrison said that as someone who had been in a band before this one with The Modern Lovers, he felt there was "nothing going on like this. I don't know how big an audience we will have but I think we're treading new ground. I think we did and that's why it's timeless".

Bryne went on to say about Demme that there wasn't a lot visually in his previous films that was similar, but he was very aware of how people relate and "he brought that to a concert movie, and you don't see that in a lot of concert movies"

Me seeing Stop Making Sense on the big screen!

I am incredibly jealous of anyone in L.A. attending the American Cinematheque screening with Talking Heads doing a Q&A moderated by Paul Thomas Anderson on Tues. 9/19/23!

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

Ponytail

It is nearly 1am. I could have added more to this. But again: it is nearly 1am. Jaskier has a ponytail, Geralt pulls on it. Five times! 2.9k words, Rated E. 

Warnings for salty bards, a brief run-in with Nilfgaard, and hair-pulling. That’s not very nice, Geralt!

~

“What’s this?”

Geralt gave a swift tug to Jaskier’s ponytail. It didn’t hurt, but it was a shock, and he found himself being pulled backwards, his hat toppling from his head and landing to the grimy floor beneath with a sad fwump.

“It’s hair, Geralt,” he said, quickly stooping to grab his hat and replace it on his head before some drunkard could stand on it. “You’ve got enough of it yourself, you should be familiar with the concept.”

Geralt just looked at him. “Hmm.”

“What?” Jaskier swirled his nearly empty cup of wine, maintaining deliberate eye contact. “Don’t you like it?”

Frankly, he didn’t care either way - Geralt reneged the right to an opinion on Jaskier’s lifestyle when he left him on that fucking mountaintop - but the urge to fall into old, teasing habits was simply too strong.

“No,” Geralt said, finally.

“Well.” Jaskier shrugged and saw off the remainder of his wine. “It’s a good job it doesn’t fucking matter what you think, isn’t it? See you around, Geralt.”

He turned his back on the witcher, striding from the room. The crowd parted around him: of course they did, he was fucking Jaskier. He could feel Geralt’s eyes on his back until the heavy wooden door slammed behind him.

Good. Let him stare.

~

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not tonight, not like this.

He edged down the street, praying to any god that would listen that they wouldn’t catch him if he just kept to the shadows. He’d hoped he’d be safe, here, out of the way, where no one cared about war and soldiers and power grabs. He’d been wrong.

Jaskier ducked around a corner and cursed himself for not paying better attention. Too many sets, too close together, too many towns - no wonder they’d tracked him down. He’d been too lost in it all, especially after the disastrous run-in with Geralt a few days ago.

He’d told himself it was fine. He’d told himself it was fine as he’d spotted Geralt across the room. He’d told himself it was fine as Geralt had spoken to him. The stinging in his eyes was just the smoke from the poorly-cleaned fireplace, the hoarseness in his throat was caused by nothing more than an evening's singing.

He’d told himself it was fine as he left Geralt behind - relishing the chance to turn his back on him, for once - and strode across the city back to his rented rooms. The ache, deep in his chest, was because he was tired, because he was busy; not because of—

He’d been wrong. The sudden reunion had set him in a spin. If his head had been straight, he wouldn’t have performed again yesterday evening. He’d been so desperate for one more night - to hear them cry out his name - to be the centre of it all.

Just one more night.

He swore into his chest, his head down. Fuck.

Far too close for comfort, he could hear the quickened footsteps of the Nilfgaardian soldiers behind him. Oh, they didn’t look like soldiers - even they were too clever for that - but he’d known it was them immediately, and ran.

He just hadn’t run fast enough, this time.

He edged around another corner, doubling back on himself, hoping to throw them off. He had his lute on his back, and enough money in his purse to get him board wherever he ended up; he just needed to get beyond the city walls, and walk until his feet bled. That’s what he’d done last time, after all.

A shout. He froze on the spot, pressed against the wall, damp with condensation in the cool air. He waited, counting his breaths.

Another shout. Louder; closer.

He ran.

His heart was in this throat and his lute was bouncing on his back and this, he feared, was it - this was finally it—

There was a sharp, sudden pain at the back of his head and he found himself being pulled backwards by his ponytail. There was a horrible moment of complete panic as he envisioned the black gloves of the Nilgaardians who’d been trailing him wrapped around his hair, pulling him to his back, when he found himself not being tossed to the floor but being tugged into a dark, narrow alleyway.

He spun. “What—”

There was a hand over his mouth in an instant. In the low light, two wide golden eyes stared back at him.

This, somehow, was worse. In the tavern he’d been all pain and anger, not bothering to conceal it. But here, pressed against the man who’d thrown him aside and turned him into this…

Geralt smelt the same. Leather and sweat and horse and - yes - onion. His hair was longer, his armour new.. He had a new scar, too, spidering down the side of his jaw. But it was him, and suddenly Jaskier wasn’t the furious troubadour in the tavern or the spy running for his life or even the heartbroken bard left to pick his way down a monster-infested mountain.

It was like he was back in Posada. Like was an idiot eighteen-year-old, thinking with his cock, seeing only a pair of vibrant yellow eyes across a room and honing in on them, no more able to resist them than he could gravity.

He swallowed, but said nothing. Geralt nodded at him, just once.

“We’re getting you out of here.”

~

Leaving the city had been surprisingly easy. It was what lay beyond the city that proved more troublesome.

Right on the edge of the river, the high city walls were built right into the bank, the bottommost stones covered in a slimy green moss. This itself was passable - the narrow walkway was wide enough for two men to pass in single file, even if Jaskier complained about having to press his hand into the sludge to keep his balance.

They were making good progress - better progress than if he’d remained in the city and ended up on the wrong end of a soldier’s blade, at least. Leaving the city had been easy.

It was the drowners. The drowners: now they had been very difficult indeed.

Jaskier sat miserably by the side of the fire. His much-beloved leather coat would have done a decent job of keeping him warm, if it hadn’t been ripped to shreds beneath a drowner's claws.

He hadn’t realised that the river edging around the southern part of the city had been composed not of water, as he’d been assuming all these weeks, but something that when one toppled into it in the arms of a horrible, aquatic monster one realised was, in fact, very much not water at all.

He was desperately hoping it wasn’t shit. It didn’t stink, thank the gods, but it had been thick and tar-like. Geralt had said it was drowner ichor, and had failed to elaborate further.

He shuddered as he shuffled closer to the fire, the leaflitter beneath his arse sticking unpleasantly to his still-sodden clothes. His hair had become uncomfortably tangled during his dip in the river, and was now thick with slime, and he reached up to the red leather cord he kept it tied up in and began to work it free. He tugged at it with a cut-off swear and hiss as the sludge pulled at his scalp.

For fuck’s sake.

He’d missed this, he thought rather bitterly. He’d spent whole nights lying awake and wondering what it would be like to be back on the Path again. Now he’d returned, he was beginning to question what the charm had been in the first place.

“Jask.”

Ah. Right.

He looked up - “what?” - immediately regretting the acid in his tone. Geralt had just saved his life, after all.

For what it was worth, Geralt did look sorry - or at least suitably cowed.

“It’s not that bad,” he said.

“What’s not that bad?” Jaskier frowned. “Nearly being eaten by a sodding drowner?”

“The hair.”

Jaskier stilled where he was still trying to pick out the cord, twisted around the strands. “Oh.”

“Let me…”

And then Geralt was on his knees behind him, his hands against Jaskier’s own, carding through the mess of hair and sludge at the back of his head.

“It’s fine,” Jaskier said - another lie.

“You can’t reach it on your own.”

He was right, curse him. “You don’t have to help.”

“I want to.”

Gods. He felt that in his gut, in the tips of his toes, in the ends of his shivering fingers. He’d been hoping that when he inevitably ran into Geralt again that feeling would be gone - torn down by resentment and hurt. But it wasn’t. It was like drinking water again after months lost at sea, like a loaf of fresh bread after days of starving.

“...fine.”

Geralt didn’t need further encouragement. He worked slowly, but surely, his fingers pressing into Jaskier’s scalp as he pulled away the now-ruined cord.

It was so thoroughly tangled that when he pulled it away it tugged at his scalp, too, jerking the ponytail once more. Jaskier hissed through his teeth.

“I wish you’d stop doing that,” he said.

“Hmm.” And then - “Sorry.”

Jaskier stilled. That was new. “It’s… it’s alright,” he said. “Just be careful. I’ve been growing this out for—” He was struck with the image of himself, stranded, the wind whipping at his face, the clouds growing dark above him. “—for a while,” he finished, quietly.

Geralt made a low noise of assent, then got back to the unpleasant task. He reached a tangle - a knot that even Jaskier could feel - and paused.

“Just need to…”

Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat. Geralt was close - much closer than he’d realised, his mouth hovering somewhere over his shoulder. He tugged again, and this time the burning sting wasn’t pain, but something quite, quite different.

“There,” Geralt murmured, his voice low. “Good.”

Jaskier squirmed, and felt the tie come loose in Geralt’s hand, his fingers gently tugging apart the strands of the ponytail.

Melitele save me, he thought, fingers bunching into fists on his knees, this is unfair.

~

It’s not that bad.

Jaskier didn’t believe it, at first: Geralt wasn’t exactly attuned to his own feelings - at least, he wasn’t when Jaskier was last graced with his presence - and he’d assumed the witcher had said it as a peace offering rather than anything really sincere.

But now… he wasn’t so sure.

After a full day of walking, they’d managed to find an out of the way town which Geralt had deemed safe enough to stay in, at least for a night. They’d rented a room and a bath, and Jaskier had tumbled into the bath without waiting to go through the rigmarole of deciding who would use the fresh water first.

It was concerning, how easily they slipped back into the old routine. Like it had been weeks, rather than years, since they last saw each other.

It was all very much the same, except - except it wasn’t. Geralt was being nice. If Jaskier was feeling dramatic about it, which he supposed he was, he could even describe his actions as tender.

He didn’t want to dwell on it: he couldn’t make this into something it wasn’t, not again. He plunged his head under the water of the bath instead, rubbing his fingers across his scalp to remove the worst of the sludge. When he emerged, spluttering, Geralt was watching him with a cautious gazea and a bar of soap in his hand. He didn’t speak, but Jaskier knew it was an offer all the same.

He couldn’t. But - But he could, and he wanted to, and Geralt was offering, so—

He nodded, just once.

Jaskier had lost track of how many times he’d washed Geralt’s hair. He could count the reverse on the fingers of one hand; and only when the situation had been particularly dire. Four of the five times had involved spilt blood, and half of those had been his own blood to start with. But this was different.

Geralt moved slowly and gently, his fingers pressing into Jaskier’s scalp with just the right amount of pressure to make his spine melt like a hot candle. He felt himself relax in the water in a way he hadn’t done in months, content in both the feeling of Geralt’s fingers in his hair and the knowledge that he was, for once, genuinely safe. He wouldn’t come to harm when Geralt was here.

It took minutes - it took hours. He couldn’t tell. He felt himself being eased back into the water, Geralt’s hands on his shoulders, as he rinsed away the murky suds. Geralt’s hands never left the back of his head, and as he rose into a sitting position once more he pulled Jaskier’s hair back between his hands, playing with it, feeling it.

He tugged. Not hard - a mere suggestion - and Jaskier allowed himself to be moved. Geralt pulled him down until his head hung horizontally from the rim of the tub, staring directly up at him, Geralt’s hand still wrapped around his hair. He could hear water dripping to the wooden floor, the only sound in the silent room other than the thundering of his own heart.

Geralt’s eyes were wide and dark, only the smallest sliver of yellow highlighting his blown-out pupils in golden halos.

“Geralt—”

And then Geralt was kissing him.

He tasted like home.

~

“Fuck—” Jaskier gasped against the pillow, the itchy fabric bunching beneath his cheek, “Geralt—”

They were supposed to be heading north. They were heading north, in a roundabout sort of way, but they’d found themselves a little distracted on the journey. Luckily for Jaskier, Geralt knew the places with passable food and real beds - the places safest to stop and sleep.

Well. Some sleep.

There was a tug at the back of his head that travelled all the way down his spine and through his belly to his prick, and he jerked his head back off of the pillow with a little gasp. Geralt gripped harder into his hip, keeping him steady, as he pulled at his hair with the other hand - the ponytail tied in a thin yet durable black cord. Jaskier gasped again as he felt Geralt’s fingertips dig into his flesh, and pressed harder against him, taking more of him, eliciting a low rumble from Geralt’s chest.

“Good, Jask,” he muttered. He tugged a little harder, and Jaskier whined as his head was pulled back further, his scalp smarting. “Very good.”

Jaskier’s skin was on fire; he was burning up from the inside out. He’d wondered for so long - and now he knew, and it was fucking fantastic. He groaned as Geralt thrust into him, his fingers scrabbling on the bed, fisting in the sheets. He wanted to take himself in his hand and jerk himself off, but he knew from experience if he did he’d lose his balance, sending them both toppling. He shuddered as Geralt hit a spot deep inside him, gasping with the effort to keep his head up where Geralt pulled at his hair.

He swore again - a long string of expletives - and Geralt immediately knew what he needed. He released his hair, leaving his scalp tingling, then ran his fingers down Jaskier’s back, a light touch that sent his skin erupting into goosebumps. His hand hovered over his other hip, just for a moment, before he swiftly reached around and grabbed Jaskier’s aching cock in his hand, squeezing, rubbing his thumb over the leaking tip with a smug-sounding chuckle.

His hand wrapped around him and his cock inside him, Geralt drew him out, taking him apart.

Jaskier came first, spilling with a noisy moan across Geralt’s fingers and his own stomach. Geralt rode out his own orgasm more slowly, Jaskier desperately attempting to match his rhythm despite how utterly spent he was, how overstimulated and fucked-out he was feeling. With a shudder, Geralt tightened his grip around Jaskier’s hips then cried out his name - “fuck, Jask—” as he came as well.

He pulled out slowly - with care Jaskier had never even considered seeing in Geralt before - and they collapsed down onto the bed. Jaskier was very aware that they needed to get on with the whole business of cleaning up, but everything felt so unreal, the air around him soft and gossamer light, that he couldn’t quite find the impetus to do anything other than press a hand to Geralt’s chest, feeling his heart beating a quickened rhythm beneath his ribcage.

He’d learnt the patterns of Geralt’s heartbeat these past few weeks. He’d always known it was slower than a human’s, but now he knew what it felt like when he was at rest, when he was happy, when he was thoroughly fucked. It was a gift, to know.

Geralt ran a languid hand up his arm and to his head. He fiddled in his hair for a moment before removing the tie, letting Jaskier’s hair fall loose, just past his shoulders. He combed his fingers through it, and Jaskier shut his eyes as soft, gentle fingertips danced across his scalp. Geralt always did this, afterwards, as if soothing away bruises. It was a thrilling, tingling sensation that Jaskier thought he was never going to quite get used to.

When he opened his eyes again, Geralt’s hand was pressed to the back of his head, fingers carded through his hair. Geralt kissed him, lazily, then removed his hand, slowly combing his fingers through the dark strands.

Jaskier shuffled against the sheets, watching him closely. “What?” He said, voice heavy. “Don’t you like it?”

“No.” Geralt placed his hand on the side of his jaw, and kissed him again. “I love it.”

[awanderingdeal]

‪Hi Lucy🌼 how are you? I have a request for you! Could you please write Finn and Logan going to a Harvard hockey reunion while already being out and proud and as a couple? maybe they also bring leo? (I just know at least one of their former teammates would be like “YES! I knew you two would end up together”) ‬

Hi! I'm good thanks! I hope you are too.

I've never really considered this sort of scenario so it was super interesting to write! Thanks for the prompt.

Rating: G

CW: Brief food and drinks mention. Small mention of past injury.

Logan, Finn, Leo, Percy, Will and the general Sweater Weather universe belongs to @lumosinlove. The other team members were made up by me for this fic.

Finn swore he'd never heard this group of men quite so quiet as they were right now. The entire table had turned to look at them and just...frozen. He felt Logan tense next to him, his body already half turned to bolt.

"Harzy! Tremz!" Of course it was Marshy who broke the silence. "There you are. C'mon, sit down. What are you drinking?"

"Hey." Finn let out a long breath, touching his fingers briefly to the small of Logan's back, receiving a tight smile in return.

"I knew it, I fucking knew it." Mateo Sánchez slammed his palm against the table as Finn took a seat. He steeled himself for whatever bullshit was about to come out of his old teammates mouth, placing a placating hand on Logan's thigh. "How many times did I say these two were going at it? I'd like to collect on my winnings now."

"You can't collect on winnings from five years ago, dumbass." James Huntington, more fondly known as Hunter, drawled.

Logan lifted his hat, running a hand through his hair before placing it back on his head.

"Same tells as ever, Tremblay," Will laughed lightly from the head of the table. "Relax, I already read the riot act. There'll be no trouble here."

"Once a captain, always a captain, ey?" Finn said. The reassurance worked though, Logan's expression softening. They managed to flag down a server and with a drink in hand, it almost felt like they were back in college again.

"Ash was just showing us some of his photography," Jake tipped his bottle in the direction of the man in question. Jacob 'Truce' Truman was one of the few on the team Finn had kept in touch with, outside of those who had also gone pro. He'd been one Finn's first friends at Harvard and he constantly proved to be in Finn's corner. "He's in Switzerland now, lives in the mountains."

"Couldn't hack it out on the ice, so he found himself some real snow." It took Finn a moment to remember the name of the speaker. Wesley Larsson. He was older than Finn, and he hadn't seen much game time for most of the year they'd been on the team together, but from what Finn could recall he was an ass.

"Bitter's not a good look for you," Ash brushed the jibe off, starting to show his work again. Finn was just glad the pressure was off them for a bit. It didn't last long though.

"Where's your third then?" Sanchez called down the table once the conversation lulled. "Leo Knut, wasn't it?

"I heard he cooks," Hunter laughed. "And Lord knows these two need somebody that can cook.'

"Ouias, because we really couldn't have solved that problem with two NHL salaries," Logan shrugged. "Knutty's at the hotel. I don't see any other significant others."

Percy clapped his hands together, "Now you mention it, tomorrow evening, same place, bring your wives, girlfriends -" He fixed his stare on Finn and then Logan. "-boyfriends. Christ, bring your pet chihuahua if you must. I need to meet the people that fell in love with you idiots."

"If I say we'll bring him tomorrow, will you leave us alone for the rest of the night?" Finn sat back in his chair.

"Yes!" Finn turned his head, surprised to find the answer had been delivered by Rual Lee. He'd always been shy off the ice. One hell of a player though, even if a professional career had been railroaded by a reoccurring hip injury. "Only if I can get an autograph though. My little girl is obsessed."

"Yeah, I don't blame her," Finn laughed. "Deal."

[glimmerglanger]

I love your writing so much 🥺 thank you for sharing your amazing talent with us! If you're still doing asks for HotR, may I please request some hurt comfort after an injury at the rodeo? I loooove cowboy!cody so much 🥺💕

Ooooh! I did not hurt Cody too badly here, but I could not resist the idea. Set some vague amount of time post the end of the story, established Codywan, with brief mentions of spicy things but nothing explicit.

~~~~

Cody knew he’d landed wrong before pain lanced from his hand to his elbow, grounding out in a white-hot flash that left him with an edge of nausea in his gut. He’d taken enough falls in his life to just know.

He didn’t let it slow him down, though, rolling to his feet fast, pushing up with his uninjured arm, because the left was giving hot little flashes each time he shifted. The bull that had just thrown him was still going, being herded away by other riders.

Cody slid his hat back on his head and moved for the ring’s exit at speed, ignoring his wrist for the moment. The pain still felt muted and far away, in any case.

Adrenaline had a way of doing that. He knew it was hurt. And knew, equally well, that he wouldn’t start feeling it - not really - until his heart rate started to slow. He’d been hurt before, in competition, nothing major, but often enough to know how it went.

And he was right. The pain started in earnest after he saw his official time, after he made his way back into the halls of the stadium and looked down to unbutton his sleeve, rolling back fabric and hissing at the brush of pressure over his wrist.

It wasn’t swelling much. Yet.

He frowned at it, and went to see one of the on-site doctors to see about wrapping it.

Wrapping it helped, a bit. The painkiller the doctor gave him barely touched the ache, but that was alright. He had the arm curled against his chest when Ben called him, something in his chest throbbing when Ben’s first words were, “Are you alright? What happened to your arm? I saw how you held it when you got thrown.”

“It’s fine,” Cody said, flexing his fingers and biting back a hiss. That hurt, which meant it probably wasn’t just a sprain. “Just a little banged up, that’s all.”

Ben made a doubtful sound over the line, and Cody grinned, helplessly, at no one. “How’d your finals go, today?” And he listened to Ben talk, leaning his shoulders against the wall, missing him and forgetting about the throbbing in his arm, just for a little while.

“I’ll be home tomorrow,” he said, eventually, a promise to both of them.

And Ben said, “I’ll be waiting.” And Cody leaned away from the wall, went to finish everything up, and agreed, when one of the doctors insisted, later, on getting an x-ray done on his wrist.

#

Ben was as good as his word, out on the porch when Cody drove up the lane. He preferred to drive home from competitions, whenever possible, to stay with Sunny the whole way, the trailer pulled behind his truck. Flights were for emergencies.

He hoped never to take one again.

Ben frowned at his arm as soon as Cody stepped out of the truck, hesitating a step away while Anakin ran all the way up, tail wagging like crazy as he sniffed Cody’s boots and jeans. “Shit,” Ben said, eyes on the splint, “you said it was just a little banged up.”

“It is,” Cody told him, taking the last step towards him and wrapping his good arm around Ben, pulling him closer, down into a kiss.

“Cody,” Ben said, when he pulled back, hands gentle on Cody’s sides, a change from their usual reunion embraces. “That’s--”

“Just a fracture,” Cody told him, glancing down at his fingers. They’d swollen over the night and his drive back home. “It’ll heal up fine.”

“I--” Ben started, still frowning, but whatever else he would have said got swallowed up when the rest of the family descended en masse, swarming around with congratulations and slaps on his back and murmurs of concern about his arm.

Between the mess of them, they got Sunny out of the trailer and walked back to the barn, they got his supplies unloaded and stowed away, and were swept up into the main house for a meal, everyone trying to talk at once about everything.

Cody exhaled and breathed in, contentment settling across him, the same way it always did after he came home.

#

Cody felt drowsy by the time they ended up back in their space, Ben opening the door for him and herding him inside, back to their bedroom.

Cody reached for the buttons on his shirt and snorted, his fingers still swollen and aching. Getting dressed that morning had been….less than enjoyable. Still, he’d managed, and--

“Let me help with that,” Ben said; he’d already pulled off his sweater, tossing it into the hamper. Cody shivered, a little, as Ben tugged his shirt out of his pants, before reaching for the top button, popping it loose.

“I can undress myself,” Cody told him, though he made no move to impede Ben’s progress. “It’s really not that bad, Ben.”

“Mm,” Ben said, noncommittal, half the buttons undone already, his gaze intent as he finished the last one and reached up to gently slide the fabric off Cody’s shoulders. “Here,” he said, moving to push the shirt off Cody’s right arm before carefully tugging it off the left.

Cody hissed, just a bit, when the fabric tugged on the splint, and Ben went still, glancing over with worried eyes, all naked concern that just--

Cody reached out with his right hand, curling his fingers against Ben’s shoulder, pulling him closer to kiss him softly. “I’m fine,” he said, against Ben’s mouth. “I promise. This isn’t the first time I’ve fractured it. Won’t be the last, probably.”

Ben winced a little, but nodded. Cleared his throat and said, “How can I make you feel better?”

Cody hummed, thoughtful, stroking his thumb against Ben’s neck. “Well, taking off my clothes was a good start.”

Ben snorted a laugh, sudden and surprised, eyes crinkling just a little in the corners. “Oh, really?” he asked, and tugged Cody’s undershirt free of his pants, as well, sliding his hands under the fabric, onto Cody’s skin.

“Yeah,” Cody said, taking another kiss, “keep that up. I’m feeling better already.”

Ben rolled his eyes with a grin, but took his time pulling the shirt up and off, guiding it down Cody’s arm with care, nudging him back a step, hands pulling Cody’s belt open and dragging down his zipper.

“Any other injuries I should know about?” Ben asked, shifting to brush a kiss against his throat and then his shoulder, hands so warm and familiar and--

“Feel free to look,” Cody said, and Ben huffed against his skin, but listened to the suggestion, thoroughly. And, when he was finished - finding a few bumps and bruises along the way - and had checked each inch of skin with his fingers and mouth, they ended up curled together.

“Your arm,” Ben started, hair disordered and mouth all red, concern washing across his expression again.

“Is fine,” Cody told him, snugging close against him, grabbing a pillow and leaning it over Ben’s stomach. “You’re a great rest for it. See?” he added, resting his arm over the pillow, ignoring the ache of it, throbbing a bit worse after the physical activity got his blood pounding.

Ben gave him a look but settled after a beat, murmuring, “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Cody told him, and kissed his shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Ben said, quietly, into the dark, a few moments later, voice a rasp. Cody squeezed him a little tighter, nuzzled closer, and they fell asleep, just like that.

[lambourngb]

a skeleton of something more [malex wip]

Inspired by the promo/trailer for season 3. Spoilers and speculation ahead. 

A tumblr work-in-progress

Pairing: Michael/Alex, Alex/Forrest

Summary: Alex goes undercover to seek out Deep Sky. Starts mid-2x13.

Alex leaned his back against the solid wood of his front door, letting the heavy oak take up his weight. He kept making the standard uneven bargain with his body, of giving just a little more, going through the motions for a little longer, and then it would be over. But the tally sheet his body held was long, overflowing with so many unfulfilled promises that it seemed ever more likely he would end this journey in the red. 

If it ever ended.

At least, tonight, he had haggled wisely for some space to breathe. On the other side of the door, he had managed to escape Forrest’s hopeful and not subtle attempts to follow him inside, toward the bedroom for a long-awaited reunion. A reunion that Alex had deftly avoided without a trace of guilt. He had used the bland excuse of fatigue from a long, cramped ride from Holloman Air Force Base to Roswell on a bus that had predated the ADA by a good thirty years. It was transparent but still true, written on every line of pain in his smile as he had said “Not tonight.” that even Forrest could read it, even if only Alex knew the real source of his fatigue. 

He waited several long moments, before turning to look out the peephole to watch Forrest’s Prius silently reverse out of his driveway. Exhaling out long and low, the tension he had started carrying a little more than a year ago slipped away, letting the calm certainty of safety of his house slip down his body as he released the facade. 

Alex was almost done with this assignment, he reminded himself, as he rubbed the back of his hand against his mouth, scrubbing away the taste of Forrest Long from earlier. 

Just a little while longer, and he will have enough good will built up to finally meet the leader of Deep Sky face-to-face, after all who could resist the request of a senior member, especially one with the last name of Long? It had been a lucky find that Alex had made in cleaning out his father’s house after his death, a ring and an old photo of the members. In washed out Kodak colors was the cabal of Deep Sky. Former military men with names Alex had memorized off the salvaged hard drives from the Caulfield prison. Linked not by overlapping time on the alien project, but what had become of their careers after their military service had ended. All of them vowing to carry on the protection of Earth against an alien threat, but without the oversight of the government. 

The photo in his dad’s desk had been expected, but the silver ring? He had remembered clutching it, his hands still sore from tearing down the shed with Michael, and feeling the imprint of the symbol press deep into his skin. Searing across what Mimi had called his long-love line, singular and deep on his palm. Searing even deeper inside with the recognition that the symbol matched the ring Forrest Long wore.

The genial historian with the loose-fitting cardigan and blue-streaked hair, who had shown flattering interest in Alex, had worn the same ring. Easy on his hand, flashing in the bright sunlight when he had eagerly met up with Alex at the paintball fields with sharpshooter skills. After that date had crashed and burned thanks to a mishmash of his father’s voice and the feeling he had whenever he thought about kissing someone, not Michael, well, Alex had figured that would be the last he would see of the man. 

It hadn’t been. 

Suddenly, Forrest was everywhere he was, the Crashdown, the Wild Pony. It should have been suspicious to Alex, after months of sharing the same town with the other man without a single encounter. His heart was still bounding uselessly after Michael, while his hands had been full of his suddenly feeble father, and he had missed the snare of the trap. Not just the one his father had laid. Then after his kidnapping, two things had become clear to Alex, his father would never change from the hateful man he was, and Alex’s heart would never change when it came to his feelings for Michael.

Alex pushed his leaden body away from the door, tottering on his feet for a moment before the new prosthesis shored up his balance and he took a deep breath for the strength to move forward.

Fuck. That was a mistake. 

His house smelled like rain. Michael. The unexpected consequence of having Michael watch over his house while he had moved around the country, playing up the role of the grieving scion of the Manes family legacy. After a year of brief trips back to Roswell and long stints on the road, the house now smelled like Michael. 

Alex sucked in greedy gulps of air, chasing the taste of green and petrichor with his tongue to wash away his previous actions at the bus stop. His security system, his reinforced door and window locks, the weight of his gun still tucked in his back holster, none of it made him feel as safe as the smell of Michael in his home. It was the smallest crumb of promise, but it filled him.

Moving toward the kitchen for a drink, he clocked the changes Michael had made in his absence. His heavier luggage, shipped ahead of him, was already stored, including the set of crutches and the charging station for his back-up prosthesis. The lights in the kitchen came on with a single touch, all of them bright. Dammit, Michael had fixed the two burnt out bulbs, along with the slightly weeping fitting on the sink faucet.

There was zero sign of neglect in his house, no matter where he looked. Not even the faintest trace of dust on his guitars. The house looked warm and well tended. Loved. 

The rush of tears welled in his throat, an impossibly large lump, as Alex fought to keep from breaking down. Don’t fucking cry, don’t do it, that’s for at night, he swore creatively at himself. Tears were only allowed under the cover of dark, in hotel rooms or visiting officer quarters, not in the middle of his brightly lit kitchen.

A knock sounded on the front door.

Abruptly, every drop of tortured longing was gone, as Alex straightened his shoulders and crossed the threshold back to the door. He pasted the right amount of faked aspiration mixed with real annoyance on his face as he yanked the door open, expecting to see Forrest back on his step with a weak excuse concocted to overcome the earlier rebuff.

Michael looked up in the porch light, his black hat in hand and his curls wild with nervous raking. “Uh, hi.” He scuffed his boots against the concrete before growing still under Alex’s gaze.

He looked over Michael’s shoulder nervously, for the distinctive truck that everyone in town knew belonged to Michael, but his driveway was empty.

“I parked a few streets over. I don’t think anyone saw me-” Michael’s explanation was cut off short as Alex grabbed his wrist and yanked him inside. Stumbling from Alex’s strong grip, Michael fell forward, and then back as the front door slammed shut with them both safely inside out of view. His mouth was still open in surprise as Alex covered his lips in a kiss. 

The surprise was short-lived. Michael came alive under the kiss, opening and yielding to Alex’s hungry lips and tongue. Alex brought his hands up into Michael’s curls, cupping his head protectively as he pressed Michael firmly against the door, drinking in every sound Michael was making. 

Hours before, he had kissed Forrest at the bus station, playing up the role of a dutiful boyfriend returning home. It was the tariff he paid with his body to get closer to the roots of Deep Sky, but this, feeling Michael whole and safe under his hands, tasting him now, that was sustenance. Lifeblood. There was an evolution of difference between the two, like comparing simple bacteria wiggling toward complexity and the finished product of a man, standing upright. 

It was both a reminder of why he was doing this and a reinstatement of focus, as he slowly broke the kiss with reluctance. Michael chased at his lips, his mouth red and wet, his eyes dark with want. He could feel the heat coming off of Michael’s thin brown shirt, his hands itched to pull it off, to descend back into the physical, but Alex knew that he owed Michael an explanation for earlier.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t know he was going to be there to meet my bus. I thought it would be okay for you to give me a ride,” Alex explained quietly, as he ran his hands from Michael’s neck down to his fingertips, drinking in all the changes that had happened while he was gone. Michael looked thinner to him, as if he wasn’t eating enough despite the healthy amount of work and money. “I guess he wanted to surprise me and thought it would be romantic.” 

Michael made a face at the idea of surprises ever being considered romantic, especially to Alex. He turned sweetly toward Alex’s palm, kissing the center as Alex pushed a stubborn curl out of his eyes. “Are you sure that’s all it was? He wasn’t testing you, was he?” 

“I don’t think so.” Alex couldn’t pull his hands away from Michael, and leaned in to kiss him again. It started soft and shallow, trading breaths with Michael, lips against lips, licking deep into his mouth as his previous weariness disappeared now that Michael was here. “He saw you watching us. Now that I’m back, he’s worried about losing my attention to you. He hasn’t hidden his jealousy that I asked you to watch my house last year.” 

“Did I look sufficiently broken-hearted?” The question was light, but Alex could hear the grain of truth under it.

“You did.” Alex closed his eyes, the guilt of the situation flooded back inside. The statue of his father looking down on him didn’t make him feel nearly as sick as having Michael’s eyes on him as he let Forrest kiss him in front of the town in a cinematic homecoming moment. It was a cruel reminder to Alex that he had never been able to give Michael that, a public welcome that spelled out who they were to each other, not once in ten plus years of deployments and duty station assignments. Trading a glance across the Wild Pony was as close as they came. “I wish it wasn’t like this, sneaking around, pretending-”

“Hey, I agreed to this, right at the very beginning when I was your only back-up. Remember?” 

“We were just friends back then, you couldn’t have known that things would end up like this.”

Michael laughed, his head tilted back against the door, casting an attractive line of his throat to his collarbone. “We’ve never been just friends, Alex, but I knew what I was signing up for when you told me what you planned to do to smoke out Deep Sky. We’re in this together.”

*** to be continued... here

[littlemisssquiggles]

…Sooo…about Neo using Oscar’s form to hurt Ruby…

So it has been brought to my attention that there’s this theory/headcanon floating around about Neo using Oscar’s form to taunt Ruby after it was teased in the V9 sneak peek clip featured at today’s RTX At Home RWBY Panel.

As always, allow this squiggly Rosegardening Pinehead to through her wizarding hat into the ring and offer my own interpretation on the concept idea; if you will.

Oddly enough, I actually like the sound of Neo abusing Oscar's form to taunt Ruby while she's stuck with her on "NOT Destiny Island” in the Other World.

Since Oscar is someone that Ruby has been shown to care about in the past that Neo is aware of, it would be a great tactic to have our ice-cream femme fatale take full advantage of this one weakness of Ruby's.

Especially if this ultimately leads into a moment where the real Oscar eventually does show up to help Ruby in the Other World on NOT Destiny Island.

However by this point, Ruby has become so traumatizedand paranoid as a result of Neo’s bullying tactics that she isn’t willing to believe that Oscar is who he says he is; believing him to be a fake. A fake little princestanding before his true rose.

Perhaps…Ruby and Oscar even break into a brief squabble and exchange of blows when Ruby attacks Oscar out of fear of Neo impersonating him again. So in order to quell Ruby’s paranoia, Oscar makes the best choice. He surrenders his weapon and stands before Ruby unarmed, approaching her cautiously but determinedly to make her see that it is truly him.

Just picture a moment where Oscar walks up to Ruby. Even when she’s yelling at him to not approach her. Even when she literally threatened to shoot him with Crescent Rose, Oscar just keeps walking forward.

He even disarms Ruby, throwing his arms around her. And even as the silver eye girl screams at him to let her go, throwing wild blows, all Oscar does is gently take Ruby’s hand in his. He takes Ruby’s hand, eventually cupping her face with the other tenderly. And with a gentle voice, Oscar asks Ruby to look at him.

“…Please look at me…” he says.

And it's only when Ruby looks deeply into Oscar's eyes that she sees that it is indeed Oscar---the Oscar she knows and cares about. The REAL Oscar. The TRUE Oscar ---and this revelation will be symbolic given the whole fact that Oscar is meant to lose himself to the Merge with Oz. So it would be great to have a scene where Ruby recognizes the REAL Oscar standing before her because of his eyes.

The eyes are the window to the soul, after all. Therefore, through Oscar’s hazel eyes, Ruby is able to tell see that it’s him because she knows him. She of all people knows his soul due to their bond with each other.

Just picture a moment where Ruby is indeed manic in her paranoia of being hurt by the FAKE Oscar (meaning Neo) only to melt into pure unbridled joy when she finally realizes that she has reunited with the real Oscar. HER Oscar. And she is so profoundly overjoyed that the two smaller more honest souls just embrace each other tightly , practically in tears as they share the most heart-warming reunion hug in the history of RWBY given how long they've been trying to find each other.

Imagine something like that. Wouldn’t that not be nice? I know some folks are all “angst and no fluff” but as some of you are aware of, I’m into the wholesome stuff that makes my shipping heart grow ten times bigger.

I don’t mind a little angst just so long as it always ends in good ole fluff. That’s it. That’s my $2.50 on this topic. Hope ya’ll liked it.

~ LittleMissSquiggles (2021)

[moonbeamwritings]

train station kisses

a sequel to one missed call

Summary: After receiving a phone call from Jotaro after ten years of no contact, you attempt to navigate both your feelings and his. Will a reunion around the holidays be just what you both needed?

Author’s Note: I just wanted to say thank you for all of the positive reactions to one missed call! It really means a lot 🥺💕I hope you guys enjoy the sequel just as much!!

With a shaking hand, you reached out to dial his number, taking each digit slowly as a way to delay the inevitable. The line began to ring and you could almost feel your mouth running dry, the thudding of your heart threatening to burst your chest open. You bit your lip in a futile attempt to keep the water in your eyes from spilling over.

After four rings, you could hear Jotaro answer, “Hello?”

The ringing in your ears, the pounding in your heart, they didn’t stop with the sound of his voice.

“Uh hi, Jotaro? It’s me.”

A relieved exhale could be heard through the phone, followed by a brief moment of silence, “Hi.” If his breath had sounded relieved, then his voice sounded even more so. “I thought you wouldn’t call.”

You brought the phone with you as you traveled across the living room, resting back against the couch. “If I’m being honest, I almost didn’t.”

As much as he had convinced himself that he didn’t deserve a call back, Jotaro’s heart sunk into his stomach with the thought that you very nearly didn’t return his message, keeping him nothing but a distant, painful memory.

“Well,” he finally spoke, fidgeting with the pen resting on his desk, “I’m glad you did.”

You let out a nervous huff, quiet and short, “Yeah, me too.”

Silence overtook the conversation once again, entirely too awkward for your liking. Where were you even supposed to start? The man on the other end had confessed his love to you, through a long, emotional message on your answering machine no less, and now you were confronting him after not hearing from him in literal years. What were you supposed to do?

“Jotaro I-”

“Listen-”

You chuckled as you both attempted to speak at the same time.

“You go-”

“You first-”

You could hear his deep, quiet laugh through the phone.

“We’re off to a great start.” You told him, running a hand through your hair.

“We certainly are.”

“Look, Jotaro,” you struggle to find the right words, “I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that I wasn’t hurt that I didn’t hear from you, from anyone.”

A low “mhm” sounded through the phone as you collected yourself.

“But, Christ, is it nice to hear your voice.”

“It’s nice to hear yours too.”

“What were you going to say before?” You asked, pressing the phone between your shoulder and cheek so you could pick at your nails.

“I just wanted to tell you that I meant everything I said. All of it.”

The familiar, erratic beat of your heart returned in an instant as his confession replayed in your head.

The words spilled from your mouth before you can even think to stop them, “You love me?” 

You nearly smacked a hand against your forehead with how stupid, how desperate you sounded. Were you really hearing this right now?

“I do. I figured it was better late than never to tell you, even if it was over the phone. The old man was very convincing.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm as he spoke of his grandfather, clearly not thrilled with his relative’s persistence.

“I-” A shaky breath left your mouth, “I love you too. I always have.”

Jotaro didn’t respond right away. How could he? You’d just told him you love him, even after all of this time, even after he’d left you alone, in the dark. After all of it.

“I miss you.” He knew he sounded pathetic, heart on display for you to hear, but he didn’t care. Jotaro also knew he wasn’t anywhere near as openly emotional as he thought you deserved, but he wanted to be selfish, if only this once, wanted to sink his hands into your heart and never let go. He wouldn’t let you be alone again, not if he could help it.

At his confession, tears pricked at the back of your eyes, stinging as they threatened to fall.

“I miss you too, Jotaro.”

The words hung heavily in the air, years of pent up emotions all laid out for you both to see. You had no idea where to go from here. The previous phone call played through your mind as you searched for the right words. One statement came to the forefront: “You reminded me of everything I felt like I couldn’t have, what I can’t have.”

“Jotaro? Can I ask you something?”

“If you want.”

“Before, you said something about me being something you couldn’t have. What exactly did you mean?”

You heard him sigh into the receiver, sounding dejected as he spoke, “Everyone in my life either leaves or gets hurt, or both. I push people away to keep them out of my bullshit, so they don’t get hurt. I’m not easy to love. You don’t deserve to get wrapped up in the mess I always leave behind.”

Your heart broke.

“Jotaro, you…” A laugh, involuntary and riddled with disbelief, left your throat. “You really are something else, you know that? I’ve already been to Egypt with you, for God’s sake, risked my life for your mom, to defeat DIO. I think you’re kinda stuck with me now. Messes or not.”

His voice was uncharacteristically small as he responded, “You mean that?”

You scoffed. “Of course I do. God, you are such an idiot sometimes. You’re lucky I love you.”

He allowed a tiny smile to work its way onto his face, “Yeah, I am.”

“Ohhh, Jotaro,” you teased, getting a real kick out of Jotaro revealing what was going on in that steel-trap he calls a brain, “I didn’t take you for the cheesy type.”

A groan.

“Good freakin’ grief. I take it back, I don’t miss you anymore.”

“Oh come on. You do. You can admit it.”

The moment of humor was a welcomed break from the downpour of emotions that threatened to flood your mind, a calming reminder of what once was.

“Okay,” Jotaro acquiesced, for once not having the strength to win this fight, “you’re right.”

You ached to see the look on his face on the other side of the phone. You had no doubt his eyebrows were creased in annoyance, a smile reluctantly beginning to form on his lips. What you wouldn’t give to be able to reach over, to poke and prod at his cheeks, to tease and annoy him.

“Ugh, you’re so cute,” you tell him, “What am I ever gonna do with you?”

Cute, Jotaro thought, I’ve never heard that one before.

“Look, enough already I-” Why did you have to make his words catch in his throat so much? It was infuriating. “I wanted to ask if you wanted to meet up. I know it’s the holidays and everything but-”

You cut his rambling off with an immediate answer, “I would love to.”

“Wha- You would?” He hadn’t expected you to agree so quickly, or even at all.

The surprised lilt to his voice is not lost on you. You don’t push it. “Of course, I would.”

“In that case,” he spoke, absently tapping the pen against his desk, “I’ll have the Speedwagon Foundation pay for your travel expenses and you can come visit with my family and I for a few days.”

“Jotaro,” You admonished, “I don’t want to intrude! If you’re spending time with family, we can always wait.”

“I’ve kept you waiting long enough and besides,” you can hear the smile in his voice, “mom would love to cook for someone new.”

“Well, when you put it that way, how could I say no?”

The conversation continued from there, Jotaro telling you he would pass along the information from the Speedwagon Foundation. You spent some time getting caught up, passing information back and forth until Jotaro let out a long, drawn out yawn.

“It’s getting late. I should go.” Jotaro stated, sounding reluctant.

“That’s okay. Goodnight, Jotaro. I’ll see you soon.”

“Night, see you.”

With one final click, the line went dead, sending you reeling back into the quiet hum of your living room. You nearly laughed out loud at the events unfolding before you. The last thing you had expected this holiday season was to go visit Jotaro, all expenses paid.

Before you knew it, you were switching over from the plane to the train that would take you to the station near Jotaro’s childhood home. Even given the time you took to attempt to process all of these new developments, your mind still raced, endlessly whirling and wondering. Jotaro loved you and you were visiting him. He loved you and you were going to get to see him again. It was all relentlessly surreal.

As you boarded the train for the remainder of your journey, you couldn’t help but reflect on that fateful trip to Egypt. Memories flashed behind your eyes, coming and going with the scenery passing you by. Kakyoin’s goofy laugh, Polnareff’s friendly disposition, Avdol’s kind words. Your heart clenched at the thought.

Perhaps your reunion, love confessions aside, could help you process what you’d been dealing with for so long. Maybe it could help you move on, move away from reliving the trauma of those weeks abroad. Just maybe.

Pushing the thoughts from your mind, the voice over the loudspeaker alerted you that you had arrived at the station where you would meet Jotaro. Your heart thudded nervously in your chest, seemingly stealing the air from your lungs.

You grabbed your belongings and stepped out onto the platform, eyes scanning the crowd for Jotaro. He was always so tall, you thought, this should be easy.

At the same time, Jotaro entered the station, hands tucked into his pockets to disguise their slight tremor. He had never felt so nervous in his life, this situation being such uncharted territory that he almost wished he could have Star Platinum fight the feelings off for him. He pulled his hat down to cover the rosiness traveling up his neck.

His eyes scanned the crowd, landing on you across the station. You caught his gaze almost immediately, a small smile overtaking the concerned downturn of your lips. You were here, finally.

You weaved through the crowd as you locked eyes with Jotaro, carefully dragging your suitcase behind you as you moved among the throngs of people. As you reached the other side of the station, you stopped dead in your tracks, staring up at Jotaro.

It was as if a massive weight was lifted from your shoulders, like you had finally let out a sigh of relief after a long day. You wanted to live with this feeling forever.

“Hi.” You finally let out, moving to close the gap between the two of you at long last.

Without even responding, Jotaro bent down to wrap his arms around your waist, lifting your feet off the ground and clutching you against his chest. You smiled as you felt him bury his nose against your neck.

You wrapped your own arms around his neck, one hand resting against the back of his head.

“You’re here.” His voice was muffled by your shirt, but you could hear him clear as day.

“I’m here.”

You remained like that for who knows how long, embracing one another like touch-starved fools, so lost in each other that you didn’t even register the stares from passersby.

After some time, Jotaro took his face away from your neck, returning your feet to the ground. Both hands were quick to cradle your cheeks, looking you over carefully with a cute upturn of his lips.

It was all so uncharacteristically soft that you almost felt as though he was a different person.

He hunched down, bringing his lips to yours in an emotional kiss. His lips moved against yours like a man starved, hand moving to feel your hair between his fingers. As he broke away to catch his breath, he pressed his forehead against your own.

“I love you, he spoke like it was a secret, something so important it was for your ears only, “so much.”

“I love you too, Jotaro.”

He kissed you again, a brief peck to your lips as if to seal your quiet promise, to legitimize it.

Before you could even stop them, tears began flowing down your cheeks only to be swiped away by Jotaro’s thumb.

“Oh, good grief,” he said, but it was nowhere near as biting as it could’ve been, “don’t cry.”

You chuckled at his assertion. This was the Jotaro you knew and loved. “Sorry.”

He pressed a sweet kiss to the crown of your head, hand reaching up to ruffle the hair there.

“Come on, mom’s making dinner.”

He grabbed your suitcase and turned to head towards the door, leaving you in the dust. Typical.

When you fell into step beside him, you laced your fingers with his, running your thumb along the back of his hand.

God, you could get used to this.